SAINT-JUST. There is no plague of Egypt like a sentimental man! No tyrant brings more harm to mankind. The traitors of the Gironde called themselves merciful, too, when they carried the torch of rebellion through France.
ROBESPIERRE. Desmoulins is merely weak, he is not dangerous. I knew him as a child. I know him now.
BILLAUD-VARENNE [suspiciously]. Do Robespierre's friends enjoy special privileges?
VADIER [jeering, as he reads the "Vieux Cordelier"]. And listen to this, Maximilien—this is for you. It seems that your closing the houses of ill-fame and pretending to be so zealous in reforming the world, is merely on Pitt's orders; because you "thereby deprive the government of one of its sources of income: licentiousness." Do you hear that, oh Incorruptible one?
SAINT-JUST. The nasty hypocritical scoundrel!
BILLAUD-VARENNE [violently]. The guillotine! [He falls, with his head on the table, like an ox that has been felled.]
ROBESPIERRE. Has he fainted?
VADIER [coldly]. Dizziness. [SAINT-JUST opens the window, and BILLAUD-VARENNE comes to.]
SAINT-JUST. Are you ill, Billaud?
BILLAUD-VARENNE [hoarsely]. Who are you?—Scoundrels!—I'm utterly exhausted: I haven't slept for the last two nights.