Here lay the basis of an argument into which, however, the Captain, being neither politician nor dialectician, was not minded to be drawn. He shrugged his shoulders and turned to his men.
“Present arms!” was the answer he delivered, in a voice of supreme unconcern.
“Citizen-captain, this is an outrage,” screamed a voice in the mob. “If blood is shed, upon your own head be it.”
“Will you withdraw?” inquired the Captain coldly.
“To me, my children,” cried Souvestre, brandishing his sabre, and seeking to encourage his followers. “Down with these traitors who dishonour the uniform of France! Death to the blue-coats!”
He leapt forward towards the military, and with a sudden roar his followers, a full hundred strong sprang after him to the charge.
“Fire!” commanded the Captain, and from the front line of his company fifty sheets of flame flashed from fifty carbines.
The mob paused; for a second it wavered; then before the smoke had lifted it broke, and shrieking in terror, it fled for cover, leaving the valorous Souvestre alone, to revile them for a swarm of cowardly rats.
The Captain put his hands to his sides and laughed till the tears coursed down his cheeks. Checking his mirth at last, he called to Souvestre, who was retreating in disgust and anger.
“Hi! My friend the patriot! Are you still of the same mind or will you withdraw your people?”