"That was for a parley."
"It was a summons to surrender."
"That makes matters worse. In the town it was supposed to be for a mere parley. When the truth is known, the effect will be still more disagreeable."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed the officer.
"Excuse me a moment. Your messenger was dismissed?"
"He was," replied the officer with impatience.
"And the flag fired upon?"
"Yes," was the answer accompanied by an oath.
"Then, this is what I mean. Your friends within the town are indignant and disheartened because you did not resent this double insult. They cannot explain it to themselves. They reason thus: either the Bastonnais were strong enough to avenge and punish this outrage, or they were not. If they were strong enough, why did they not sweep to the assault? If they were not strong enough, why expose themselves and us to this terrible humiliation? In the first instance, their inaction was cowardice. In the second supposition, their drawing up in line and sending a flag to demand surrender was a painful fanfaronade."
Batoche had warmed up to his old weird manner, as he spoke these words. He did not gesticulate, neither did he elevate his voice, but the light of the camp-fire flickering upon his face revealed an expression of earnestness and conscious strength. Advancing a step or two towards the officer he said in a lower voice: