The Urchin. A flogging!
The Porter. And Condé?
The Urchin. The gallows!
The Porter. And the Queen?
The Urchin. To the—! [The Crowd bursts into loud laughter, cheering the Urchin, who cries aloud, inflated by his success. The Porter continues on his way with the boy.]
La Contat. The dear child! He makes me die laughing.
Desmoulins. Let's follow them. Bravo, terror of the aristos!—Messieurs, young Leonidas has forgotten one of our friends, Monsieur de Vintimille, Marquis de Castelnau.
Hulin [to Hoche]. Listen, he's speaking of my master.
Desmoulins. We surely owe him something. The Marshal has just appointed him guard over the Bastille, with M. de Launey, and he has promised that within two days, we shall go and ask pardon of him, barefooted and with ropes round our necks. I propose that one of us make a present of his rope to that friend of the people.
The Crowd. Burn him! He lives near! Burn his house—his furniture—his wife—his children!
Vintimille [appearing in the midst of the Crowd, cold and ironic]. Messieurs—
La Contat. God save us!
Hulin. Hoche! [He takes hold of Hoche's arm.]
Hoche. What's the matter?
Hulin. It's he!
