"He can't have gone far," he said, as he smacked his thick lips.
"The impudent rascal, flaunting such fine clothes—like the aristo that he is."
"Bah! these cursed English! They are aristos all of them! And this one with his followers is no better than a spy!"
"Paid by that damned English Government to murder all our patriots and to rob the guillotine of her just dues."
"They say he had a hand in the escape of the ci-devant Duc de Sermeuse and all his brats from the very tumbril which was taking them to execution."
A cry of loathing and execration followed this statement. There was vigorous shaking of clenched fists and then a groan of baffled rage.
"We almost had him this time. If it had not been for these confounded, ill-lighted streets—"
"I would give something," concluded the shopkeeper, "if we could lay him by the heels."
"What would you give, citizen Dompierre?" queried a woman in the crowd, with a ribald laugh, "one of your roast capons?"
"Aye, little mother," he replied jovially, "and a bottle of my best Burgundy to boot, to drink confusion to that meddlesome Englishman and his crowd and a speedy promenade up the steps of the guillotine."