HÉRAULT. Do you sometimes think of death? CAMILLE. Death? No, I don't like to. It's nasty. HÉRAULT. Did you never think how awful it would be? LUCILE. How horrible! Fine things to talk about! HÉRAULT. You are a good, dear, lovable child, and yet you are cruel--like a child. CAMILLE [_excitedly_]. You really think me cruel? LUCILE. See, he's crying this moment! CAMILLE [_deeply stirred_]. True, he suffered. When I think of his agony, his terror, waiting for the end--It must have been atrocious! No matter how vile he was, he suffered like an honest man--perhaps even more. Poor Hebert! LUCILE [_her arms about_ CAMILLE'S _neck_]. My poor Bouli-Boula, you're not going to feel so sorry for a villain who wanted to send you to the guillotine? CAMILLE [_angrily_]. Yes. Now, why are you attacking me this way? _Si quis atra dente me petiverit, inultus ut flebo puer!_ LUCILE [_to_ HÉRAULT]. And you dare say my Camille is cruel! HÉRAULT. I do, of course. Dear fellow! He is perhaps the cruellest of us all. CAMILLE. Don't say that, Hérault; I may end by believing you. LUCILE [_to_ HÉRAULT, _shaking her finger at him_]. Say it's not true: _you_ are the cruellest. HÉRAULT. Well, no, it is not true: _you_ are the cruellest. LUCILE. Very well. I don't mind that. CAMILLE. What you say troubles me, Hérault. It is true, I have done great evil, but I am not bad by nature. I have constituted myself the prosecuting attorney for the lamp-post. I have no idea what damnable impish instinct urges me on. It was due to me that the Girondins are now rotting in the fields. My _Brissot dévoilé_ led to the decapitating of thirty young, lovable, generous men. They clung to life, as I do; they were made in order to enjoy life, and be happy. They, too, had their dear Luciles. Oh, Lucile, let us go away, far from this butchery that is so terrible to others, and perhaps to ourselves! What if we--you--our little Horace--? Oh, why can't I be a stranger once more to all men? Where can I hide myself from the sight of the world, with my wife and child and my books! _Ubi campi Guisiaque!_ PHILIPPEAUX. You're in the cyclone, and you cannot escape. HÉRAULT. Don't force him to remain in a struggle which he was not intended for. PHILIPPEAUX. But as he himself just said, we must do our duty. HÉRAULT [_pointing to_ CAMILLE, _who kisses_ LUCILE]. Look at him: does not Camille's duty seem to be the pursuit of happiness? CAMILLE. True, I have a wonderful vocation for happiness. Some people are made for suffering, but suffering disgusts me: I want none of it. LUCILE. Did I spoil your vocation? CAMILLE. My Vesta, my little one! You are very much to blame! You have made me too happy! LUCILE. Coward! He pities himself. CAMILLE. You see, I have lost all strength, all my faith. LUCILE. How?