“Good-morning, Julie,” replied Madame; “long live the Republic!”
“One and indivisible,” replied Julie, in a solemn voice.
Danton rubbed his eyes, and he could hardly trust his ears. Julie was in the costume of a drummer boy of the First Republic!
“Good-morning, mamma!” sang a voice in the next room.
“Our birdie is awake,” said Madame; and then, in a louder tone, “Good-morning, dearest! Long live the Republic!”
“One and indivisible,” replied Lucille, and then, “Good-morning, papa!”
“Good-morning, chérie!”
“Long live the Republic,” said Lucille, gaily.
For the first time in his life the reply seemed to stick in Danton’s throat; but he got it out, “One and indivisible!” and he coughed as if his coffee had gone against his breath. When he recovered he addressed his wife, who had risen and pulled back the curtains of the balcony. “Pray, Madame, will you be good enough to explain?”
“The explanation is as simple as I hope it will be gratifying,” said Madame, in the tone of a tragedy queen. “The ‘Republic, one and indivisible’ has entered our house and taken possession of it. It has entered my bosom and taken possession of it. It has entered the bosom of Lucille and taken possession of it, and never again shall it be said that the Villa Lucille is divided against itself. Never again shall the scoffer say that the republicanism of Danton Martin stops outside his hall-door. We shall silence him to-day, Danton; we shall silence the scoffer to-day! You have asked that Lucille and I should appear on the balcony when the procession passes. We shall be there—I, as the genius of Liberty and Lucille as a daughter of the Republic. See,” continued Madame, as she moved towards a wardrobe, “here are my helmet, lance, and shield, and I have also pink tights.”