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“Please!” said Lorin. “What you do with it is up to you.”

“So you were saying?” Maurice said.

“I was saying I’d tell you in a moment. Let’s get rid of these great lumps first. After that, I wouldn’t mind giving you a few other words of advice before I bid you good night.”

“Fine. I’ll be waiting.”

Lorin returned to his National Guards, who were still holding the volunteers at bay. “There now, have you had enough?” he asked.

“Yes, you Girondin dog,” the chief answered.

“You’ve got it all wrong, my friend,” said Lorin, calmly. “We are better sans culottes than you are, for we belong to the Thermopylae club,7 and no one would question their patriotism, I hope. Let the citizens past, they’re not putting up a fight.”

“It remains the case that if this woman is a suspect …”

“If she were a suspect, she would have run away while we were fighting instead of waiting, as you see, for the fight to end.”

“Hmm!” murmured one of the volunteers. “That’s true enough, what he says, this Mister Thermopyle.”

“Anyway, we’ll hear all about it—because while my friend here is taking her to the station, the rest of us will go and drink to the health of the nation.”

“We’re going to go and have a drink?” asked the chief.

“Certainly. I’m as thirsty as anything, and I know a nice little tavern at the corner of the rue Thomas-du-Louvre!”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place, citizen? We’re sorry to have doubted your patriotism; to prove the point, let’s shake hands in the name of the nation and the law.”

“Let’s!” said Lorin.

And the recruits and the National Guards shook one another’s hands heartily. In those days, they were as happy to kiss and make up as they were to cut one another’s heads off.

“Off we go, friends,” cried the two united troops. “To the corner of the rue Thomas-du-Louvre!”

“What about us?” wailed the wounded. “You’re not just going to leave us here, are you?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Lorin. “We are going to leave you, we’re going to abandon you, you brave fellows who have fallen fighting for your country—against your fellow countrymen, it’s true; and by mistake, truer still. But don’t worry—we’ll send stretchers for you. While you’re waiting, why not sing the Marseillaise,8 that’ll keep your mind off things.

Allons, enfants de la Patrie,

Le jour de gloire est arrivé.”

With that parting shot, Lorin walked over to Maurice, who was standing with his mysterious captive at the corner of the rue du Coq, while the National Guards and the recruits headed back arm in arm toward the place du Palais-Egalité.

“Maurice,” he said. “I promised you a bit of advice, so here it is. Come with us—don’t compromise yourself by protecting this citizeness. She seems to me to be a perfectly charming creature, but that doesn’t make her any less suspect. After all, what is a charming woman doing running around the streets of Paris in the middle of the night …?”

“Monsieur,” the woman cut in, “do not judge me by appearances, please.”

“First, you use the word monsieur, which is a big mistake, don’t you know, citizeness? Notice you don’t hear me using old, polite forms of address.”

“All right, citizen; but why not just let your friend finish his kind deed?”

“How do you mean?”

“By taking me home and ensuring my safety until I get there.”

“Maurice! Maurice!” said Lorin. “Think what you are about to do. You are compromising yourself horribly.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” said the young man. “But what can I do? If I abandon the poor woman, she’ll be stopped every step of the way by the patrols.”

“Yes, I will! Whereas, if I’m with you, monsieur … monsieur, I mean citizen, I’ll be saved.”

“You hear that: saved!” said Lorin. “So she’s in mortal danger?”

“My dear Lorin,” said Maurice. “Let’s be reasonable. Either she’s a good patriot or she’s an aristocrat. If she’s an aristocrat, we would turn out to be wrong to protect her; if she’s a good patriot, it’s our duty to see she’s safe.”

“Forgive me, dear friend, and my apologies to Aristotle and all, but your logic is pathetic. You’re like the man who says: