"Robespierre, he is on the frontier."
"He is in the Vendée, Danton."
"Calm yourselves," remarked a third voice; "he is everywhere, and you are lost."
It was Marat who spoke.
Robespierre looked at Marat, and quietly retorted,—
"A truce to generalizations. Let us come to particulars. Here are the facts."
"Pedant!" growled Marat.
Placing his hand on the paper spread out before him, Robespierre continued:—
"I have just read you the despatches of Prieur de la Marne, and also communicated the information given by Gélambre. Listen, Danton; foreign war is as nothing compared with the dangers of civil war. A foreign war is like a scratch on the elbow, but civil war is an ulcer which eats away your liver. Here is the sum and substance of all that I have just read to you: the Vendée, which has hitherto been divided among many chiefs, is about to concentrate its forces. Henceforth it is to have one leader—"
"A sort of central brigand," muttered Danton.