Hérault [as if in a hurry to have done with everything, goes to Fabre d'Églantine, without waiting for the gendarmes, who take charge of the other prisoners]. Give me your arm, my friend; here at last is an end to your troubles.
Fabre d'Églantine. We shall at least have enjoyed a splendid performance.
Danton. Well, Fabre, here is a play that is more impressive than any you ever wrote—no offense, I hope?
Fabre d'Églantine. You have not read my latest; there are some good things in it. I tremble for fear Collot d'Herbois may destroy the manuscript. He is jealous of me.
Danton. Console yourself, we shall all do there what you did here on earth.
Fabre d'Églantine. What?
Danton. Write poetry.
Hérault. The Convention will be empty tomorrow. I yawn when I think that our survivors will be condemned, on pain of death, not to sleep through the speeches of Robespierre and Saint-Just, of Saint-Just and of Robespierre.
Danton. They will not listen very long. I have dug the grave, and Robespierre will follow me.
Fabre d'Églantine. I should like to have followed the development of the character of some of these little rascals: Barras, Talien, and Fouché. But I must not ask too much. Come, Hérault. [They go out.]
Camille [clinging to his bench, from which the gendarmes pull him]. I won't go! You will kill me in prison. Oh, People, listen to me: it was I who made
