“Are you mad Westerman,” said he; “do you wish to fight here in the Mayor’s house? I tell you, you were wrong, in taunting him as you did; sit quiet till I make peace between you.”
“Taunting him! now, by Heaven, that is good. I will leave it to Barrère to say who first taunted the other. Nonsense, Santerre, leave hold of me I say: you do not think I am going to murder the man, do you?”
General Chouardin also got up and put himself between the two armed men. “Put up your sword, Bourbotte,” whispered he, leading him off to the further window of the room; “you are no match for him here: if Barrère chooses he will have you recalled to Paris, and your neck will then not be worth a month’s purchase.”
“Gentlemen,” said Barrère, “this will never do. You can neither of you serve the nation well if you persist in quarrelling between yourselves. General Bourbotte, you should apologize to our friend Westerman for the insult which you offered to his countrymen.”
“My country is the country of my adoption,” said Westerman. “I ceased to be a German when I took up the arms of France; but my soldiers are my children, and an insult to them is an injury to myself.”
“If your anger can wait till the revolt in La Vendée has been quelled,” said Chouardin, “my friend Bourbotte will be ready enough to satisfy your wishes as a citizen. Barrère truly says, this is no time for private quarrels.”
“So be it,” said Westerman. “Let General Bourbotte remember that he owes me an apology or redress.”
“You shall have any redress, which any arms you may be pleased to name can give you,” said Bourbotte.
“By my honour then, you are two fools,” said Santerre; “two egregious fools, if you cannot at once forget the angry words which you each have used. Have your own way, however, so long as you do not fight here.”
As the brewer was yet speaking, a servant knocked at the door, and said that a young man wished to say a few words to citizen Santerre on especial business, and on the service of the Republic.