"But that's what I'm saying, Citizen!" Frederic Desgas argued in a hushed
tone. IF anyone overheard the impertinence he was spouting he'd lose his
head for sure. Turning back from the window overlooking the month of May
in Paris, Desgas faced the man he was addressing, his employer. Well the
man was his immediate supervisor at least, Henri Chauvelin, chief agent of
the Committee of Public Safety, the governing body of ma belle La France,
in the year of our lord Seventeen Hundred and Ninety-four. Desgas
continued, his blue eyes meeting the dark ones of Chauvelin. He continued,
"Robespierre could be in very real danger. I mean he killed our national
hero for God's sake! Christ! It puts all of us in line for the chopping
block!"
Chauvelin merely put a finger to his lips and pointed to the door. On the other side sat his secretary. She wouldn't talk, of course, but since she also happened to be the French agent's fiancée he had no desire to alarm her with what he and Desgas were discussing. Or rather what Desgas was on his soapbox about today. Chauvelin indulged the boy because he was smart, and because Desgas owed his whole career to him. He even looked on the boy in a fatherly way, but shooting down nonsense was part of a father's job. And the Frenchman had no problem dispelling this bit of nonsense.
"Frederic," The older man began sitting at his behind his desk and folding his hands. "First of all, we have no control over who Robespierre and The Committee see as a threat. Danton and the others had a trial and were found guilty of treason against the government. As much as it pains me to see Georges Danton under the blade--- there was nothing to do. There is nothing to do now." Chauvelin didn't dare tell him that the matter bothered him as well. The people of France were in an uproar over the execution of Danton. Robespierre, it was said, did it because his former friend was more beloved by the people than Robespierre would ever be. Chauvelin didn't like to dwell on that fact.
Chauvelin merely put a finger to his lips and pointed to the door. On the other side sat his secretary. She wouldn't talk, of course, but since she also happened to be the French agent's fiancée he had no desire to alarm her with what he and Desgas were discussing. Or rather what Desgas was on his soapbox about today. Chauvelin indulged the boy because he was smart, and because Desgas owed his whole career to him. He even looked on the boy in a fatherly way, but shooting down nonsense was part of a father's job. And the Frenchman had no problem dispelling this bit of nonsense.
"Frederic," The older man began sitting at his behind his desk and folding his hands. "First of all, we have no control over who Robespierre and The Committee see as a threat. Danton and the others had a trial and were found guilty of treason against the government. As much as it pains me to see Georges Danton under the blade--- there was nothing to do. There is nothing to do now." Chauvelin didn't dare tell him that the matter bothered him as well. The people of France were in an uproar over the execution of Danton. Robespierre, it was said, did it because his former friend was more beloved by the people than Robespierre would ever be. Chauvelin didn't like to dwell on that fact.