VINTIMILLE. Why, you are positively proud to be beaten!
THE PENSIONER [warmly]. We are not beaten! They would never have taken the Bastille unless we had wished them to. [His comrades murmur approval.]
VINTIMILLE. Do you mean to say that it is we who have taken the Bastile?—
PENSIONER. There is some truth in it.
VINTIMILLE. Well—! To your post! [After a pause.] Open the gate. Lower the draw-bridge. [Some of the men open the gate and slowly lower the draw-bridge. The People outside continue their shouting.] Here, then, comes the new King, ha! [The draw-bridge is now down. A formidable clamor arises, as the human flood pours in through the opened gate. Men and women, armed with pikes, hatchets, and muskets, surge through. At their head is GONCHON, who is pushed forward, flourishing his saber in the air. HOCHE and HULIN make vain efforts to silence the mob. There are cries of death and victory. VINTIMILLE takes off his hat.] Messieurs, the rabble!
PENSIONERS [suddenly swept away by their enthusiasm, wave their hats]. Long live Liberty!
VINTIMILLE. Messieurs, messieurs, have you no sense of shame?
PENSIONERS [with waxing enthusiasm]. Long live Liberty! [They throw away their muskets and rush into the arms of the People.]
VINTIMILLE [with a shrug]. Ah, human reason, how frail thou art! Farewell, Monsieur de Vintimille. [He breaks his sword. GONCHON, at his wits' end, pushed forward by the howling mob—among whom is distinguished the OLD FRUIT-SELLER—fall upon VINTIMILLE, DE FLUE, and their soldiers, dragging them off the stage with shouts and curses.]
GONCHON. Rip them open!