“But what of that ——— being a patriot? Why not, like another Curtius, jump into the gulf, since you believe that your country would benefit by your death?”
M. Danton showed signs of exasperation. “Because my country will benefit more by my life.”
“Permit me, monsieur, to suffer from a similar vanity.”
“You? But where would be the danger to you? You would do your work under the cloak of duelling—as they do.”
“Have you reflected, monsieur, that the law will hardly regard a fencing-master who kills his opponent as an ordinary combatant, particularly if it can be shown that the fencing-master himself provoked the attack?”
“So! Name of a name!” M. Danton blew out his cheeks and delivered himself with withering scorn. “It comes to this, then: you are afraid!”
“You may think so if you choose—that I am afraid to do slyly and treacherously that which a thrasonical patriot like yourself is afraid of doing frankly and openly. I have other reasons. But that one should suffice you.”
Danton gasped. Then he swore more amazingly and variedly than ever.
“By ——! you are right,” he admitted, to Andre-Louis’ amazement. “You are right, and I am wrong. I am as bad a patriot as you are, and I am a coward as well.” And he invoked the whole Pantheon to witness his self-denunciation. “Only, you see, I count for something: and if they take me and hang me, why, there it is! Monsieur, we must find some other way. Forgive the intrusion. Adieu!” He held out his enormous hand..
Le Chapelier stood hesitating, crestfallen.