“Tights!” Danton was hardly able to gasp out the word. The idea of Madame’s ample figure in tights nearly took away his breath.
“Yes,” Madame went on, as if she had not noticed his surprise; “but I shall, of course, wear a little classic drapery out of respect for the prejudices of Lucille. But see how the helmet becomes me.”
She opened the wardrobe, and Danton saw the gleam of polished armour. She donned a helmet, slipped her left arm through a shield, and, taking a lance in her right hand, stood with her back against the wall, under the legend of “Liberty, Fraternity, Equality—or Death.”
Danton could only look; he was speechless.
“Listen, Danton, listen; do you hear the cry? ‘Vive le Drapeau Rouge!’ It is the workmen who are passing. You see I have arranged the tricolour on the balcony, so that only the red shows.”
“But, my God, Madame, the Drapeau Rouge!”
“No weakness, Danton! No weakness!”
“Rub-a-dub-a-dub!”
“What is that?” demanded Danton, as he heard the sound of a drum downstairs.