Grain. That's good! That's good!
Guillaume (looks at Grain and is surprised; then goes on speaking). All the houses must be fired. Three more fellows like me and there won't be any more judges in Paris.
Grain. Death to the judges!
Jules. Yes ... but there may be one whom we can't annihilate.
Guillaume. I should like to know who he is.
Jules. The judge within us.
Host (softly). That's tasteless. Leave off. Scaevola, roar! Now's the time.
Scaevola. Wine here, Prosper; we want to drink to the death of all the judges in France.
[During the last words enter the Marquis de Lansac, with his wife, Séverine, and Rollin, the poet.]
Scaevola. Death to all who have the power in their hands today!