Marquise. (Low.) No. I’m—I’m just a little afraid, Louis.
Duc. Oh no, no, no—Margot, no. You’re cold. Or—(Smiling.) Come, flatter me. Say it’s agitation—say it’s joy. Come, Margot, say that!
Marquise. (Drawing nearer.) They didn’t know what they were doing when they sent me with you.
Duc. The ignorance of the fellows is extraordinary.
Marquise. Because—everybody knew.
Duc. Alas, I was never too discreet! (More shouts are heard. The Guard in charge of the tumbril cries “Ready? We’re the last.”) Hum! For to-day, I suppose he means! (He looks at her; her lips are moving. He takes off his hat and stands bareheaded. The movement of her lips ceases and she turns to him. He smiles.) I think you can have little need of prayer.
Marquise. You say that? You?
Duc. Yes, I say that, Margot. (They are at the foot of the scaffold now.) As for me—well, I have always followed the fashion—and prayers are not the fashion now. I was bitten by M. de Voltaire. By the way, perhaps he’s had something to do with this—and we made him the fashion! How whimsical! (The National Guard turns and points his finger towards the scaffold.) What? Oh, at your service, monsieur. (He turns to the Marquise, smiling.) I must leave you—this time in love.
Marquise. (Stretching out her hands.) Let me go first.
Duc. On my soul, I couldn’t! (Softly.) The way is dark, let me show it you.