"Well?"
"Our young friend will have to choose between his precious scruples and his head!"
Marat strolled off, and Jules Dupuis took his place. He came up in his short puce coat, guffawing, and purple-faced, his loose skin all creased with amusement.
"Hé, Hébert," he chuckled, "here 's something for the Père Duchesne," and plunged forthwith into a scurrilous story. As he did so, the door opened and Dangeau came in. He looked pale and very tired, and was evidently cold, for he made his way to the fireplace, and stood leaning against it looking into the flame, without appearing to notice what was passing. Presently, however, he raised his head, recognising the two men beside him with a curt nod.
Hébert appeared to be well amused by Dupuis' tale. Its putrescent scintillations stimulated his jaded fancy, and its repulsive dénouement evoked his oily laugh.
Dangeau, after listening for a moment or two, moved farther off, a slight expression of disgust upon his face.
Hébert's light eyes followed him.
"The Citizen does not like your taste in wit, my friend," he observed in a voice carefully pitched to reach Dangeau's ear.
Dupuis laughed grossly.
"More fool he, then," he chuckled.