"Busier than ever," said Danton, with a frown. He raised his shoulders as if he felt a weight upon them. "Once this business of Capet's is arranged, we can work; at present it's just chaos all round."
Dangeau leaned closer and spoke low.
"I was detained—have only just come. Has anything been done—decided?"
"We are unanimous, I think. I spoke, they all agreed. Robespierre is with us, and his party is well in hand. Death is the only thing, and the sooner the better."
Dangeau did not speak, and Danton's eye rested on him with a certain impatience.
"Sentiment will serve neither France nor us at this juncture," he said on a deep note, rough with irritation. "He has conspired with Austria, and would bring in foreign troops upon us without a single scruple. What is one man's life? He must die."
Dangeau looked down.
"Yes, he must die," he said in a low, grave voice, and there was a momentary silence. He stared into the fire, and saw the falling embers totter like a mimic throne, and fall into the sea of flame below. A cloud of sparks flew up, and were lost in blackness.
"Life is like that," he said, half to himself.
Danton walked away, his big head bent, the veins of his throat swollen.