Louis. When?
Eloise [flinging out her arms]. Oh, when I consented to this absurd journey, this tiresome journey—with you! An "escape"? From nothing. In "disguise." Which doesn't disguise.
Louis [his voice taut with the effort for self-command]. My sister asked me to be patient with you, Eloise—
Eloise. Because I am a fool, yes. Thanks. [Shrewishly.] And then, my worthy young man? [He rises abruptly, smarting almost beyond endurance.]
Louis [breathing deeply]. Have I not been patient with you?
Eloise [with a flash of energy]. If I have asked you to be anything whatever—with me!—pray recall the petition to my memory.
Louis [beginning to let himself go]. Patient! Have I ever been anything but patient with you? Was I not patient with you five years ago when you first harangued us on your "Rights of Man" and your monstrous republicanism? Where you got hold of it all I don't know—
Eloise [kindling]. Ideas, my friend. Naturally, incomprehensible to you. Books! Brains! Men!
Louis. "Books! Brains! Men!" Treason, poison, and mobs! Oh, I could laugh at you then: they were only beginning to kill us, and I was patient. Was I not patient with you when these Republicans of yours drove us from our homes, from our country, stole all we had, assassinated us in dozens, in hundreds, murdered our King? [He walks the floor, gesticulating nervously.] When I saw relative after relative of my own—aye, and of yours, too—dragged to the abattoir—even poor, harmless, kind André de Laseyne, whom they took simply because he was my brother-in-law—was I not patient? And when I came back to Paris for you and Anne, and had to lie hid in a stable, every hour in greater danger because you would not be persuaded to join us, was I not patient? And when you finally did consent, but protested every step of the way, pouting and—
Eloise [stung]. "Pouting!"