“What has that to do with it?” roared Carrier. “Last year I rode a she-ass that could argue better than you! In the name of—, what has that to do with it?”
But there were members of the assembly who thought with Phelippes, and who, whilst lacking the courage to express themselves, yet found courage to support another who so boldly expressed them.
Carrier sprang up quivering with rage before that opposition. “It seems to me,” he snarled, “that there are more than the scoundrels in Le Bouffay who need to be shortened by a head for the good of the nation. I tell you that you are slaying the commonweal by your slowness and circumspection. Let all the scoundrels perish!”
A handsome, vicious youngster named Robin made chorus.
“Patriots are without bread! It is fitting that the scoundrels should die, and not eat the bread of starving patriots.”
Carrier shook his fist at the assembly.
“You hear, you—! I cannot pardon whom the law condemns.”
It was an unfortunate word, and Phelippes fastened on it.
“That is the truth, Citizen Representative,” said Phelippes. “And as for the prisoners in Le Bouffay, you will wait until the law condemns them.”
And without staying to hear more, he departed as firmly as he had come, indifferent to the sudden uproar.