'My friends!' cried Camille; 'I see there—and there, facing me, with their eyes watching me, the tame tigers of the court, the spies and satellites of the police. Never will I fall alive into their hands;' he suddenly drew a pair of pistols from his pocket and cocked them; 'let all the friends of liberty follow my example and protect themselves, or the prisons will be gorged with the best patriots.'
He was interrupted by cries of enthusiasm; 'we will protect you, we will kill the tigers.' Some men sprang upon the table and embraced him, the tumblers were thrown down and broken, and the sugar and water was poured over the gravel.
'What is to be done?' was shouted; 'how shall we know the friends of liberty?'
'Let us adopt a cockade,' cried Camille; 'then we shall know those who are on our side from our foes.'
'A cockade, a cockade!' was shouted.
'Ah! Camille, dear, brave Camille!' shrieked Monsieur Louison; 'I will protect you. They shall pass over my body before they touch you.' And he beat his way with the broom-handle through the crowd towards the table.
'Coco!' screamed his wife; 'you fool, you ape! The potage à la vermicelle will be burnt.'
'Damn the vermicelle!' exclaimed the white man, stationing himself like a sentinel before the table; 'I tell you, woman, I will shed the last drop of my potage—I mean my blood.'
'Never mind what you mean,' called his incensed wife; 'I will have you down into your hole again.' She struggled after him, but found it impossible to force her way through the crowd, being unprovided with a weapon, and being corpulent, whilst Coco was lean.