'A grand sentiment that,' said another; 'let us drink it!' and they arose and drained their glasses to the toast.
'The Duc de Dampierre, has any one got him down?' asked Guadet.
'I have '--' and I '--' and I,' said several together.
'I demand a reprieve for the Duke,' said another. 'I was at college with him at Nantes, and he is a good fellow, and kind-hearted.'
'Miserable patriot,' said Guadet, laughing, 'that can place his personal sympathies against the interests of the State.'
'_Parbleu!_' cried Laroche, looking over his neighbour's arm. 'Gensonné has got Robespierre's name down!'
'And why not? I detest him. Menard was right when he called him a "_Loup en toilette de bal!_"'
'What a list Menard has here!' said Guadet, holding it up, as he read aloud. 'All who have served the court, or whose families have, for the last three generations--all who employ court tailors, barbers, shoemakers, or armourers----'
'Pray add, all whose names can be traced to baptismal registries, or who are alleged to have been born in wedlock,' said Lescour. 'Let us efface the vile aristocracy effectually!'
'Your sneer is a weak sarcasm,' said Marat savagely. 'Menard is right: it is not man by man, but in platoons, that our vengeance must be executed.'
'I have an uncle and five cousins, whom, from motives of delicacy, I have not denounced. Will any one do me the favour to write the Count de Rochegarde and his sons?'
'I adopt them with pleasure. I wanted a count or two among my barons.'
'I drink to all patriots,' said Marat, draining his glass, and turning a full look on Fitzgerald.
'I accept the toast,' said Gerald, drinking.
'And I too,' cried Louvet, 'though I do not understand it.'
'By patriot, I mean one who adores liberty,' said Marat
'For the liberty to send my enemy to the guillotine, I am ready to fight to-morrow,' said Guadet.
'For whom, let me ask, are we to make ourselves hangmen and headsmen?' cried a pale, sickly youth, whose voice trembled as he spoke. 'The furious populace will not thank you that you have usurped their hunting-grounds. If you run down _their_ game, they will one day turn and rend you!'
'Ah, Brissot, are you there, with your bland notions stolen from Plato!' cried Guadet. 'It is pleasant even to hear your flute-stop in the wild concert of our hoarse voices!'