“Why do you talk such nonsense?” he exclaimed. “You know very well there is no truth in it.”
“What, not true? Do you mean to say it is not true that we are betrayed? Ah, come, my aristocratic friend, perhaps you are one of them, perhaps you belong to the d—d band of dirty traitors?” He came forward threateningly. “If you are you have only to say so, my fine gentleman, for we will attend to your case right here, and won’t wait for your friend Bismarck, either.”
The others were also beginning to growl and show their teeth, and Jean thought it time that he should interfere.
“Silence there! I will report the first man who says another word!”
But Chouteau sneered and jeered at him; what did he care whether he reported him or not! He was not going to fight unless he chose, and they need not try to ride him rough-shod, because he had cartridges in his box for other people beside the Prussians. They were going into action now, and what discipline had been maintained by fear would be at an end: what could they do to him, anyway? he would just skip as soon as he thought he had enough of it. And he was profane and obscene, egging the men on against the corporal, who had been allowing them to starve. Yes, it was his fault that the squad had had nothing to eat in the last three days, while their neighbors had soup and fresh meat in plenty, but “monsieur” had to go off to town with the “aristo” and enjoy himself with the girls. People had spotted ’em, over in Sedan.
“You stole the money belonging to the squad; deny it if you dare, you bougre of a belly-god!”
Things were beginning to assume an ugly complexion; Lapoulle was doubling his big fists in a way that looked like business, and Pache, with the pangs of hunger gnawing at his vitals, laid aside his natural douceness and insisted on an explanation. The only reasonable one among them was Loubet, who gave one of his pawky laughs and suggested that, being Frenchmen, they might as well dine off the Prussians as eat one another. For his part, he took no stock in fighting, either with fists or firearms, and alluding to the few hundred francs that he had earned as substitute, added:
“And so, that was all they thought my hide was worth! Well, I am not going to give them more than their money’s worth.”
Maurice and Jean were in a towering rage at the idotic onslaught, talking loudly and repelling Chouteau’s insinuations, when out from the fog came a stentorian voice, bellowing:
“What’s this? what’s this? Show me the rascals who dare quarrel in the company street!”