A hoarse yell interrupted him, and I saw that something must be done.
"Wait a minute, boys," I cried. "Let me ask Polete a question. You say you have seen the French marching, Polete?"
He nodded sullenly.
"What was the color of their uniforms?"
He hesitated a moment, but saw he must answer.
"Dee was all colors," he said. "Red, blue, green,—all colors."
I saw that my moment of triumph was at hand.
"Now, boys," I cried, holding up my hand so that all might be quiet and hear my words. "You may guess how much value there is in Polete's visions. He says he has seen the French army marching, and he has just told me that their uniforms are all colors,—red, blue, green, and so on. Now, if he has seen the army, he ought to know the color of the uniforms, ought he not?"
"Yes, yes," yelled the mob.
"Well, boys," I continued, "the French wear only one color uniform, and that color is just the one which Polete has not mentioned—white. No Frenchman goes to war except in a white uniform."