Un Par Un

            "You can't save the whole world, Robespierre," I said to him roughly as the cab jolted us through the Paris streets.  He turned and looked at me, and in what dim light there was now, past midnight, I could see that he was hurt.

            "I know that, Antoine," he murmured. "But I can still try."

            "It is no use."  I made a derisive noise and turned away from him, staring instead out my window into the darkness.

            "What is?"  Maxime's voice was beginning to get that tightness, that impatience I knew so well.  I hated that-- when his face hardened and his olive green eyes glittered rather than glowed.

            "You know what I mean!" I snapped. "The Republic.  It's finished, and we have failed.  Here we are in a carriage because you’ve exhausted yourself and can’t walk home, and for what purpose?"

            He was quiet a moment, then he grasped my wrist roughly, clenching it so hard, pain shot through my hand.

            "How dare you just give up," he hissed through his teeth, no longer Maxime the dreamer, but instead Robespierre the citizen. "Perhaps you have failed."

            "Have I?" I shot back.  "Just because I'm no longer dazzled by. . . by lies, I've failed France ?"

            "You've failed me."  The words pierced me-- the thought of displeasing him, when his ideals had been the only joy in my life through the long days of stifling heat. . . .

            I jerked my wrist away from him. "Then get rid of me.  Send me to the guillotine."  I held his gaze until his eyes flickered downwards. "That will be one less annoyance for you, and one more thing to put off--"  I broke off suddenly, unable to finish.

            "To put off what?" he said in that low, tight voice.  Strengthened again by anger, I opened my mouth to reply--

            --and then we were thrown forward, almost off the seat, as the carriage jerked to a sudden stop.  I leapt out of the cab and approached the driver angrily, but before I could speak, he nearly fell to the ground with apologies.

            "Please, I beg your pardon, citizen," he sniveled, "but she just jumped in front of the horses--"

            "Quiet!"  I moved past him to see the obstruction.  It proved to be a young girl of perhaps twelve years, lying in the filthy street before the horses.  She lifted her head and looked at me fearfully, then glanced to my side and scrambled to her feet.  Following her gaze, I saw Maxime beside me.

            "Citizen Robespierre!" she gasped hoarsely, falling to her knees before him.

            "Get up, girl," I snapped at her. "Leave him be."

            "Antoine." Maxime’s eyes and voice soft once more, kind to this wretched girl as they had not been to me.

            "Get up," Maxime told the child gently, reaching down to grasp her arms and pull her to her feet.  I watched in disgust as she looked up at him adoringly.

            "Please forgive me, citizen," she said, "but. . . I saw you get in the cab, and I ran through the alleys--"

            "What is it, child?" Maxime asked.

            "I. . . I need help.  And I've read all your speeches-- I even learned to read because I thought it would be good for France , so I could be a good citizen-- and I thought that. . . ."  She trailed off and looked down as if suddenly ashamed.  "I thought that you might help me, since you love the people so."

            "Girl, he does not have time to waste on you," I interruped, too annoyed to keep silent.  Her large eyes looked from me to Maxime, then back.

            "But. . . aren't I the people too?"  Her voice quivered, and for an instant, the words caught me.  She was a perfect picture of repressed France . . . .  But no, nothing was perfect.  Not even the Republic, for if it were, she would not even exist, not anymore.

            "You are indeed," Maxime said to the girl tenderly as he reached out a pale, delicate hand and touched her dirty hair. "How can I help you?"

            "My brother and I-- our parents are dead.  There is no work for him, and we have nothing, no money.  Even if we did, there is so little food, and we're so hungry. . . ."  She looked up again at Maxime with tears in her eyes, and I frowned.  "Please, citizen, couldn't you help my brother find work?  Or at least food--"

            "Oh, child."  Maxime, looking near tears himself, turned to me. "Antoine," he whispered, "give me your earrings."

            "What?"  Reluctantly, I removed the gold hoops and gave them to him, though I felt strangely naked without them.  Maxime turned and placed the jewelry in the girl’s dingy palm.

"There is a house at the end of the next street," Maxime told her.  "Give these to the one who answers the door and say that the Citizen Saint-Just sent you.  You will be taken care of. "

            The girl took my earrings, probably the most valuable things her small hands had ever touched, with wide eyes.  "Merci!  Merci. . . ."  She suddenly grasped his hand and kissed it. "Those people who call you a monster-- I always knew they were wrong."  Then she turned and ran, ducking past a lamppost into the shadow.

            "She'll probably just go sell them."  I glared into the darkness, where I might have seen a slender form passing by the designated house and slipping away into the night.

            "Get back in the carriage, Antoine," Maxime said quietly.  After we were seated and the carriage had begun to move again, he turned to face me once more.

"If you do not have faith in the people, you will not be able to help them.  And this is the way that we must help them . . . one by one."

            "It doesn't matter though, does it?" I replied bitterly.  "I've already failed."

            "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean that."  He grasped my hand and said plaintively, "Mon petit, sometimes I forget, you are the only one who hasn't failed me."

            "Maxime," I said helplessly, feeling all my anger melt away.  "We're going to die."

            "I know.  But we will die together, n'est pas?  We will die trying."

            "Yes," I murmured.  Trying, yes, but for such different things.  I could no longer fight for the dream, for that dirty little girl.  But I could fight for Maxime.  And as he slipped his hand from mine, I realized that even if we had failed, he had at least saved me.