“We did not come here,” cried Fromaget, “to say Amen to everything the Messieurs Giguet, father and son, may wish—”
“No! no!” cried the assembly.
“Things are going badly,” said Madame Marion to her cook in the garden.
“Messieurs,” resumed Achille, “I confine myself to asking my friend Simon Giguet, categorically, what he expects to do for our interests.”
“Yes! yes!” cried the assembly.
“Since when,” demanded Simon Giguet, “have good citizens like those of Arcis made trade and barter of the sacred mission of deputy?”
It is impossible to represent the effect produced by noble sentiments on a body of men. They will applaud fine maxims, while they none the less vote for the degradation of their country, like the galley-slave who shouted for the punishment of Robert Macaire when he saw the thing played, and then went off and killed his own Monsieur Germeuil.
“Bravo!” cried several true-blood Giguet electors.
“You will send me to the Chamber,” went on Simon, “if you do send me, to represent principles, the principles of 1789; to be one of the ciphers, if you choose, of the Opposition, but a cipher that votes with it to enlighten the government, make war against abuses, and promote progress in all things—”
“What do you call progress?” asked Fromaget. “For us, progress means getting the waste lands of la Champagne under cultivation.”