"I don’t know," he said, in sombre tones. "But Dangeau," said Hébert after a pause, "the fellow sticks in my gorge. He is one of your moral idealists, who want to cross the river without wetting their feet. He has not common-sense." "Danton is his friend," said Marat with intention. "And it’s ’ware bull.’" "I know that. See now if Danton does not pack him off out of Paris somewhere until this business is settled." "He might give trouble—yes, he might give trouble," said Marat slowly. "He is altogether too popular," grunted Hébert. Marat shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, popularity," he said, "it’s here to-day and gone to-morrow; and when to-morrow comes——" "Well?" "Our young friend will have to choose between his precious scruples and his head!" Marat strolled off, and Jules Dupuis took his place. He came up in his short puce coat, guffawing, and purple-faced, his loose skin all creased with amusement. "Hé, Hébert," he chuckled, "here ’s something for the Père Duchesne," and plunged forthwith into a scurrilous story. As he did so, the door opened and Dangeau came in. He looked pale and very tired, and was evidently cold, for he made his way to the fireplace, and stood leaning against it looking into the flame, without appearing to notice what was passing. Presently, however, he raised his head, recognising the two men beside him with a curt nod. Hébert appeared to be well amused by Dupuis’ tale. Its putrescent scintillations stimulated his jaded fancy, and its repulsive dénouement evoked his oily laugh. Dangeau, after listening for a moment or two, moved farther off, a slight expression of disgust upon his face. Hébert’s light eyes followed him. "The Citizen does not like your taste in wit, my friend," he observed in a voice carefully pitched to reach Dangeau’s ear. Dupuis laughed grossly. "More fool he, then," he chuckled. "You and I, mon cher, are too coarse for him," continued Hébert in the same tone. "The Citizen is modest. Tiens! How beautiful a virtue is modesty! And then, you see, the Citizen’s sympathies are with these sacrés aristocrats." Dangeau looked up with a glance like the flash of steel. "You said, Citizen—?" he asked smoothly. Hébert shrugged his loosely-hung shoulders. "If I said the Citizen Deputy had a tender heart, should I be incorrect? Or, perhaps, a weak stomach would be nearer to the truth. Blood is such a distressing sight, is it not?" Dangeau looked at him steadily. "A patriot should hold his own life as lightly as he should hold that of every other citizen sacred until the State has condemned it," he said with a certain quiet disgust; "but if the Citizen says that I sympathise with what has been condemned by the State, the Citizen lies!"