Confused cries arose as the Girondin paused again, leaning over the balustrade of the tribune, but they were of short duration, for the whole Assembly was panting for his next words. Vergniaud drew himself up, thrusting a hand into his breast, and his voice rang out clear and solemn.
“People of France, I make no random accusations. All that is being done against you on the frontiers is as nothing to the mine which is being laid here in Paris, not many yards from where I stand. We know whose hand shall apply the match, when the time is come, and shatter into a thousand fragments not only us, but our dreams, our hopes, our plans of better things for France. We know it—alas, that I should have to say it!—and yet the knowledge does not help us. We need something more ere we can stamp out this viperous brood. We want proofs—their plans or their names. . . . Fellow-citizens, here are both!”
He drew out his left hand and held aloft a little roll of papers.
Amid the cries and the applause, the stamping of feet, the struggling and pushing to gain a glimpse of the orator, Gilbert was able to slip unnoticed from his seat and make a way into the narrow staircase that led into the Passage des Feuillants.
M. des Graves was right—terribly right! The blow had fallen, and the words he had just heard spelt death with no uncertain letters. What had Louis been able to do to save himself?
CHAPTER X
THE VICOMTE FINISHES HIS TOILET
“I tint half mysel’ when my gude lord I did tine:
A heart half sae brave a braid belt will never bin’,
Nor the grassy sods cover a bosom half sae kin’;
He's a drop o' dearest blude in this auld heart o' mine.