Danton and three of his friends had an errand at the Government that day that took them past the death chamber. A little frightened face amongst the condemned drew his notice.
“Killing aristocrats, yes!” he was thinking. “But these poor huddled folk are not the public foe. Would I might summon the legions to put an end to slaughter––but that Robespierre has inflamed all France with the lust of blood!”
He was startled from the reflection by the woe-begone, distrait little thing who 163 seemed hypnotized by terror. The tall man bent down and peered at the girl.
Like the other condemned, her hands had just been pinioned behind her. She stood forlorn and helpless.
Horror froze him.... The Child who had saved his life from the spadassins––the dear little face the memory of which he had always treasured! He asked her a mute question, she mutely nodded.
So black-hearted murder was to snuff her out too––yes, and that young man nearby, Maurice de Vaudrey whom he knew.
Not if Danton could protect and save!
Stern was his voice as he said to the jailer:
“There is some mistake. Keep her––and her friend––until I return!” He was on his heel and striding to the courtroom.
A follower sensed his purpose. He laid hand on Danton’s shoulder, saying: “No, Danton––you endanger your own life!”