“You do not know them, monsieur,” he said. “They have patience enough. But it is not a siege they are planning—it is an assault—I am sure of it.”
“Well, let them plan,” retorted his master. “Let them assault. Much good will it do them!”
“No doubt,” said Pasdeloup quietly, “the governor of the Bastille uttered the same words when he looked down at the unarmed mob of Paris from the battlement of his prison.”
“You are right, my friend,” agreed M. le Comte gently. “He did not understand the power of the people. But I, who have been in La Vendée, should know better. You think we are in danger, then?”
“Beyond question,” answered Pasdeloup. “And I am glad that it is so—that there will be no siege. Since there is no succor for us anywhere, we must in the end either starve or surrender. For myself I prefer a short, sharp fight, with death at the end of it.”
“And I,” I said.
“For myself I can say the same,” agreed M. le Comte. “But for the women!” and he glanced toward where they stood, sheltered by the parapet.
“For the women,” said Pasdeloup grimly, “the last bullets must be saved.”
“There is nothing, then, but to remain here and be murdered?” demanded his master. “You believe that, Pasdeloup?”
“Not in the least, monsieur,” answered the other cheerfully. “We shall first make every effort to escape.”