“I have an idea,” replied I, “that, having required some refreshments, she went to some café with Félicién.”
“We require pen, ink, and paper,” said the citizen whom Lanterre had called Robert, “which we will find at the first stationer’s.”
“Would you wish me to go and fetch it for you?” said a red-headed individual, with a strong German accent.
“But,” said a strange voice, “do you think you can spare time to go such a distance? How would it be, in the meantime, if the Queen required your services?”
“The Queen!—the Queen!” demanded the people from all sides, and at the same time fixing their eyes on the man with the red hair.
“Yes. Why, the Citizen Weder is the valet-de-chambre of the Queen, and has come here, probably, to see what was going on, so that he might be enabled to carry it to her Majesty. If I make a mistake, and you are not the Citizen Weder, say what your name is.”
“My name is Chaumette, a medical student, of No. 9, Rue Mazarine. Let every one do as I have done, and make known his name, then we shall be acquainted with who are our friends, and who are our enemies.”
“Yes, yes, let every one say who he is,” said a man of about eight-and-twenty, whose black beard seemed to have added to the sternness of his features. “My name is Brune, a typographical worker; and, if futurity could be seen into,” he might have added, “a future Marshal of France.”
“And if you want a printer for your petition, here am I, Momoro, the printer of liberty!”
“And I, Hébert, journalist, Rue Mirabeau.”