"Who is the worthy leader of these patriots?" he exclaimed.
Vértessy recognised in the horseman that mysterious Pole whom the condemned man could not recollect, and by this time he was a trifle suspicious of the fellow himself. After all, he began to think, there might be some coherency in the words of the prisoner, though only an hour ago he had looked upon them as the mere ravings of a lunatic.
"Where is the leader of the people?" cried Kamienszka, urging on the sweating horse towards the nearest open space.
Master Matthias proudly pointed to the warm swelling bosom which lay beneath his leather apron, by way of indicating that he was the man.
With an air of pathetic dignity Kamienszka handed to the worthy patriot the proclamation of Numa Pompilius, in which that worthy confided to the tailors, cobblers, and bakers of the city the honourable task of making, stitching, and baking some thousands of boots, hose, and rolls for headquarters to be delivered immediately.
"What are you doing?" cried the General in French. "At the very first movement I shall scatter these men."
"I am pouring oil upon the waters," replied the young horseman in the same language. "Within an hour every man of them will go home."
Master Matthias seized the document with both hands, pressed his musket betwixt his knees, and read the proclamation attentively from beginning to end.
The impression it made upon him could be imagined from the conduct of his moustache, which gradually lost its martial fierceness, and at last hung meekly down.
"Six thousand pairs of boots—whew!"