“In its results. But it might have been far other. Mirabeau is challenged and insulted now at every sitting. But he goes his way, cold-bloodedly wise. Others are not so circumspect; they meet insult with insult, blow with blow, and blood is being shed in private duels. The thing is reduced by these swordsmen of the nobility to a system.” Andre-Louis nodded. He was thinking of Philippe de Vilmorin. “Yes,” he said, “it is an old trick of theirs. It is so simple and direct--like themselves. I wonder only that they didn’t hit upon this system sooner. In the early days of the States General, at Versailles, it might have had a better effect. Now, it comes a little late.” “But they mean to make up for lost time--sacred name!” cried Danton. “Challenges are flying right and left between these bully-swordsmen, these spadassinicides, and poor devils of the robe who have never learnt to fence with anything but a quill. It’s just ------ murder. Yet if I were to go amongst messieurs les nobles and crunch an addled head or two with this stick of mine, snap a few aristocratic necks between these fingers which the good God has given me for the purpose, the law would send me to atone upon the gallows. This in a land that is striving after liberty. Why, Dieu me damne! I am not even allowed to keep my hat on in the theatre. But they ------ these ------s!” “He is right,” said Le Chapelier. “The thing has become unendurable, insufferable. Two days ago M. d’Ambly threatened Mirabeau with his cane before the whole Assembly. Yesterday M. de Faussigny leapt up and harangued his order by inviting murder. ‘Why don’t we fall on these scoundrels, sword in hand?’ he asked. Those were his very words: ‘Why don’t we fall on these scoundrels, sword in hand.’” “It is so much simpler than lawmaking,” said Andre-Louis. “Lagron, the deputy from Ancenis in the Loire, said something that we did not hear in answer. As he was leaving the Manege one of these bullies grossly insulted him. Lagron no more than used his elbow to push past when the fellow cried out that he had been struck, and issued his challenge. They fought this morning early in the Champs Elysees, and Lagron was killed, run through the stomach deliberately by a man who fought like a fencing-master, and poor Lagron did not even own a sword. He had to borrow one to go to the assignation.” Andre-Louis--his mind ever on Vilmorin, whose case was here repeated, even to the details--was swept by a gust of passion. He clenched his hands, and his jaws set. Danton’s little eyes observed him keenly. “Well? And what do you think of that? Noblesse oblige, eh? The thing is we must oblige them too, these ------s. We must pay them back in the same coin; meet them with the same weapons. Abolish them; tumble these assassinateurs into the abyss of nothingness by the same means.” “But how?” “How? Name of God! Haven’t I said it?”