ACT I
[The home of Camille Desmoulins. A middle-class sitting-room, furnished in every style, and presenting a fantastic appearance. The walls are hung with licentious engravings of the 18th century. Over the fire-place is the bust of an ancient philosopher. On the table is a small model of the Bastille. A cradle stands in the corner. A window is open. Outside may be seen the gray sky and the rain. Camille and Lucile, who holds her child in her arms, look out the window. Philippeaux strides back and forth, glancing out of the window occasionally. Hérault de Séchelles, seated in an arm-chair by the fire, looks at his friends. The joyous shouting of the crowd is heard outside.]
Lucile [leaning out]. There they are! There they are! They're passing at the end of the street!
Camille [shouting]. Good luck to you, Père Duchesne! Don't forget your pipe!
Hérault [softly]. Camille, my friend, don't show yourself.
Camille. Come and see our old friends, Hérault! Ronsin, the general of the clubs; and Vincent, who wanted your head, Philippeaux; and Hébert, the bully, who had supper every evening at my expense; and the
137
