Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part three

“Well, what is it?”

“Great news!”

“Good news?”

“Glorious news!”

“What is it, then?”

“You know that I had gone to the club of the Virtues, at the Fontainebleau barrier?”

“Yes, and what then?”

“Well, they spoke there of a most extraordinary event.”

“What was it?”

“Do you know that that villain Foulon passed himself off for dead, and carried it so far as to allow himself to be buried?”

“How! passed himself for dead? How say you,—pretended to allow himself to be buried? Nonsense! He is dead enough; for was I not at his funeral?”

“Notwithstanding that, Monsieur Billot, he is still living.”

“Living?”

“As much alive as you and I are.”

“You are mad!”

“Dear Monsieur Billot, I am not mad. The traitor, Foulon, the enemy of the people, the leech of France, the peculator, is not dead.”

“But since I tell you he was buried after an apoplectic fit, since I tell you that I saw the funeral go by, and even that I prevented the people from dragging him out of his coffin to hang him?”

“And I have just seen him alive. Ah, what do you say to that?”

“You?”

“As plainly as I now see you, Monsieur Billot. It appears that it was one of his servants who died, and the villain gave him an aristocratic funeral. Oh, all is discovered! It was from fear of the vengeance of the people that he acted thus.”

“Tell me all about it, Pitou.”

“Come into the vestibule for a moment, then, Monsieur Billot. We shall be more at our ease there.”

They left the hall and went into the vestibule.

“First of all, we must know whether Monsieur Bailly is here.”

“Go on with your story; he is here.”

“Good! Well I was at the club of the Virtues, listening to the speech of a patriot. Didn’t he make grammatical faults! It was easily seen that he had not been educated by the Abbé Fortier.”

“Go on, I tell you. A man may be a good patriot, and yet not be able to read or write.”

“That is true,” replied Pitou. “Well, suddenly a man came in, completely out of breath. ‘Victory!’ cried he. ‘Victory! Foulon was not dead! Foulon is still alive! I have found him! I have found him!’

“Everybody there was like you, Father Billot. No one would believe him. Some said, ‘How! Foulon?’ ‘Yes.’ Others said, ‘Pshaw! impossible!’ And others said, ‘Well, while you were at it, you might as well have discovered his son-in-law, Berthier.'”

“Berthier!” cried Billot.

“Yes, Berthier de Savigny. Don’t you recollect our intendant at Compiègne, the friend of Monsieur Isidore de Charny?”

“Undoubtedly! he who was always so proud with everybody, and so polite with Catherine?”

“Precisely,” said Pitou; “one of those horrible contractors,—a second leech to the French people; the execration of all human nature; the shame of the civilized world, as said the virtuous Loustalot.”

“Well, go on! go on!” cried Billot.

“That is true,” said Pitou; “ad eventum festina,—which means to say, Monsieur Billot, ‘Hasten to the winding up.’ I shall proceed, then. A man, out of breath, comes running to the club of the Virtues, and shouts: ‘I have found Foulon. I have found him.’

“You should have heard the vociferations that followed.”

“He was mistaken,” said Billot, obstinately.

“He was not, for I have seen Foulon.”

“You have seen him, Pitou?”

“With these two eyes. Wait a moment.”

“I am waiting; but you make my blood boil.”

“Ah, but listen. I am hot enough too. I tell you that he had given it out that he was dead, and had one of his servants buried in his place. Fortunately, Providence was watching.”

“Providence, indeed!” disdainfully exclaimed the Voltairean Billot.

“I intended to say the nation,” rejoined Pitou, with humility. “This good citizen, this patriot, out of breath, who announced the news to us, recognized him at Viry, where he had concealed himself.”

“Ah! ah!”

“Having recognized him, he denounced him, and the syndic, whose name is Monsieur Rappe, instantly arrested him.”

” And what is the name of the brave patriot who had the courage to do all this?”

“Of informing against Foulon?”

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