“Ah! But you are right. The People see you—it is a power!”
“It is,” acquiesced Morot fervently.
How he hated this man!
“And you stayed to the last?” inquired Lerac. He was rather white about the lips for a brave man.
“Till the last,” echoed Morot, taking up some letters addressed to him which lay on the table.
“And the street was quite clear before they broke through the barrier?”
“Quite—the People did not wait.” He seemed to resign himself to conversation, for he put the letters into his pocket and sat down. “Had you,” he inquired, “any difficulty in getting them away?”
“Oh no,” somewhat loftily and quite unsuspicious of irony. “The passages were narrow, of course; but we had allowed for that in our organisation. Organisation and the People, see you—”
“Yes,” replied Morot. “Organisation and the People.” Like Lerac, he stopped short, apparently lost in the contemplation of the vast possibilities presented to his mental vision by the mere thought of such a combination.
“Well!” exclaimed the butcher energetically, “I must move on. I have meetings. I merely wished to hear from you that all was right—that no one was caught.”