"None that I know of."
"Why arrest a young woman merely because her father went to England as an emissary of Louis Capet more than three years ago?"
Danton shrugged his shoulders. Tournay continued.
"In view of the length of time which has elapsed, in view of the absolute lack of result from the baron's mission, in view of the youth and innocence of this girl, will you not endeavor to have this order rescinded?"
"Why do you desire it so strongly?" demanded Danton, laying down his pen for the first time.
"Because I have known her from a child. I was born on the de Rochefort estate," was the prompt reply.
"Is that all?" asked Danton.
"No, it is not the only reason. I abhor this dragging of the weak and innocent into the political whirlpool. We do not need to make war upon women. I have protested against this before now, and I tell you again that we are disgracing the Republic by the crimes committed in its name. You are all-powerful with the masses, Jacques, your voice is always listened to,—why do you not put an end to the atrocities, which instead of decreasing, are growing worse daily? Where is your eloquence? Where is your power? How can you sit passively by and see these horrors? Are they done with your sanction? Can it be that a man with your strength can take a pleasure in crushing the weak and defenseless?"
"Would to God that I had the power to stop it," cried Danton. "Do you think that I take pleasure in the arrest of innocent young women? Do you think that it is with delight that I see our prisons crowded with thousands whose only crime is to have been born among the aristocrats?" He rose and paced the floor savagely. "You talk of my power with the people. You say they listen to my voice. To keep that power I must remain in advance. If once I lag behind it is gone forever. We have given life to this terrible creature the Revolution, and we must march before it. If we falter it will crush us too."
"Let it crush us then," cried Tournay, springing to his feet. "I will no longer be driven by it."