"Oh, yes, but hooted down almost at once. You know Dupuis’s bull voice? It did his friends a good turn, bellowing slackness, lack of patriotism, and so on. I wish you had been there." Dangeau shook his head. "I could have done nothing." "Ah, but you could; there ’s no one like you, Jacques. Danton thunders, and Marat spits out venom, and Hébert panders to the vile in us, but you really make us see an ideal, and wish to be more worthy of it. I said to Barrassin, ’If only Dangeau were here we should be spared this shame.’" The boy’s face flushed as he spoke, but Dangeau looked down moodily. "I could have done nothing," he repeated. "If they spoke as openly as that it is because their plans are completed. Did you hear any more?" Edmond looked a little confused. "Not there,—but—well, I was told,—a friend told me,—it was for to-morrow," and he looked up to find Dangeau’s eyes fixed steadily on him. "A friend, Edmond? Who? Thérèse?" Cléry coloured hotly. "Why not Thérèse, Jacques?" "Oh, if you like to play with gunpowder it’s no business of mine, Edmond; but the girl is Hébert’s mistress, and as dangerous as the devil, that’s all. And so she told you that?" Cléry nodded, a trifle defiantly. "To-morrow," said Dangeau slowly; "where?" "At all the prisons. One or two of the gaolers are warned, but I do not believe they will be able to do anything." Dangeau was thinking hard. "They sent me away on purpose," he said at last. "Curse them!" said Cléry in a shaking voice. Dangeau did not swear, but he nodded his head as who should say Amen, and his face was bitter hard. "Is anything intended here?" he asked sharply. "No, not from head-quarters; but Heaven knows what may happen when the mob tastes blood." Dangeau gave a short laugh. "Why, Jacques?" said Cléry, surprised. "Why, Edmond," repeated Dangeau sardonically, "I was thinking that it would be a queer turn for Fate to play if you and I were to die to-morrow, fighting in defence of Capet against the people." "You would do that?" asked Edmond. "But naturally, my friend, since we are responsible for him." He had been leaning carelessly against the wall, but as he spoke he straightened himself. "Our friends upstairs will be getting impatient," he said aloud. "Who takes the night duty with me?" Cléry was about to speak, but received a warning pressure of the arm. He was silent, and Legros, one of the loungers, came forward. Dangeau and he went out together. Upstairs silence reigned. The two Commissioners on duty rose with an air of relief, and passed out. The light of a badly trimmed oil-lamp showed that the little party of prisoners were all present, and Dangeau saluted them with a grave inclination of the head that was hardly a bow. His companion, clumsily embarrassed, shuffled with his feet, spat on the floor, and lounged to a seat.