HOCHE. Sun, you may sleep now, for we have not wasted our day.
LA CONTAT. Its dying rays paint the castle windows, the branches, the heads and little Liberty, a glowing red.
HULIN. Heaven announces the war.
MARAT. Unlike Him who entered seventeen hundred years ago in the midst of branches, this little child has not come to bring us peace.
DESMOULINS. There is blood on our hands.
ROBESPIERRE [with suppressed fanaticism]. It is our own!
THE PEOPLE [excited]. It's mine!—It's mine!—We offer it to you, Liberty!
DESMOULINS. To the devil with our lives! Great happiness must be bought.
HOCHE. And we are ready to pay.
ROBESPIERRE [as before]. We will pay.