Danton looked up at him suddenly. "I did not know you were married," he said.
Tournay made no reply.
Danton wrote a few lines rapidly. "Take this to the secretary of the Committee of Public Safety," he said to his clerk, "and return with an answer in half an hour."
In less than that time the man returned with the information that the secretary was away and would not return until two o'clock that afternoon.
"Will that do?" asked Danton, turning to Tournay.
"And it is now ten," said Tournay rather impatiently. "It will have to do, I am afraid."
"I will send it to your lodgings the moment it comes in," said Danton, resuming his work.
"Very well, do so, and many thanks. If I am not there have it left with the friend who shares my lodgings." Tournay quitted the office and hastened home, stopping on the way at a stable where his horse was quartered, to give instructions that the animal be saddled and brought to his door without delay.
Reaching his house, he ran up the four flights of stairs that led to the little suite of rooms which he was sharing with his friend Gaillard.
Gaillard was a versatile fellow; he had been a poet, an actor, and a journalist. Sometimes the one and sometimes the other, as inclination prompted or destiny decreed.