violent excesses perpetrated in its name that the nation will
realise how it is being fooled by a set of men who have only their
own power and their own advancement in view, and who imagine that
the only way to that power is over the dead bodies of those who
stand in their way. Once the nation is sickened by these orgies
of ambition and of hate, it will turn against these savage brutes,
and gladly acclaim the restoration of all that they are striving
to destroy. This is our only hope for the future, and, believe
me, friend, that every head snatched from the guillotine by your
romantic hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel, is a stone laid for the
consolidation of this infamous Republic."

"I'll not believe it," protested St. Just emphatically.

De Batz, with a gesture of contempt indicative also of complete
self-satisfaction and unalterable self-belief, shrugged his broad
shoulders. His short fat fingers, covered with rings, beat a
tattoo upon the ledge of the box.

Obviously, he was ready with a retort. His young friend's
attitude irritated even more than it amused him. But he said
nothing for the moment, waiting while the traditional three knocks
on the floor of the stage proclaimed the rise of the curtain. The
growing impatience of the audience subsided as if by magic at the
welcome call; everybody settled down again comfortably in their
seats, they gave up the contemplation of the fathers of the
people, and turned their full attention to the actors on the
boards.