“But that ought to satisfy the people.”
“It falls so short of that, that the people are doing justice on their own account and killing their enemies.”
“Their enemies? who are their enemies?” cried the girl astonished.
“The aristocrats, of course,” answered the other.
“Whom do you call aristocrat?” she asked, turning paler.
“Why, naturally, they that have grand houses, and big properties, and starve the nation—those that have everything while we have nothing; that travel on fine horses or in bright coaches while we jog on foot.”
“Heavens,” exclaimed the girl, so white as to be corpselike.
“I can name some aristo’s of our acquaintance,” continued he, noticing the emotion. “Lord Berthier Sauvigny, for instance, who gave you those gold earrings you wore on the day you danced with Master Isidore. Well, I have seen men eat the heart of him!”
A terrible cry burst from all breasts and Catherine fell back in the chair she had taken.
“Did you see that?” faltered Mother Billet, quivering with horror.