"Come quick, little shepherdess, gather your sheep:
The rain is beginning to fall,
And bring them back safe to the sheepfold again;
Come quick, or you'll lose them all!"
Camille. Lucile, Lucile, how can you sing that song! I never hear it without thinking that the poet who wrote it is now languishing in prison.
Lucile. Fabre? That's so. Our poor Églantine. They shut him up in the Luxembourg, sick as he was! Oh, well, he'll come out.
Hérault. Pur troppo!
Lucile. Now what does that mean? Something naughty, I know.
Philippeaux. Something sad, and only too true.
Lucile. Hush, you gloomy men! Fabre will be released, I tell you. Are we not here to help him?
Hérault. Danton himself could do nothing to save him.
Lucile. Danton, perhaps. But when Camille takes his pen in hand, and writes all he thinks, you'll see the jail gates open of their own accord!
Hérault. For whom?
Lucile. For the tyrants!
Hérault. Imprudent shepherdess, you had better keep an eye on your sheep! "Bring them back safe to the sheepfold again!" Remember your song. [A servant enters and takes the baby from Lucile; then carries him out. Lucile whispers to her, leaves the room, and returns a moment later. During the entire scene she walks about, busied with various domestic
