“Nymph of mine,” said Lardillon as he drew her on to his knees, “look upon the face of this citizen, and never forget it! Like us, Epicharis, he is tender-hearted; like us, he realizes that the greatest of ills is to be separated from the beloved one. He wishes to go to prison—ay, to the guillotine—with his mistress, Epicharis. Can I withhold this boon from him?”
“No!” answered the girl, as she tapped the cheeks of the carmagnole-clad monk.
“You are right, my goddess. We shall be earning the gratitude of two devoted lovers. Citizen Germain, give me your address, and this very night you shall sleep in the Bourbe.”
“That is agreed?” said André.
“That is agreed,” replied Lardillon as he offered him his hand. “Go and find your fair friend, and tell her how you saw Epicharis in Lardillon’s embrace. I trust that that recollection may stir your hearts to joyous measures.”
André replied that possibly they would be able to call up even more affecting memories, but that he was none the less grateful to Lardillon, and that he only regretted that it was not likely to be in his power to be of service to him in return.
“A humane action needs no recompense,” replied Lardillon.
Then he rose, and clasping Epicharis to his heart, said—
“Who knows when our own turn may come?”
Omnes eodem cogimur: omnium