I rushed to his chamber, and opened the door gently. He was not only awake, but on his feet.
“Ah! there you are!” said he, after having looked at me for an instant without having recognised me, on account of the disappearance of my hair. “Where have you been, you vagabond? I have been in a nice state of mind, I can assure you. It appears that you have been taken in a trap, like a fox, and been compelled to leave your tail behind you.”
“But you also have acquiesced in the mode.”
“Yes; but not with the same enthusiasm as you. You have been foolish enough to cross the Pont Neuf, my boy.”
Not knowing what happened on the Pont Neuf, I could not appreciate M. Drouet’s pleasantry.
I told him all that had happened—from my meeting with the carpenter, on the Champ de Mars, to my visit to the Jacobin Club.
“Very good,” said Drouet. “You passed last night among the aristocracy—you shall pass this among the canaille.”
“Shall we spend the night together?” cried I, joyously.
“Yes; I will take you to the Cordeliers, where you will meet neither dukes, nor princes, nor marquises, but three citizens, whom you tell me you have often thought of—to wit, Marat, Danton, and Camille Desmoulins; in the meantime, we will take a stroll round Paris.”
“What I wish most to see, M. Drouet, is the Bastille.”