CAMILLE. Oh, my wife! My son! Shall I never see you again? No, I cannot. My friends, help me!
JUDGE. Take out the prisoners.
DANTON. Don't, don't; this miserable life is not worth struggling for.
HÉRAULT [as if in a hurry to have done with everything, goes to FABRE D'EGLANTINE, without waiting for the gendarmes, who take charge of the other prisoners]. Give me your arm, my friend; here at last is an end to your troubles.
FABRE D'EGLANTINE. We shall at least have enjoyed a splendid performance.
DANTON. Well, Fabre, here is a play that is more impressive than any you ever wrote—no offense, I hope?
FABRE D'EGLANTINE. You have not read my latest; there are some good things in it. I tremble for fear Collot d'Herbois may destroy the manuscript. He is jealous of me.
DANTON. Console yourself, we shall all do there what you did here on earth.
FABRE D'EGLANTINE. What?
DANTON. Write poetry.