“Would you, monsieur, out of patriotism consent to become an assassin?”

“Of course I would.  Haven’t I told you so?  Haven’t I told you that I would gladly go among them with my club, and crack them like so many —­ fleas?”

“Why not, then?”

“Why not?  Because I should get myself hanged.  Haven’t I said so?”

“But what of that — being a patriot?  Why not, like another Curtius, jump into the gulf, since you believe that your country would benefit by your death?”

M. Danton showed signs of exasperation.  “Because my country will benefit more by my life.”

“Permit me, monsieur, to suffer from a similar vanity.”

“You?  But where would be the danger to you?  You would do your work under the cloak of duelling — as they do.”

“Have you reflected, monsieur, that the law will hardly regard a fencing-master who kills his opponent as an ordinary combatant, particularly if it can be shown that the fencing-master himself provoked the attack?”

“So!  Name of a name!” M. Danton blew out his cheeks and delivered himself with withering scorn.  “It comes to this, then:  you are afraid!”

“You may think so if you choose — that I am afraid to do slyly and treacherously that which a thrasonical patriot like yourself is afraid of doing frankly and openly.  I have other reasons.  But that one should suffice you.”

Danton gasped.  Then he swore more amazingly and variedly than ever.

“By —! you are right,” he admitted, to Andre-Louis’ amazement.  “You are right, and I am wrong.  I am as bad a patriot as you are, and I am a coward as well.”  And he invoked the whole Pantheon to witness his self-denunciation.  “Only, you see, I count for something:  and if they take me and hang me, why, there it is!  Monsieur, we must find some other way.  Forgive the intrusion.  Adieu!” He held out his enormous hand..

Le Chapelier stood hesitating, crestfallen.

“You understand, Andre?  I am sorry that... "

“Say no more, please.  Come and see me soon again.  I would press you to remain, but it is striking nine, and the first of my pupils is about to arrive.”

“Nor would I permit it,” said Danton.  “Between us we must resolve the riddle of how to extinguish M. de La Tour d’Azyr and his friends.”

“Who?”

Sharp as a pistol-shot came that question, as Danton was turning away.  The tone of it brought him up short.  He turned again, Le Chapelier with him.

“I said M. de La Tour d’Azyr.”

“What has he to do with the proposal you were making me?”

“He?  Why, he is the phlebotomist in chief.”

And Le Chapelier added.  “It is he who killed Lagron.”

“Not a friend of yours, is he?” wondered Danton.

“And it is La Tour d’Azyr you desire me to kill?” asked Andre-Louis very slowly, after the manner of one whose thoughts are meanwhile pondering the subject.