"I—Grégoire—report—"
"Certainly. What's the matter? Off with thee now. Ah, that sacré Citizen Ste. Luce! I forgot him. Tell him his case will come on shortly."
"I am sorry."
"That is to lack patriotism."
"But he and De Crosne are the only people who amuse me, and it is dull in this bird-cage. He swears thou art clumsy with the small sword."
"I—I clumsy! I should like to catch him somewhere. I was too fat; but now!" and he smote his chest. "Didst thou think me clumsy—me, Pierre Amar?"
"I? No, indeed. These aristocrats think no one else can handle a rapier. Ah, if I could fence with the citizen commissioner a little, and then—"
"Impossible."
"He swears thou art coward enough to use the guillotine to settle a quarrel, and that thou dost fence like a pigsticker."
Amar, le farouche, swore an oath too blasphemous to repeat. The great thick-lipped mouth moved half across so much of his face as could move at all. He was speechless with rage, and at last gasped, as he struck the table: "Me—Amar? Ah, I should like well to let him out and kill him; and I would, too, but there are Saint-Just, and Couthon, and the rest. Go; and take care how thou dost conduct thyself. Go! The sacré marquis must take his chance. Pig-sticker indeed!"