Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part three

“I live as all living beings do, and that without begging, and by that industry which Nature has implanted in me; I live by my own labor; and more than that, I am so far from being chargeable on my fellowcitizens, that several among them have elected me their chief.”

“Hey!” cried the abbé, with so much surprise, mingled with so much terror, that it might have been thought that he had trod upon a viper.

“Yes, yes; they have elected me their chief,” repeated Pitou, complacently.

“Chief of what” inquired the abbé.

“Chief of a troop of freemen,” said Pitou.

“Ah! good Heaven!” cried the abbé, “the unfortunate boy has gone mad.”

“Chief of the National Guard of Haramont,” concluded Pitou, affecting modesty.

The abbé leaned towards Pitou in order to gain from his features a confirmation of his words.

“There is a National Guard at Haramont” cried he.

“Yes, Monsieur Abbé.”

“And you are the chief of it?”

“Yes, Monsieur Abbé.”

“You, Pitou?”

“I, Pitou.”

The abbé raised his outstretched arms towards heaven, like Phineas the high-priest.

“Abomination of desolation!” murmured he.

“You are not ignorant, Monsieur abbé,” said Pitou, with gentleness, “that the National Guard is an institution destined to protect the life, the liberty, and the property of the citizens.”

“Oh! oh!” continued the abbé, overwhelmed by his despair.

“And that,” continued Pitou, “too much vigor cannot be given to that institution, above all, in the country, on account of the very numerous bands—”

“Bands of which you are the chief!” cried the abbé,—”bands of plunderers, bands of incendiaries, bands of assassins!”

“Oh, do not confound things in this manner, dear Monsieur Abbé; you will see my soldiers, I hope, and never were there more honest citizens.”

“Be silent! be silent!”

“You must consider, on the contrary, that we are your natural protectors; and the proof of this is that I have come straight to you.”

“And for what purpose?” inquired the abbé.

“Ah! that is precisely it,” said Pitou, scratching his ear and looking anxiously at the spot where his helmet was lying, in order to ascertain whether in going to pick up this very necessary portion of his military equipment, he would not place himself at too great a distance from his line of retreat.

The helmet had rolled to within some few paces only of the great gate which opened on to the Rue de Soissons.

“I asked you for what purpose,” repeated the abbé.

“Well,” said Pitou, retreating backwards two steps towards his helmet, “this is the object of my mission, good Monsieur Abbé; permit me to develop it to your sagacity.”

“Exordium!” muttered the abbé.

Pitou backed two steps more towards his helmet.

But by a singular manæuvre, which did not fail to give Pitou some uneasiness, whenever he made two steps nearer to his helmet, the abbé, in order to remain at the same distance from him, advanced two steps towards Pitou.

“Well,” said Pitou, beginning to feel more courageous from his proximity to his defensive headpiece, “all soldiers require muskets, and we have not any.”

“Ah! you have no muskets!” cried the abbé, dancing with joy; “ah! they have no muskets! Soldiers without muskets! Ah! by my faith! they must be very pretty soldiers.”

“But, Monsieur Abbé,” said Pitou, taking again two steps nearer to his helmet, “when men have not muskets, they seek for them.”

“Yes,” said the abbé; “and you are in search of some?”

Pitou was able to reach his helmet, and brought it near him with his foot. Being thus occupied, he did not at once reply to the abbé.

“You look, then, for some?” repeated the latter.

Pitou picked up his helmet.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In your house,” said Pitou, placing the helmet on his head.

“Guns in my house?” asked the abbé. “Yes. You have many.”

“Ah! my museum; you come to rob my museum. Only fancy the cuirasses of old heroes on the backs of such creatures. Pitou, I told you just now that you were mad. The swords of the Spaniards of Almanza, the pikes of the Swiss of Marignan, were never made for such a troop as yours.”

The abbé laughed so scornfully that a cold shudder ran through Pitou’s veins.

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