Crépin walked up to the bully very coolly. M. le Représentant had plenty of courage in the ordinary affairs of life.
“Do I know who you are?” he said. “Why, I take you for one of those curs that are whipt on to do the dirty work of the people’s ministers. And do you know who I am, citizen spy? I hold my commission direct from the Committee of Safety, with full authority of sequestration and requisition, and no tittle of responsibility to your masters at La Réole. If you interfere with the processes of my office, I shall have something additional to say in my report to the chiefs of my department, whom your highness may recognise by the names of Billaud-Varennes and Collot-d’Herbois. If you insult me personally, I shall thrash you with a dog-whip.”
The creature was but a huge wind-bag. I never saw one collapse so suddenly. Crépin, it is true, had some fearful names to conjure by.
“M. le Représentant,” said the former, in a fallen, flabby voice, “I have no desire to oppose or embarrass you. We need not clash if I am circumspect. For the rest, accept my apologies for the heat I was betrayed into through inadvertence. We have to be so careful with strangers.”
He bowed clumsily. His neck was choked with a great cravat; a huge sabre clanked on the floor beside him as he moved. He was a very ugly piece of goods, and he bore his humiliation with secret fury, I could perceive—the more so as the aubergiste brought in the first of the dishes during the height of the dispute.
Crépin permitted himself to be something mollified by the sight of supper. He complimented the girl on her promptitude. The poor creature may have been no heroine, but she was a seductive cook. We had potage, most excellent, an entrée of chestnut-meal ramequins, roasted kid stuffed with truffes de Périgord and served with sweet wine-sauce. Also a magnificent brand of Bergerac was in evidence.
Under the influence of these generous things our table-fellow’s insolence a little revived; but now he would rally me as the safer butt.
“The citizen is dainty with his food.” (The fellow himself had lapped and sucked like a pig.)
“I owe it to the cook,” said I, serenely.
“A debt of love. Thou shalt pay it her presently when the lights are out.”