Dutocq. “Not a soul will stand by Rabourdin; the clerks will go in a body and complain of him to the minister,—not only in our division, but in all the divisions—”
Bixiou. “Forward, march! infantry, cavalry, artillery, and marines of the guard! You rave, my good fellow! And I, what part am I to take in the business?”
Dutocq. “You are to make a cutting caricature,—sharp enough to kill a man.”
Bixiou. “How much will you pay for it?”
Dutocq. “A hundred francs.”
Bixiou [to himself]. “Then there is something in it.”
Dutocq [continuing]. “You must represent Rabourdin dressed as a butcher (make it a good likeness), find analogies between a kitchen and a bureau, put a skewer in his hand, draw portraits of the principal clerks and stick their heads on fowls, put them in a monstrous coop labelled ‘Civil Service executions’; make him cutting the throat of one, and supposed to take the others in turn. You can have geese and ducks with heads like ours,—you understand! Baudoyer, for instance, he’ll make an excellent turkey-buzzard.”
Bixiou. “Ris d’aboyeur d’oie!” [He has watched Dutocq carefully for some time.] “Did you think of that yourself?”
Dutocq. “Yes, I myself.”
Bixiou [to himself]. “Do evil feelings bring men to the same result as talents?” [Aloud] “Well, I’ll do it” [Dutocq makes a motion of delight] “—when” [full stop] “—I know where I am and what I can rely on. If you don’t succeed I shall lose my place, and I must make a living. You are a curious kind of innocent still, my dear colleague.”