Someone heard him.
“He calls us cows! We women have something to say to him.”
Monsieur Lefèbre was on his feet, and his deep and pleasant voice was calling for silence.
“My children, have patience. Let us be just. Monsieur Clemenceau is here to judge; let us leave it to him.”
They obeyed Monsieur Lefèbre, and stood waiting for the old man in the chair to speak to them. He had not moved, but sat there like a figure of granite, imperturbable, inexorable. His eyes were fixed on Louis Blanc.
“Let us keep to facts,” he began, “the things that all of us can see and understand. Louis Blanc, I am speaking to you.”
Bibi raised his blind face defiantly.
“Begin. I am ready.”
“You were a soldier?”
“I was a soldier; I have a medal.”