"General," Charras whispered to La Fayette, "forgive him.... You see he is delirious."
"Yes, yes," said La Fayette.
Then to Lothon—
"My friend—my young friend—there, there ... calm yourself!"
Then, turning round—
"Is there no doctor at hand to bleed this young man?" he asked.
Lothon heard the suggestion.
"To bleed me?" he exclaimed. "Oh! no, no! Since we have again lost liberty, my blood shall not flow by the lance of a doctor ... but by the bayonets of the Royal Guard, under the bullets of the Swiss.... Leave me the blood in my veins, general; so long as the Bourbons remain in France, both Older and Younger Branches, I shall have need of it! Come, Charras. Come!"
He rushed from the room, leaving La Fayette thoughtful and troubled. Perhaps the words that had just fallen on the general's ear corresponded to the voice of his conscience; perhaps he had already reproached himself in the same way that Lothon had just done.
"I should like to be alone," he said.