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This alarming incident Élodie now recounted in trembling accents, concluding: "We are quiet now, but the alarm was a hot one. A little more and my father would have been clapped in prison. If the danger had lasted a few hours more, I should have come to you, Évariste, to make interest for him among your influential friends."
In the days that followed Évariste had to give judgment one after the other on a ci-devant convicted of having destroyed wheat-stuffs in order to starve the people, three émigrés who had returned to foment civil war in France, two ladies of pleasure of the Palais-Égalité, fourteen Breton conspirators, men, women, old men, youths, masters, and servants. The crime was proven, the law explicit.
"Ah!" she sighed, "why did I not know you, Évariste, in the days when I was alone and forsaken?" Gamelin had taken her request quite literally when Élodie asked him to be her judge. Primed at once by nature and the education of books for the exercise of domestic justice, he sat ready to receive Élodie's admissions. As she still hesitated, he motioned to her to proceed.
His ear, soothed by the grave and cadenced numbers of the Latin Muse, was deaf to the women's scolding about the monstrous prices of bread and sugar and coffee, candles and soap. In this calm and unruffled mood he reached the threshold of the bakehouse. Behind him, Évariste Gamelin could see over his head the gilt cornsheaf surmounting the iron grating that filled the fanlight over the door.
They had no choice save between victory and death. Hence both their fervour and their serenity. Quitting the Barnabites, Évariste Gamelin set off in the direction of the Place Dauphine, now renamed the Place de Thionville in honour of a city that had shown itself impregnable.
Évariste Gamelin, painter, pupil of David, member of the Section du Pont-Neuf, formerly Section Henri IV, had betaken himself at an early hour in the morning to the old church of the Barnabites, which for three years, since 21st May 1790, had served as meeting-place for the General Assembly of the Section.
"He told Evariste to bring every letter that came to the house, no matter to whom addressed, into his study, and hand them to him; saying that, if this order was disobeyed, he should be instantly discharged." "At what time was this order given?" asked M. Verduret. "Yesterday afternoon." "That is what I was afraid of," cried M. Verduret.
Come and sit beside her and let her soothe your angry spirit." He looked at her; never had she seemed so desirable in his eyes; never had her voice sounded so seductive, so persuasive in his ears. "A couple of paces, only a couple of paces, dear Évariste!" and she drew him towards the raised platform on which stood the pedestal of the overthrown statue.
I shall soon have lived a century. Look at this brow! Is it a lover's? Love!..." "Évariste, you are mine, I will not let you go; I will not give you back your freedom." She was speaking in the language of sacrifice. He felt it; she felt it herself.
In this room, and about this miniature round table, used sometimes to sit with Père Jerome two friends to whom he was deeply attached one, Evariste Varrillat, a playmate from early childhood, now his brother in-law; the other, Jean Thompson, a companion from youngest manhood, and both, like the little priest himself, the regretful rememberers of a fourth comrade who was a comrade no more.
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