corrupt that source of abnegation and sacrifice? [Westermann is heard muttering outside.]
Madame Duplay. There's the General. He's getting impatient.
Robespierre. Send him in. [Madame Duplay goes out. Robespierre looks into his mirror. In an instant, his face is transformed; becoming hard, immobile, and cold. Westermann enters.]
Westermann. Good God, not a moment too soon! I've been walking up and down outside for the last two hours. It's harder to enter your house than a Vendée city. [Robespierre, his hands behind his back, motionless, face stolid, lips contracted, looks Westermann in the eye. Westermann stops for a moment, then continues.] I thought you didn't want to receive me. Desmoulins told me you wouldn't. I swore you would, if I had to send a cannon-shot through the front-door. [He laughs.] Pardon my military frankness. [Robespierre stands as before. Westermann, ill at ease, tries to appear natural.] Lord, you're well guarded. There's a very pretty girl on guard at the door. She's mending socks. She's hard to deal with—incorruptible, like you! I'd have had to enter over her dead body—! If I were in the enemy's country, that wouldn't have been so bad—[He gives a forced laugh. Robespierre maintains silence, and twists his hands impatiently. Westermann sits down, trying to appear at his ease, while Robespierre stands. Westermann then rises.] There are some idiots who say that I'm your enemy. I don't give a damn what they say. How can I be the enemy
