"Sir, as a gentleman, you are at liberty to retain your sword," said I, presenting him with his weapon, which he received with courtly grace.
"And I?" demanded Rouvigny fiercely.
I placed his sabre under my foot, and snapped the blade in pieces.
"Tonnerre de Ciel!" he cried in a voice of fury.
"As for you, sir," said I, "you shall hear from me presently."
It was clear there was no "freemasonry" between M. Rouvigny and his captor.
"Vive le Chevalier Dutriel!" cried a French soldier.
"A bas l'aristocrat—vive le bonnet rouge!" growled another, of the new régime.
"Oh, pray keep your temper, my dear M. de Rouvigny," said Dutriel; "you have, on many a day sorely tried mine—I, a gentleman of old France—you a child of rapine—a mushroom, fostered in the pestilent mire of the republic. A colonel—sacredie!—who found his epaulettes on a barricade or at the foot of a gallows. He is your prisoner, mon camerade—make much of him, for he is a very distinguished man.
Halte la! halte la!
La Garde Royale est la!"