Rafael Sabatini - The Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini

“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?”

“That is where we require your help,” Le Chapelier put in. “There must be men of patriotic feeling among the more advanced of your pupils. M. Danton’s idea is that a little band of these — say a half-dozen, with yourself at their head — might read these bullies a sharp lesson.”

Andre–Louis frowned.

“And how, precisely, had M. Danton thought that this might be done?”

M. Danton spoke for himself, vehemently.

“Why, thus: We post you in the Manege, at the hour when the Assembly is rising. We point out the six leading phlebotomists, and let you loose to insult them before they have time to insult any of the representatives. Then to-morrow morning, six ——— phlebotomists themselves phlebotomized secundum artem. That will give the others something to think about. It will give them a great deal to think about, by ——! If necessary the dose may be repeated to ensure a cure. If you kill the ———— s, so much the better.”

He paused, his sallow face flushed with the enthusiasm of his idea. Andre–Louis stared at him inscrutably.

“Well, what do you say to that?”

“That it is most ingenious.” And Andre–Louis turned aside to look out of the window.

“And is that all you think of it?”

“I will not tell you what else I think of it because you probably would not understand. For you, M. Danton, there is at least this excuse that you did not know me. But you, Isaac — to bring this gentleman here with such a proposal!”

Le Chapelier was overwhelmed in confusion. “I confess I hesitated,” he apologized. “But M. Danton would not take my word for it that the proposal might not be to your taste.”

“I would not!” Danton broke in, bellowing. He swung upon Le Chapelier, brandishing his great arms. “You told me monsieur was a patriot. Patriotism knows no scruples. You call this mincing dancing-master a patriot?”

“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.

“That’s it,” said Danton. “And not a job for a prentice hand, I can assure you.”

“Ah, but this alters things,” said Andre–Louis, thinking aloud. “It offers a great temptation.”

“Why, then . . .?” The Colossus took a step towards him again.

“Wait!” He put up his hand. Then with chin sunk on his breast, he paced away to the window, musing.

Le Chapelier and Danton exchanged glances, then watched him, waiting, what time he considered.

At first he almost wondered why he should not of his own accord have decided upon some such course as this to settle that long-standing account of M. de La Tour d’Azyr. What was the use of this great skill in fence that he had come to acquire, unless he could turn it to account to avenge Vilmorin, and to make Aline safe from the lure of her own ambition? It would be an easy thing to seek out La Tour d’Azyr, put a mortal affront upon him, and thus bring him to the point. To-day this would be murder, murder as treacherous as that which La Tour d’Azyr had done upon Philippe de Vilmorin; for to-day the old positions were reversed, and it was Andre–Louis who might go to such an assignation without a doubt of the issue. It was a moral obstacle of which he made short work. But there remained the legal obstacle he had expounded to Danton. There was still a law in France; the same law which he had found it impossible to move against La Tour d’Azyr, but which would move briskly enough against himself in like case. And then, suddenly, as if by inspiration, he saw the way — a way which if adopted would probably bring La Tour d’Azyr to a poetic justice, bring him, insolent, confident, to thrust himself upon Andre–Louis’ sword, with all the odium of provocation on his own side.

He turned to them again, and they saw that he was very pale, that his great dark eyes glowed oddly.

“There will probably be some difficulty in finding a suppleant for this poor Lagron,” he said. “Our fellow-countrymen will be none so eager to offer themselves to the swords of Privilege.”

“True enough,” said Le Chapelier gloomily; and then, as if suddenly leaping to the thing in Andre–Louis’ mind: “Andre!” he cried. “Would you . . . ”

“It is what I was considering. It would give me a legitimate place in the Assembly. If your Tour d’Azyrs choose to seek me out then, why, their blood be upon their own heads. I shall certainly do nothing to discourage them.” He smiled curiously. “I am just a rascal who tries to be honest — Scaramouche always, in fact; a creature of sophistries. Do you think that Ancenis would have me for its representative?”