“Can you not?” snarled Robespierre, showing his teeth. “Of what are you dreaming fool? Do you think that I will so easily see myself cheated of this dog? Did I not tell you that rather would I grant you the lives of a dozen aristocrats than that of this single one? Do you think, then, that I am so lightly to be baulked? Name of God? Who are you, La Boulaye, what are you, that you dare thwart me in this?” He looked at the young man's impassive face to curb his anger. “Come, Caron,” he added, in a wheedling tone. “Tell me what you have done with him?”
“I have already told you,” answered the other quietly.
As swift and suddenly as it changed before did Robespierre's humour change again upon receiving that reply. With a snort of anger he strode to the door and threw it open.
“Citizen-lieutenant!” he called, in a rasping voice.
“Here, Citizen,” came a voice from below.
“Give yourself the trouble of coming up with a couple of men. Now, Citizen La Boulaye,” he said, more composedly, as he turned once more to the young man, “since you will not learn reason you may mount the guillotine in his place.”
Caron paled slightly as he inclined his head in silent submission. At that moment the officer entered with his men at his heels.
“Arrest me that traitor,” Maximilien commanded, pointing a shaking finger at Caron. “To the Luxembourg with him.”
“If you will wait while I change my dressing-gown for a coat, Citizen-officer,” said La Boulaye composedly, “I shall be grateful.” Then, turning to his official, “Brutus,” he called, “attend me.”
He had an opportunity while Brutus was helping him into his coat to whisper in the fellow's ear: