"I am going to know him. I was told that the first person I addressed on Bastile Square would take me to him: you are on the spot, lead me to him."
"What do you want of him?"
"To hand him this paper from Surgeon Marat, whom I have just left at the City Hall, whence he was marching to the Invalides to get muskets for his twenty thousand men."
"In this case, hand over the paper. I am Gonchon. Friends," added the vagabond as Billet drew back a step, "here is a chap who does not know me and asks if I am really Gonchon."
The mass burst into laughter; it seemed impossible that their favorite should not be known to all.
"Long life to Gonchon!" was the shout.
"There you are," said Billet, passing the paper to him.
"Mates," said the popular leader, having read, and slapping the bearer on the shoulder, "this is a brother, whom Marat recommends. So you may rely on him. What is your name, Pal?"
"My name is Ax—do you see? between us I hope we shall cut something!"