“No! no! only an English spy, a friend of aristocrats... he would have cared nothing for the bread-winners of Boulogne...”
“He would not have raised a finger to save them.”
“Who knows?” sighed a feminine voice, “perhaps he came to Boulogne to help them.”
“And he has been caught anyway,” concluded Auguste Moleux sententiously, “and, my little cabbages, remember this, that so great is the pleasure of the all-powerful Committee of Public Safety at this capture, that because he has been caught in Boulogne, therefore Boulogne is to be specially rewarded!”
“Holy Virgin, who'd have thought it?”
“Sh... Jeanette, dost not know that there's no Holy Virgin now?”
“And dost know, Auguste, how we are to be rewarded?”
It is a difficult matter for the human mind to turn very quickly from despair to hope, and the fishermen of Boulogne had not yet grasped the fact that they were to make merry and that thoughts of anxiety must be abandoned for those of gaiety.
Auguste Moleux took out a parchment from the capacious pocket of his coat; he put on his most solemn air of officialdom, and pointing with extended forefinger to the parchment, he said:
“A general amnesty to all natives of Boulogne who are under arrest at the present moment: a free pardon to all natives of Boulogne who are under sentence of death: permission to all natives of Boulogne to quit the town with their families, to embark on any vessel they please, in or out of the harbour, and to go whithersoever they choose, without passports, formalities or questions of any kind.”