Danton flung the loaves on the table in the hall, and again hearing the tap of a drum, this time from above, he bounded upstairs and rushed into the bedroom. There was Julie beating the drum, Lucille standing beside her in a white linen costume, sash a little below her knees, and wearing a Phrygian cap. Next her, and towering over her, was majestic Madame. Danton was beside himself. Forgetting that he had no slippers on, he kicked viciously at the drum, as he yelled to Julie to leave the room.
“To your bedroom, mademoiselle,” he cried to Lucille, who was only too glad to slip away. He confronted Madame, “It is time to put an end to this pantomime, Madame.”
“Pantomime! They are quite in earnest in the street, Monsieur. Listen, there is no mistaking the sincerity of that cry. Hear the workmen as they pass, ‘Vive le Drapeau Rouge.’”
“And you have really folded the tricolour!” exclaimed Danton, who, extreme as he was, was not yet prepared to substitute the red flag for the tricolour.
“And why not,” replied Madame; “I think of your ancestors, Danton; of him who dipped his handkerchief in the blood of Monsieur Veto; think of him who——”
“My ancestors be hanged!” cried Danton.
“They richly deserved it, I have no doubt,” replied Madame; “but what would they say at ‘Le Vieux Corsaire’ if they heard you speak in that fashion?”
“But, Madame, you cannot mean to be present in that guise on the balcony?”
“Of course not, this is my robe de nuit. I have not yet put on the tights.”