ROBESPIERRE. There are four or five whom I respect: the honest Couthon, who thinks nothing of his own sufferings, and only of those of the world; the lovable and modest Le Bas; my brother, who has a good heart but thinks too much about his pleasure; two children, and a man who is on the point of death.
ELÉONORE. But Saint-Just?
ROBESPIERRE. I am afraid of him. Saint-Just is the living sword of the Revolution, her implacable weapon; he would sacrifice me, as he has the others, to his immutable law. Every one else conspires against me. They dislike my clearsightedness, they are jealous of the people's love for me; they try to render me odious in their eyes. The proconsuls of Marseille and Lyon commit atrocities in the name of Robespierre. The counter-revolution now preaches clemency, and again terror. If I release my hold through weariness, I am lost, and so is the Republic. Couthon is ill. Le Bas and my brother are two stupids. Saint-Just is far away, and holds the armies. I am left alone surrounded by traitors, who are trying all the while to strike me from behind. They will kill me, Eléonore.
ELÉONORE [taking his hand, and with child-like vivacity]. If you die, you will not die alone. [ROBESPIERRE looks at her affectionately, and she blushes.]
ROBESPIERRE. My dear Eléonore, no, you will not die. I am stronger than my cowardly enemies. I have Truth on my side.
ELÉONORE. You are so worried, and yet you ought to be happy, because you are working for every one's happiness. How unjust life is!
ROBESPIERRE. Now I have made you sad. I was wrong to shatter, your illusions. Forgive me.
ELÉONORE. Don't be sorry. I am very proud of your confidence in me. All night long I thought about those pages from Rousseau you read us yesterday. They were so soothing. I heard the sound of your voice—and those beautiful words. I know them by heart!
ROBESPIERRE [reciting, with an air of affectionate melancholy, and with great sincerity]. "The communion of hearts gives to sadness something inexplicably sweet and touching, and friendship is the especial gift to the unfortunate for the assuagement of their woes and the consolation of their sufferings." [ELÉONORE, her hand in his, says nothing, but she smiles and blushes.] You say nothing?
ELÉONORE [reciting]. "Can anything that one says to one's friend ever equal what one feels by his side?"