CAMILLE. Don't say that, Hérault; I may end by believing you.
LUCILE [to HÉRAULT, shaking her finger at him]. Say it's not true: you are the cruellest.
HÉRAULT. Well, no, it is not true: you are the cruellest.
LUCILE. Very well. I don't mind that.
CAMILLE. What you say troubles me, Hérault. It is true, I have done great evil, but I am not bad by nature. I have constituted myself the prosecuting attorney for the lamp-post. I have no idea what damnable impish instinct urges me on. It was due to me that the Girondins are now rotting in the fields. My Brissot dévoilé led to the decapitating of thirty young, lovable, generous men. They clung to life, as I do; they were made in order to enjoy life, and be happy. They, too, had their dear Luciles. Oh, Lucile, let us go away, far from this butchery that is so terrible to others, and perhaps to ourselves! What if we—you—our little Horace—? Oh, why can't I be a stranger once more to all men? Where can I hide myself from the sight of the world, with my wife and child and my books! Ubi campi Guisiaque!
PHILIPPEAUX. You're in the cyclone, and you cannot escape.
HÉRAULT. Don't force him to remain in a struggle which he was not intended for.
PHILIPPEAUX. But as he himself just said, we must do our duty.
HÉRAULT [pointing to CAMILLE, who kisses LUCILE]. Look at him: does not Camille's duty seem to be the pursuit of happiness?
CAMILLE. True, I have a wonderful vocation for happiness. Some people are made for suffering, but suffering disgusts me: I want none of it.