“Stay at home, why?  I am perfectly well.”

“We think it would be more prudent.”

“On the contrary, it would do me good to go out for a little while.”

“You don’t know what might happen.”

“As to that one never knows; it will be time enough to worry when it comes.”

“To be perfectly frank then, you are in danger; the feeling has been worked up against you for a long time, till now you are so hated that people’s eyes almost start out of their heads at the sound of your name;—­idiots! they know nothing about you but what they see in the papers; but their leaders want a row, they have been so stupid that your articles have had much more publicity than they intended; they are afraid that your ideas will spread, and they want to make an example of you that will discourage anyone who might be disposed to follow you.”

“If that is true,” said Clerambault, “and I really have followers,—­something I did not know before,—­this is not the moment to keep out of the way; if they want to make an example of me, I cannot balk them.”  This was said in so pleasant a way, that they asked themselves if he really understood.

“You are taking a terrible risk,” persisted Gillot.

“Well, my friend, everyone has to take risks nowadays.”

“It ought, at least, to be of some use,—­why play into their hands?  There is no need to throw yourself into the jaws of the wolves.”

“It seems to me on the contrary, that it might be very useful,” said Clerambault, “and that the wolf would find himself in the wrong box after all; let me explain to you.  This will spread our ideas, for violence always consecrates the persecuted cause.  They want to intimidate, and so they will.  Everyone will be frightened—­their own side, all the hesitaters, and timorous folk.  Let them be unjust, it will rebound on their own heads.”  He seemed to forget that it might also fall on his.

They saw that he had made up his mind, and felt an increased respect for him, but they also felt much more anxious, and this led them to say: 

“If that is the case, we will get all our friends together, and go with you.”

“No, no, what a ridiculous idea!... nothing will happen after all.”  Seeing that their remonstrances were useless, Moreau made a last attempt:  “You can’t keep me from coming with you,” said he.  “I am an obstinate man myself, you can’t get rid of me; I will wait for you, if I have to sit on that bench outside your door all night!”

“Go and spend the night in your bed, my dear fellow,” said Clerambault, “and sleep soundly.  Come with me in the morning if you like, but it will be time lost; nothing is going to happen;—­but kiss me, all the same!” After an affectionate hug, they went towards the door, when Gillot paused a moment:  “We must look after you a little, you know,” said he, “we feel as if you were a sort of father to us.”