"I am an officer," said he, "as you can see."
"Officer! In what?"
"In the Civic Guard."
"Well, what of that?" replied one of the troop. "What do we know here of the officers of the Civic Guard?"
"What is that he says?" asked another man, in a drawling and ironical tone peculiar to a man of the people, or rather of the Parisian populace, when beginning to be angry.
"He says," replied the young man, "that if the epaulet cannot command respect for the officer, the sword shall command respect for the epaulet."
At the same time, making a retrograde movement, the unknown defender of the young woman had disengaged his arm from the folds of his mantle, and drawn from beneath it, sparkling by the glimmer of a lamp, a large infantry sabre. Then with a rapid movement which displayed his familiarity with similar scenes of violence, he seized the chief of the Volunteers by the collar of his jacket, and placing the point of the sabre to his throat, "Now," said he, "let us speak like friends."
"But, Citizen," said the chief, endeavoring to free himself.
"I warn you, that at the slightest movement made, either by you or any of your men, I pass my sabre through your body."
During this time two men belonging to the troop retained their hold of the woman.