cries and cheers from the windows of the neighboring houses.]
Hulin. Hurrah! Hoche! At last, some one who dispels the sadness!
Hoche [amiably, to the people who acclaim him from the windows]. What are you doing there at home? Why shut yourselves in on a beautiful July night like this? Man is sad when he is alone. It is the fetid air of the cellar that breeds suspicion and doubt. Come forth from your houses; you've been shut up too long. You must live now in the open streets. Come out and watch the sun rise. The enslaved city now breathes freely; the cool winds from the prairies are blowing over the houses and the streets that are blocked by our armies; they bring us the salute from the friendly countryside. The grain is ripe, come and reap it.
La Contat. What a splendid fellow! He breathes joy and happiness. [She goes toward Hoche.]
Hoche. Ah, there you are, you flower-girl of Liberty! Madame Royalist, who stripped the trees of the Palais-Royal and threw cockades to the people. I knew you would come. Do you at last believe in our cause?
La Contat. I believe in anything you say. With a face like yours— [she points to his face] I could always be converted. [The People laugh.]
Hoche [laughing]. I'm not surprised. I always knew I had an apostolic temperament. Well, take your place, then. We won't refuse any one. Take a pike: a girl like you ought to defend herself.
