“Good,” said the leader. “Citizens, let us go to the Cordeliers.”
The club of the Cordeliers met at the old Cordelier monastery in the Rue l’Observance. We arrived there after scarce a minute’s walk. At the door I tore a page from my note-book, wrote a few words upon it with a lead pencil, gave it to the sergeant, and requested him to hand it to Danton, while I waited outside with the men.
The sergeant entered the clubhouse and returned with Danton.
“What!” said he to me; “they have arrested you, my friend? You, the friend of Camilles—you, one of the most loyal republicans? Citizens,” he continued, addressing the sergeant, “I vouch for him. Is that sufficient?”
“You vouch for him. Do you also vouch for her?” asked the stubborn sergeant.
“For her? To whom do you refer?”
“This girl.”
“For everything; for everybody who may be in his company. Does that satisfy you?”
“Yes,” said the man; “especially since I have had the privilege of seeing you.”
With a cheer for Danton, the patrol marched away. I was about to thank Danton, when his name was called repeatedly within.