BÉQUART [standing upright]. There! [Looking at the People.] Pigs! [He raises his arms and shouts.] Long live the Nation! [He falls back, struck by a bullet.]
DE LAUNEY. Pigs! They've killed him! [Two of them go to BÉQUART'S body, and bring it down to the center of the stage, laying it at VINTIMILLE'S feet.]
VINTIMILLE [looking at the body with a mixture of irony and sympathy]. Honor? To what end?
DE LAUNEY. Listen! [Outside is heard the shout of the People accepting the conditions, and the Pensioners repeat:] Accepted!
VINTIMILLE [with indifference]. Inform Monsieur le Gouverneur.
DE LAUNEY. Monseigneur, he's gone crazy: he's broken all the furniture in his room. He cries like a baby.
VINTIMILLE [with a shrug]. Well, I shall take his place to the end. [To himself, with a touch of ironic bitterness.] I never thought I should one day have the honor of giving up the royalty of France with these four-century-old walls into the hands of the lawyers. A beautiful duty! To think I should come to this! Well, nothing matters; everything passes, and everything ends. Death settles all accounts. Now we'll give them a little comedy—with the grand manner at the last. [Aloud.] Fall in! Form in line! [The garrison falls into rank; the Pensioners on the right, the Swiss Guards, left. DE FLUE is standing, while VINTIMILLE rises, using his cane to support himself.] Butt-ends of your muskets in the air! Messieurs, I think I ought to inform you that in spite of the precautions I have taken, there will be some surprises when the enemy makes its entrance. You know they are not a disciplined army. But if they show any lack of military manners, that is no excuse for our behaving likewise. And you, Swiss Guards, in the name of the King, I thank, you for your obedience. You deserve more credit than the others. [He turns his back on the Pensioners and smiles a little.] As to you, we understand each other. [The Pensioners murmur approval.]
DE FLUE [phlegmatically]. War is war! [A Pensioner whistles: "Où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?">[
VINTIMILLE [turning toward him, and, with a disdainful gesture]. You need not trouble to show your glee! It's indecent, my friend.
THE PENSIONER. Monseigneur, I couldn't help it.