“That,” he said, “for the blow you gave me and for your boldness, you shameless creature, toward this man.”
Jean raised his foot and gave Egmont a kick which knocked him off the tail-board and sent him spinning to the street. He got up and dusted his clothes, and, smiling, climbed back into the cart.
“Wait,” he said, “see who wins the game of life and death. As for you, Diane, you shall pay for the kick as well as the slap.”
“Really, my dear Marquis of the Holy Angels,” said François in his musical drawl, “you make me ashamed of our class. These people are very humble, but their manners are better than yours.”
Egmont laughed, and his eyes, filled with the savage joy of a murderer who can murder in safety, were fixed with amused contempt on François.
The noise in the streets grew deafening. The cordon was being tightened every moment around the Communards. They were being driven in from every quarter, and a great mass of drunken, shrieking, howling, laughing, singing men and women choked the streets.
When the cart reached the prison of the Mazas, the way was blocked by a crowd surrounding a group of drunken women dancing, and shrieking as they danced. As Egmont and his three prisoners got out of the cart, Egmont said to Diane:
“Come now, tuck up your skirts and dance like those ladies.”
“No, I thank you,” sweetly responded Diane, “I am not a dancer, but a singer, and I am not in good voice to-night.”
“Then follow me,” said Egmont.