Dangeau watched idly. Something in the little man’s appearance seemed familiar, but for the moment he could not place him. Suddenly, however, the busy hands ceased their work for a moment, and the surgeon glanced sharply over his shoulder. "Here, can you hold this for me?" and as Dangeau knelt opposite to him and put his finger to steady the bandage, he said: "I know your face. Where have I seen you, eh?" "And I know yours. My name is Dangeau." "Aha—I thought so. You were Edmond’s friend. Poor Edmond! But what would you? He was too imprudent." "Yes, I was Edmond Cléry’s friend," said Dangeau; "and you are his uncle. I met you with him once. Citizen Goyot, is it not?" "At your service. There, that’s finished." "Who is he; will he live?" asked Dangeau, as the patient twitched and groaned. Goyot shrugged. "He has friends who want him to live, and enemies who are almost as anxious that he should n’t die." "A riddle, Citizen?" "Oh, I don’t know. You may conceive, if you will, that his friends desire his assistance, and that his enemies desire him to compromise his friends." "Ah, it is that way?" "I did not say so," said Goyot. "Good-day, Citizen," and he departed, leaving Dangeau something to think about, and a new interest in his fellow-prisoner. Next day behold Goyot back again. He enlisted Dangeau’s services at once, and Defarge having left them, shutting the door this time, he observed with a keen look: "I ’ve been refreshing my memory about you, Citizen Dangeau." "Indeed." "Yes; you still have a friend or two. Who says the days of miracles are over? You have been away a year and are not quite forgotten." "And what did my friends say?" asked Dangeau, smiling a little. "They said you were an honest man. I said there were n’t two in Paris. They declared you were one of them." "Ciel, Citizen, you are a pessimist." "Optimists lose their heads these days," said Goyot with a grimace. "But after all one must trust some one, or one gets no further." "Certainly." "Well, we want to get further, that is all." "Your meaning, Citizen?" "Mon Dieu, must I dot all the i’s?" "Well, one or two perhaps." "I have a patient sicker than this," said Goyot abruptly. "Yes?" "France," he said in a low voice. Dangeau gave a deep sigh. "You are right," he said. "Of course, it’s my trade. The patient is very ill. Too much blood-letting—you understand? There ’s a gangrene which is eating away the flesh, poisoning the whole body. It must be cut out." "Robespierre." "Mon Dieu, Citizen, no names! Though, to be sure, that one ’s in the air. A queer thing human nature. I knew him well years ago. You ’d have said he could n’t hurt a fly; would turn pale at the mention of an execution; and now,—well, they say the appetite comes with eating, and life is a queer comedy." "Comedy?" said Dangeau bitterly. "It’s tragedy that fills the boards for most of us to-day."