“Infamy!” exclaimed Billot. “On the contrary, however guilty this man may have been, I would have allowed myself to be torn to pieces could I have saved him by it; and the proof of this is that I was wounded in defending him, and that but for Pitou, who dragged me to the riverside—”
“Oh! that is true,” cried Pitou; “but for me, Father Billot would have had but a bad time of it.”
“Well, then, see you now, Billot, there are many men who would act as you have done, when they feel that they have some one to assist them near them, and who, on the contrary, if abandoned to bad examples, become wicked, then ferocious, then frenzied,—then, when the evil is done, why, ’tis done.”
“But, in short,” observed Billot, objectingly, “admitting that Mr. Pitt, or rather his money, had something to do with the death of Flesselles, of Foulon, and of Berthier, what would he gain by it?”
Gilbert began to laugh with that inaudible laugh which astonishes the simple, but which makes the thinking shudder.
“What would he gain by it!” he exclaimed, “can you ask that?”
“Yes, I do ask it.”
“I will tell you. It is this; you were much pleased with the Revolution, were you not,—you who walked in blood to take the Bastille?”
“Yes, I was pleased with it.”
“Well! you now like it less; well! now you long for Villers-Cotterets, your farm, the quietude of your plain, the shades of your great forests.”
“Frigida Tempe,” murmured Pitou.
“Oh, yes, you are right,” sighed Billot.
“Well, then, you, Father Billot; you, a farmer; you, the proprietor of land; you, a child of the Île-de-France, and consequently a Frenchman of the olden time,—you represent the third order; you belong to that which is called the majority. Well, then, you are disgusted.”
“I acknowledge it.”
“Then the majority will become disgusted as you are.”
“And what then?”
“And you will one day open your arms to the soldiers of the Duke of Brunswick or of Mr. Pitt, who will come to you in the name of those two liberators of France to restore wholesome doctrine.”
“Never!”
“Pshaw! wait a little.”
“Flesselles, Berthier, and Foulon were at bottom villains,” observed Pitou.
“Assuredly, as Monsieur de Sartines and Monsieur de Maurepas were villains; as Monsieur d’Argenson and Monsieur de Philippeaux were before them; as Monsieur Law was; as the Leblancs, the De Paris, the Duverneys were villains; as Fouquet was; as Mazarin was also; as Semblancey, as Enguerrand de Marigny were villains; as Monsieur de Brieune is towards Monsieur de Calonne; as Monsieur de Calonne is towards Monsieur de Necker; as Monsieur de Necker will be to the administration which we shall have in two years.”
“Oh, oh, Doctor!” murmured Billot, “Monsieur de Necker a villain—never!”
“As you will be, my good Billot, a villain in the eyes of little Pitou here, in case one of Mr. Pitt’s agents should teach him certain theories, backed by the influence of a pint of brandy and ten livres per day for getting up disturbances. This word ‘villain,’ do you see, Billot, is the word by which in revolutions we designate the man who thinks differently from us; we are all destined to bear that name more or less. Some will bear it so far that their countrymen will inscribe it on their tombs, others so much farther that posterity will ratify the epithet. This, my dear Billot, is what I see, and which you do not see. Billot, Billot! people of real worth must therefore not withdraw.”
“Bah!” cried Billot, “even were honest people to withdraw, the Revolution would still run its course; it is in full motion.”
Another smile rose to the lips of Gilbert.
“Great child!” cried he, “who would abandon the handle of the plough, unyoke the horses from it, and then say: ‘Good! the plough has no need of me; the plough will trace its furrow by itself.’ But, my friends, who was it undertook the Revolution? honest people, were they not?”
“France flatters herself that it is so. It appears to me that Lafayette is an honest man; it appears to me that Bailly is an honest man; it appears to me that Monsieur de Necker is an honest man; it appears to me that Monsieur Elie, Monsieur Hullin, and Monsieur Maillard, who fought side by side with me, are honest people; it appears to me that you yourself—”