THROUGH DARKNESS TO LIGHT
So dawned the morning of the twenty-seventh of July, the 9th Thermidor in the new Calendar of the Revolution. A very hot, still day, with a veiled sky dreaming of thunder. Dangeau had passed a very disturbed night, for his fellow-prisoner was worse. The long unconsciousness yielded at last, and slid through vague mutterings into a high delirium, which tasked his utmost strength to control. Goyot was to come early, since this development was not entirely unexpected; but the morning passed, and still he did not appear. By two o'clock the patient was in a stupour again, and visibly within an hour or two of the end. No skill could avail him now.
Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Dangeau heard himself summoned.
"Your time at last," said Defarge, and he followed the man without a word. In the corridor they met Goyot, his hair much rumpled, his eyes bright and restless with excitement.
"You? Where are you going?" he panted.
"Where does one go nowadays?" returned Dangeau, with a slight shrug.
"No, no," exclaimed Goyot. "It's not possible. We had arranged—your name was to be kept back."
"Bah," said Defarge, spitting on the ground. "You need not look at me like that, Citizen. It is not my fault. You know that well enough. Orders come, and must be obeyed. I 'm neither blind nor deaf. Things are changing out there, I 'm told, but orders are orders, and a plain man looks no further."
Goyot caught at Dangeau's arm.
"We'll save you yet," he said. "Robespierre is down. Accused this morning in Convention. They 're all at his throat now. Keep a good heart, my friend; his time has come at last."