The uproar was caused by the passing of a man who had the rare privilege of creating noise wherever he walked: it was Mirabeau, who, with a lady on his arm, was visiting the Bastile site.
Another than he would have shrank from the cheers in which were mingled some sullen murmurs; but he was the bird of the storm and he smiled amid the thunderous tempest, while supporting the woman, who shivered under her veil at the simoon of such dreadful popularity.
Pitou jumped upon a chair and waved his cocked hat on the tip of his sword as he shouted:
"Long live Mirabeau!"
Billet let escape no token of feelings either way; he folded his arms on his burly chest and muttered in a hollow voice:
"It is said he betrays the people."
"Pooh, that has been said of all great men, from antiquity down," replied his friend.
In his excitement he only now noticed that a third chair, drawn up to their table, was occupied by a stranger who seemed about to accost them.
To be sure it was a day of fraternity, and familiarity was allowable among fellow-citizens, but Pitou, who had not finished his repast, thought it going too far. The stranger did not apologize but eyed the pair with a jeering manner apparently habitual to him.
Billet was no doubt in no mood to support being "quizzed," as the current word ran, for he turned on the new-comer; but the latter made a sign before he was addressed which drew another from Billet.