She bent forward and dropped her voice, so that every word came from it distinct.
“Listen to me. All these years I have sought and found him not. Now, at last, word comes to me that he is here in Paris, that he is identical with one that insults, through the faction she represents, the woman he has outraged beyond endurance.”
She paused and drew herself up, then raised her hand in a threatening attitude.
“My star brightens! First one, and again one! Out of the past they are drawn—drawn like night birds into a charcoal-burner’s fire, and they shall fall before me and my foot trample their necks!”
She turned and struck her dog roughly on the shoulder.
“Is thy tooth sharp, Lucien? are thy claws like a devil’s rake to rend and to scorch? Courage, my friend! the moment arrives—for you and for me, Lucien, the moment arrives!”
She had fetched drumsticks from her sash, and now brought them down with a little snapping roll and break.
“Forward!” she cried (and she looked back significantly over her shoulder). “The crown of martyrdom to the devotee that would rather wed than make a bastard!”
Again the sticks alighted with a crash and roll.
“C’est nous qu’on ose méditer de rendre à l’antique esclavage!” she sang out shrilly; and all the throaty mob took up the chorus, “Aux armes, citoyens!”