footing with the decided Patriot; and undecided Patriot, though
never so respectable, being mere hypothetic froth and no footing?--The
dilemma presses sore; and between the horns of it you wriggle round and
round. Decision is nowhere, save in the Mother Society and her Sons.
These have decided, and go forward: the others wriggle round uneasily
within their dilemma-horns, and make way nowhither.

Chapter 3.2.V.

Stretching of Formulas.

But how this Question of the Trial grew laboriously, through the weeks
of gestation, now that it has been articulated or conceived, were
superfluous to trace here. It emerged and submerged among the infinite
of questions and embroilments. The Veto of Scoundrels writes plaintive
Letters as to Anarchy; 'concealed Royalists,' aided by Hunger, produce
Riots about Grain. Alas, it is but a week ago, these Girondins made a
new fierce onslaught on the September Massacres!

For, one day, among the last of October, Robespierre, being summoned to
the tribune by some new hint of that old calumny of the Dictatorship,
was speaking and pleading there, with more and more comfort to himself;
till, rising high in heart, he cried out valiantly: Is there any man
here that dare specifically accuse me? "Moi!" exclaimed one. Pause of
deep silence: a lean angry little Figure, with broad bald brow, strode
swiftly towards the tribune, taking papers from its pocket: "I accuse
thee, Robespierre,"--I, Jean Baptiste Louvet! The Seagreen became
tallow-green; shrinking to a corner of the tribune: Danton cried,
"Speak, Robespierre, there are many good citizens that listen;" but the
tongue refused its office. And so Louvet, with a shrill tone, read and
recited crime after crime: dictatorial temper, exclusive popularity,
bullying at elections, mob-retinue, September Massacres;--till all the
Convention shrieked again, and had almost indicted the Incorruptible
there on the spot. Never did the Incorruptible run such a risk. Louvet,
to his dying day, will regret that the Gironde did not take a bolder
attitude, and extinguish him there and then.

Not so, however: the Incorruptible, about to be indicted in this sudden
manner, could not be refused a week of delay. That week, he is not idle;
nor is the Mother Society idle,--fierce-tremulous for her chosen son.
He is ready at the day with his written Speech; smooth as a Jesuit
Doctor's; and convinces some. And now? Why, now lazy Vergniaud does not
rise with Demosthenic thu