"The mitre weighs too much for your head, monseigneur," retorted the Jesuit. "Retreat to the provinces, say you? But if the insurrection is defeated, how are you going to slip through the hands of the victors in the fray? All or nearly all of you will be massacred or guillotined."
"Eh!" cried the Count, in a rage, "our friends the foreigners will avenge us! They will burn Paris to the ground!"
"And the King? He will have been, I suppose, delivered by a bold sortie. But the insurrection worsted, he will be retaken and will not escape death."
"Well, we shall avenge him by a civil and a foreign war," was the lame solution of the problem proposed by the Count.
"Let us proceed," continued the Abbot. "Since, taking your own figures, it is a hundred to one that, even if you succeed in snatching Louis from his jailers for an instant, he will not fail to be retaken and have his head shorn off, what will your insurrection have availed you? Let the good populace, then, tranquilly trim the neck of this excellent prince. His death will be the signal for civil war, for the foreign invasion, and for the stamping out of the Republic. Do not uselessly endanger your lives and those of your friends; they can, like you, render great service at the proper moment. Accordingly, I sum up: the interests of all—bourgeoisie, nobles and clergy—will best be served by letting Louis XVI be guillotined with the briefest possible delay. I have spoken."
The inflexible logic of the prelate made a keen impression on his auditors. He spoke sooth in regard to the certain defeat of the royalist insurrection, and in relation to the redoubled fury into which the death of Louis would throw the rulers of the surrounding monarchies. Nothing, indeed, could be more formidable than their concerted efforts and activity against the Republic—impoverished, torn by factions and almost without trained troops as the latter would be. But the Jesuit suspected not, was unable, despite his profound cunning, to conceive, what prodigies love of country and the republican faith were soon to give birth to.
"By the Eternal! my reverend sir," at last cried the Count, "why, then, have you approved of our projects, why have you put at our service Lehiron and his band of frightful villains after his own pattern, to help undertake the affair?"
"Firstly, because I might have been mistaken in my conjectures—Errare humanum est—to err is human. A man of sense is not obstinate in his error. Secondly, and this is supreme to me, I have received from the General of my Order, at Rome, these instructions: 'It is important to our holy mother the Church that Louis XVI be crowned with the palm of martyrdom.' So that, having tested the danger and uselessness of an uprising, I declare point-blank my determination not to take the least part in it; I declare that I shall withhold from it whatever means of action I can in any way control; in short, I shall oppose it in all possible manner, licit and illicit. On the which account," concluded the Jesuit, rising and bowing, "I shall now withdraw, so please you, my humble reverence from your honorable company. I have nothing more to do here."
The Abbot moved impassively toward the door, only replying to the looks of wonder on every face with the words, "I have said."
But Hubert blocked his passage, and cried: "Miserable cassock, hypocrite, cock-roach! Would you be also capable of denouncing us?"