And presently she came, a pretty woman, as Brutus had declared, very fair, and with the innocent eyes of a baby. She was small of stature, and by the egregious height of her plume-crowned head-dress it would seem as if she sought by art to add to the inches she had received from Nature. For the rest she wore a pink petticoat, very extravagantly beflounced, and a pink corsage cut extravagantly low.
In one hand she carried a fan - hardly as a weapon against heat, seeing that the winter was not yet out - in the other a huge bunch of early roses.
"Te voile!" was her greeting, merrily - roguishly - delivered, and if the Revolution had done nothing else for her, it had, at least, enabled her to address La Boulaye by the "Thou" of intimacy which the new vocabulary prescribed.
La Boulaye rose, laid aside his pen, and politely, if coolly, returned her greeting and set a chair for her.
"You are," said he, "a very harbinger of Spring, Citoyenne, with your flowers and your ravishing toilette."
"Ah! I please you, then, for once," said she without the least embarrassment. "Tell me - how do you find me?" And, laughing, she turned about that he might admire her from all points of view.
He looked at her gravely for a moment, so gravely that the laughter began to fade from her eyes.
"I find you charming, Citoyenne," he answered at last. "You remind me of Diana."
"Compliments?" quoth she, her eyebrows going up and her eyes beaming with surprise and delight. "Compliments from La Boulaye! But surely it is the end of the world. Tell me, mon ami," she begged, greedily angling for more, "in what do I remind you of the sylvan goddess?"
"In the scantiness of your raiment, Citoyenne," he answered acidly.
"It sorts better with Arcadia than with Paris."
Her eyebrows came down, her cheeks flushed with resentment and discomfiture. To cover this she flung her roses among the papers of his writing-table, and dropping into a chair she fanned herself vigorously.
"Citoyenne, you relieve my anxieties," said he. "I feared that you stood in danger of freezing."
"To freeze is no more than one might expect in your company," she answered, stifling her anger.
He made no reply. He moved to the window, and stood drumming absently on the panes. He was inured to these invasions on the part of Cecile Deshaix and to the bold, unwomanly advances that repelled him. To-day his patience with her was even shorter than its wont, haply because when his official had announced a woman he had for a moment permitted himself to think that it might be Suzanne. The silence grew awkward, and at last he broke it.
"The Citizen Robespierre is well?" he asked, without turning.
"Yes," said she, and for all that there was chagrin to spare in the glance with which she admired the back of his straight and shapely figure, she contrived to render her voice airily indifferent.
"We were at the play last night."
"Ah!" he murmured politely. "And was Talma in veine?"
"More brilliant than ever," answered she.
"He is a great actor, Citoyenne."
A shade of annoyance crossed her face.
"Why do you always address me as Citoyenne?" she asked, with some testiness.
He turned at last and looked at her a moment.
"We live in a censorious world, Citoyenne," he answered gravely.
She tossed her head with an exclamation of impatience.
"We live in a free world, Citizen. Freedom is our motto. Is it for nothing that we are Republicans?"
"Freedom of action begets freedom of words," said he, "and freedom of words leads to freedom of criticism - and that is a thing to which no wise woman will expose herself, no matter under what regime we live. You would be well-advised, Citoyenne, in thinking of that when you come here."
"But you never come to us, Caron," she returned, in a voice of mild complaint. "You have not been once to Duplay's since your return from Belgium. And you seem different, too, since your journey to the army." She rose now and approached him. "What is it, cher Caron?" she asked, her voice a very caress of seductiveness, her eyes looking up into his. "Is something troubling you?"
"Troubling me?" he echoed, musingly. "No. But then I am a busy man, Citoyenne."
