"How do I know!" and fat Butin wrung his hands. "The streets are full of them, leaping, and howling, and shouting like devils. Does the Citizen suppose I stayed to count them?—I, the father of a family!"
The Citizen supposed nothing so unlikely; in fact, his questions asked, he was not thinking of Butin at all. His brain was working quickly, clearly. Already he saw his course marked out, and, as a consequence, he assumed that command of the situation which is always ceded to the man who sees his way before him whilst his fellows walk befogged.
He sat at the table and wrote two notes, despatching one to the President of the Legislative Council and the other to the General Council of the Commune.
Then he announced their contents, speaking briefly and with complete assurance.
"I have written asking for six members of the Assembly and six of the Council, popular men who will assist us to control the mob. We shall, of course, defend the prisoners with our lives if necessary, but there must be no fighting unless as a last recourse. Where is the captain of the Guard?"
The officer came forward, saluting.
"You have—how many men?"
"Four hundred, Citizen."
"You can answer for them—their discipline, their nerve?"
"With my life!"