"Virtuous Robespierre, toi qui eclaires l'univers (Thou who enlightenest the world.), I come not to ask a favour, but to render service to the state.I have discovered a correspondence that lays open a conspiracy of which many of the actors are yet unsuspected." And he placed the papers on the table.
Robespierre seized, and ran his eye over them rapidly and eagerly.
"Good!--good!" he muttered to himself: "this is all I wanted.
Barrere, Legendre! I have them! Camille Desmoulins was but their dupe.I loved him once; I never loved them! Citizen Nicot, I thank thee.I observe these letters are addressed to an Englishman.What Frenchman but must distrust these English wolves in sheep's clothing! France wants no longer citizens of the world; that farce ended with Anarcharsis Clootz.I beg pardon, Citizen Nicot; but Clootz and Hebert were THY friends.""Nay," said Nicot, apologetically, "we are all liable to be deceived.I ceased to honour them whom thou didst declare against; for I disown my own senses rather than thy justice.""Yes, I pretend to justice; that IS the virtue I affect," said Robespierre, meekly; and with his feline propensities he enjoyed, even in that critical hour of vast schemes, of imminent danger, of meditated revenge, the pleasure of playing with a solitary victim.(The most detestable anecdote of this peculiar hypocrisy in Robespierre is that in which he is recorded to have tenderly pressed the hand of his old school-friend, Camille Desmoulins, the day that he signed the warrant for his arrest.) "And my justice shall no longer be blind to thy services, good Nicot.