Grégoire turned upon him in a rage.
"Who is this?" he cried.
"I am Despard of the fourth section. I will let thee know who I am." In his madness he caught Grégoire by the collar and shook him.
Grégoire called out: "Take away this fool! What! threaten me—me—Grégoire! All, thou art the rascal who plunders châteaux. I know thee. Thou dost threaten an officer of the Committee of Safety. Tie this fellow; he will do for the eleventh. Quick, quick!"
There was no hesitation. The officers seized their prey, and Grégoire, growling, went again into the office.
Pierre fought like the madman he was, but in a minute was brought back screaming and added to the corvée. It was complete. He was carried out raving, amid the yells and reproaches of the mob, which broke up and went along with the wagons.
Again there was quiet in the hall, where the thief stood in wonder, horror-stricken. "It is I that have killed him—he who did long to see another die. And for him to die in the place of the marquis—dame! it is strange."
"Ciel!" cried Vaubertrand, wiping the sweat from his brow. "This is the second they took this way to make up for some one's blunder. Come, and have a care what you say. He is half drunk."
François entered the office.
"Who is this?" said Grégoire, facing him, with his large, meaningless face still flushed and angry.