“Well, we depend on thee, mon general,” said Dumas; “and now, since we shall all have need of vigour for to-morrow, go home and sleep soundly.”
“Yes, I forgive thee, Dumas,—I forgive thee. I am not vindictive,—I! but still, if a man threatens me; if a man insults me—” and, with the quick changes of intoxication, again his eyes gleamed fire through their foul tears. With some difficulty Fouquier succeeded at last in soothing the brute, and leading him from the chamber. But still, as some wild beast disappointed of a prey, he growled and snarled as his heavy tread descended the stairs. A tall trooper, mounted, was leading Henriot’s horse to and fro the streets; and as the general waited at the porch till his attendant turned, a stranger stationed by the wall accosted him:
“General Henriot, I have desired to speak with thee. Next to Robespierre, thou art, or shouldst be, the most powerful man in France.”
“Hem!—yes, I ought to be. What then?—every man has not his deserts!”
“Hist!” said the stranger; “thy pay is scarcely suitable to thy rank and thy wants.”
“That is true.”
“Even in a revolution, a man takes care of his fortunes!”
“Diable! speak out, citizen.”
“I have a thousand pieces of gold with me,—they are thine, if thou wilt grant me one small favour.”
“Citizen, I grant it!” said Henriot, waving his hand majestically. “Is it to denounce some rascal who has offended thee?”