Near at hand he met
the encouraging grin of Le Chapelier, and the quiet, approving smile
of Kersain, another Breton deputy of his acquaintance. A little
farther off he saw the great head of Mirabeau thrown back, the great
eyes regarding him from under a frown in a sort of wonder, and
yonder, among all that moving sea of faces, the sallow countenance
of the Arras' lawyer Robespierre - or de Robespierre, as the little
snob now called himself, having assumed the aristocratic particle
as the prerogative of a man of his distinction in the councils of
his country. With his tip-tilted nose in the air, his carefully
curled head on one side, the deputy for Arras was observing
Andre-Louis attentively. The horn-rimmed spectacles he used for
reading were thrust up on to his pale forehead, and it was through a
levelled spy-glass that he considered the speaker, his thin-lipped
mouth stretched a little in that tiger-cat smile that was afterwards
to become so famous and so feared.
Gradually the uproar wore itself out, and diminished so that at last
the President could make himself heard.
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