In the Name of Liberty: A Story of the Terror

by Owen Johnson

Then Goursac, retreating a step, said but one word:

"No!"

But in the word, with the flash of his eye, with the toss of his head, with the resolution of his lips, there was the eloquence of an oration.

This time it was Dossonville who was overcome with astonishment.

"You are mad!" he exclaimed, seizing him by the lapel. "If you return, it is to the guillotine."

"So be it!"

"Reflect."

"I have. Had I wished to save myself, I should have done so long ago."

"Then you seek death?"

"I will not fly from the scum," Goursac said proudly. "I am a Girondin and a Frenchman. When I can no longer live as a Girondin, I am ready to die as a Frenchman. Liberty? What do you offer me? Exile and a daily cringing from discovery, a miserable, hunted existence in the mud and rain? No!" He took a step forward and grasped his hand. "For what you have risked for me accept my benediction; may it bring good luck."