"Any advice from the master will be precious," he said, holding out his hand.
"And will be followed?" persisted Cagliostro.
"I swear, if not hurtful to my conscience."
"Gilbert, you are unjust. I have offered you much; have I ever required aught of you?"
"No, master," was Gilbert's reply; "and now, furthermore, you give me a life dearer than mine own."
"Go," said the arch-revolutionist, "and may the genius of France, one of whose noblest sons you are, ever guide you."
The count went out, and Gilbert followed him, stepping into the carriage still waiting, to be driven to the Minister of Justice.
Danton was waiting for one of two things: if he turned to the Commune, he and Marat and Robespierre would rule, and he wanted neither of them. Unfortunately, the Assembly would not have him, and its support to rule alone was the other alternative.
When Gilbert came, he had been wrestling with his wife, who guessed that the massacre was determined upon. He had told her that she talked like a woman in asking him to die rather than let the red tide flow on.