“I have told M. Santerre—” said Denot. “Citizen Santerre, if you please,” said Barrère; “or General Santerre, if you like it better. Monsieur and Monseigneur are a little out of fashion just at present on this side of the Loire.”
“As they soon also shall be on the other,” said Westerman.
“Well, I have told him,” and Denot pointed to Santerre, “what it is I propose to do for you, and the terms on which I will do it.”
“Terms indeed!” said Barrère. “The Republic is not accustomed to make terms with her servants. Come, tell us at once: are you a republican?”
Denot hesitated; not that he was ashamed to own himself a republican, but his blood was boiling with passion at the language and tone in which he was addressed, and yet he did not dare to shew his anger.
“Of course he is a republican,” said Santerre, “or why would he come here? Take a glass of wine, friend Denot, and pluck up your courage,” and Santerre passed the wine-bottle to him. “If you are true to us, you need not fear us.”
“He must pronounce himself a republican,” said Barrère, “or we cannot deal with him. Come, young man, can you put your mouth to so much inconvenience as to give us some slight inkling of your present political principles? All we know of you as yet is, that three weeks since you were a pestilent royalist, and a leader of royalists.”
“I am a republican,” said Denot.
“The Republic is made happy by your adhesion,” said Barrère, bowing to him with mock solemnity across the table.
“What surety do you mean to offer us, citizen Denot,” said Westerman, “that you are acting with us in good faith?”