Pitou was wrong in having boasted that he would triumph over the abbé Fortier, and in failing.
The first time he found himself out of view, he put his hand on his head and thought.
He had expected to conciliate Fortier with his Latin and Greek. He thought that by the honeyed cake of classical expressions he would corrupt the old Cerberus; but he had been bitten, and all had been spoiled.
The abbé had great self-esteem, and Pitou had not regarded it. What most offended the abbé was Pitou’s finding fault with his French,—a thing he cared far more about than he did about the muskets which Pitou had sought to take from him.
Young people when good always think others as good as they are themselves.
The abbé was not only an extreme royalist, but also a devoted philologist.
Pitou was especially sorry that he had excited him, both on account of Louis XVI. and the verb “to be.” He knew and should have managed his old master. That was his error, and he regretted it, though too late.
What should he have done?
He should have used his eloquence to convince the abbé of his own royalism, and ignored his mistakes in grammar.
He should have convinced him that the National Guard of Haramont was opposed to the Revolution.
He should have said that it would sustain the king.
Above all, he never should have said a word about the confusion of tenses of the verb “to be.”
There was no earthly doubt but that the abbé would have opened his arsenal for the purpose of securing to the cause of the king such a leader and such a company.
This falsehood is diplomacy. Pitou thought over all the stories of old times.
He thought of Philip of Macedon, who swore falsely so often, but who was called a great man.
Of Brutus, who to overcome his enemies pretended to be a fool, but who is thought a great man.
Of Themistocles, who served his fellow-citizens by deceiving them, but who is called a great man.
On the other hand, he remembered that Aristides would admit of no injustice, and that he too was esteemed a great man.
This contrast annoyed him.
He thought, though, that Aristides fortunately lived at a time when the Persians were so stupid that one could act honestly and yet conquer them.
He then remembered that Aristides had been exiled, and this circumstance decided him in favor of Philip of Macedon, Brutus, and Themistocles.
Descending to modern times, Pitou remembered how Gilbert, Bailly, Lameth, Barnave, and Mirabeau would have acted, had Louis XVI. been the abbé and they been Pitou.
What would they have done to have the king arm the five hundred thousand National Guards of France?
Exactly the contrary of what Pitou had done.
They would have persuaded Louis XVI. that they desired nothing more than to preserve the Father of the French; that to save him, from three to five hundred thousand guns were needed.
Mirabeau would have succeeded.
Pitou then remembered the two flowing lines:—
“When you to the Devil pray
Call him giver of all good.”
He came to the conclusion that Ange Pitou was a perfect brute, and that to return to his electors with any sort of glory he ought to have done exactly what he had not.
Pitou determined, then, either by force or by stratagem to get possession of the arms.
The first resource was stratagem.
He could enter the abbé’s museum and steal the arms.
If he did it alone, the act would be theft. If with companions, it would be simply a removal.
The very word “theft” made Pitou uneasy.
As to the removal, there were yet many people in France who, used to the old laws, would call it burglarious robbery.
Pitou hesitated.
But Pitou’s self-love was excited, and to get out of the difficulty with honor he was forced to act alone.
He set to work most diligently to seek some mode of extricating himself.
At last, like Archimedes, he shouted “Eureka!” which in plain English means, “I have discovered!”
The following was his plan:—
Lafayette was Commander-in-Chief of the National