"I'll drink that toast willingly," answered the other, a big fellow, who despite his swagger and insolent manner, had a face bearing considerable traces of good looks. "But I should prefer to drink confusion to each in a separate glass, seeing that you are standing treat for the day," and he laughed at his own wit.
"The Revolution does not march quick enough to suit my fancy," he went on, turning his glass upside down to indicate that it needed replenishing, and then wiping the froth from the ends of his drooping brown mustache. "The convention is too slow in its work of purging the nation. Were it not for Robespierre we should make no progress. Why are there still aristocrats walking in the broad light of day?"
"Very few come out in the daylight, citizen," remarked the boy. "They creep out at night generally."
"Well, why are they allowed to live at all, young friend?" said the elder man, striking the table with his fist.
"Be patient, good Citizen Gonflou; the Committee of Public Safety has sent out a good batch of arrests within the last twenty-four hours," said the lad knowingly. "I have it from my brother, who has been charged with the execution of one."
"Your brother, Bernard Gardin?" inquired the other as he drained his glass. "Who is it now?"
"Bernard has gone down to our old home in the village of La Thierry to arrest a young aristocrat by the name of Edmé de Rochefort," replied the boy.
"Oh, oh, a woman!" laughed Gonflou. "Well, I'm glad I've not got your brother's work. I'm too tender-hearted when it comes to be a question of women."
Tournay uttered an exclamation of surprise. The next instant he tipped over his coffee-cup with a clatter to cover up the betrayal of interest in the conversation, and in replacing it, managed to draw his chair nearer to the two men.
"When did he start?" was the inquiry of Gonflou.