The first man rejoined:
“No newspaper estimates will be published. Nor will there be any official list of killed, you may depend upon that!”
The shorter man put in, jerking his thumb towards the dusky sky that was smeared in long streaks with the red reflections of the bivouac-fires:
“Unless He up there has kept one!...”
The first man said, throwing down his burnt-out match-end on the muddy pavement:
“Fool! Do you still believe in Him when this Napoleon says He is a friend of his—when the cemeteries are stuffed with corpses, and the beds in the hospitals of St. Louis and of the Val de Grace are full of wounded men and women?” He added: “General Magnan went there in full fig with all his staff to visit them to-day.... It is like the public executioner calling to know how the guillotined are feeling without their heads!...”
The stout man cackled at this; and Dunoisse, perhaps for the sake of lingering a little in the neighborhood of one who found it possible to be merry under the circumstances, paused, and drew out his cigar-case, and said, addressing himself to the mechanic with the pipe:
“Monsieur, have the goodness to oblige me with a light!”
The haggard workman answered, tossing him a grimy matchbox:
“Here, take the last! If it does not strike, your coup d’État is a failure—you must turn out of the Élysée.”