THE CROWD. The little lady has warmth in her eyes!--Elsewhere, too! A WORKINGMAN. That's all very well, Mademoiselle, but it's not the thing to set yourself against the poor like us, and side with the people who are exploiting us! THE MANIAC. Lord, she's a monopolist! LA CONTAT. What! A monopolist! THE MANIAC. Look at your wig. LA CONTAT. Well? THE MANIAC. All that powder! There's enough flour on the necks of the idle rich to feed the poor of Paris! THE WORKINGMAN [_to_ LA CONTAT]. Never mind him; he's crazy. If you have a good heart, Mademoiselle--and I can see in your eyes that you have--how can you defend the cut-throats who want to destroy us? LA CONTAT. Destroy you, my friend? Who told you that? A STUDENT. Don't you know? Here's the latest letter from the Austrian's man, the Jesuit Marshal, the old assassin, the ass decorated with amulets, relics, and medals: de Broglie! Do you know what he says? CROWD. Read! Read! THE STUDENT. They have conspired. They want to break up our States-General, take away our deputies and throw them into prison, expel our Necker, sell Lorraine to the Emperor for money to pay their soldiers, bombard Paris and kill the inhabitants. The plot is scheduled for tonight. GONCHON. Did you hear that? Isn't that enough, or do you want still more to stir you up? Good God, are we to let them stick us like pigs? God Almighty, to arms! To arms!--Luckily, we have a protector; he's watching over us: Long live Orléans! GONCHON'S FOLLOWERS. Long live Orléans! THE CROWD. To arms! Let's march against them! MARAT [_rising from the Crowd, and standing on a chair. He is a small man, and appears nervous and deeply agitated. He stands tip-toe, and then speaks with all his power_]. Stop! You poor wretches, where are you going? Don't you see that the cut-throats are only waiting for an insurrection in Paris to swoop down upon the city? Don't listen to such perfidious advice. That is only a ruse to destroy you. Yes, you, you who excite the people, you who pretend to be a patriot,--who says you are not an agent of despotism, whose business it is to provoke the good citizens and deliver them into the hands of the hordes of Versailles? Who are you? Where do you come from? Who will guarantee you? _I_ don't know you. GONCHON. Well, I don't know _you._ MARAT. If you don't know me, you are a scoundrel. I am known wherever there is virtue and poverty. I spend my nights taking care of the sick, and my days taking care of the people. My name is Marat. GONCHON. I don't know you.