And yet he was calm, though pale.
It is true that he had to support him four pieces of artillery, ready prepared to fire; around him, a garrison of Swiss and Invalides; before him, only an unarmed man.
For, on entering the Bastille, Billot had given Pitou his carbine to take care of.
He had understood that within that iron grating which he saw before him, a weapon would be more dangerous than useful to him.
Billot, at a single glance, observed all,—the calm and almost threatening attitude of the governor; the Swiss and Invalides in the several guard—houses and on the platforms; and the silent bustle of the artillerymen, who were stowing their cartridges into the magazines of their ammunition—wagons.
The sentinels held their muskets at the make—ready; the officers had their swords drawn.
The governor remained motionless; Billot was obliged to advance towards him; the iron—grated gate closed behind the bearer of the people’s flag of truce with a sinister noise of grating iron, which, brave as he was, made the marrow of his bones chill within him.
“What want you with me again?” said De Launay to him.
“Again!” reiterated Billot; “it appears to me, however, that this is the first time I have seen you, and consequently that you have yet no right to be wearied of seeing me.”
“It is because I have been told that you come from the Hôtel de Ville.”
“That is true. I came from there.”
“Well, then, only just now I received a deputation from the municipality.”
“And for what purpose did it come?”
“It came to obtain a promise from me that I would not be the first to fire.”
“And you promised that you would not?”
“Yes.”
“And was this all?”
“It also came to request that I would draw in my guns.”
“And you have them drawn in; I know that, for I was on the square of the Bastille when this manœuvre was executed.”
“And you doubtless thought that I was yielding to the threats of the people?”
“Why, zounds! it did look very like it.”
“Did I not tell you so, gentlemen?” exclaimed De Launay, turning towards his officers; “did I not tell you that we should be thought capable of such cowardice?”
Then, turning to Billot,—
“And you,—from whom do you come?”
“I come on behalf of the people,” proudly replied
Billot.
“’tis well,” said De Launay, smiling; “but you have some other recommendation, I suppose; for with that which you set forth, you would not have been allowed to pass the first line of my sentries.”
“Yes; I have a safe—conduct from Monsieur de Flesselles, your friend.”
“Flesselles! You say that he is my friend,” rejoined De Launay, looking intently at Billot, as if he would have read the inmost recesses of his heart. “Whence know you that Monsieur de Flesselles is my friend?”
“Why, I supposed him to be so.”
“Supposed!—oh, that is all! ’tis well. Let us see your safe—conduct.”
Billot presented the paper to him.
De Launay read it once, then a second time, and turned and twisted it about to discover whether it did not contain some postscript between its pages; held it up to the light, to see whether there were not some lines written between the lines of the missive.
“And this is all he has to say to me?”
“All.”
“You are sure?”
“Perfectly sure.”
“Nothing verbal?”
“Nothing.”
“’tis very strange!” exclaimed De Launay, darting through one of the loop—holes a glance at the crowd assembled in the square before the Bastille.
“But what would you have had him say to you?” said Billot.
De Launay made an impatient gesture.
“Oh nothing, nothing! Come, now, tell me what you want; but speak quickly, for I am pressed for time.”
“Well, then, what I want is, that you should surrender the Bastille to us.”
“What said you?” cried De Launay, quickly turning round, as if he thought he had misunderstood the farmer’s meaning. “You say—?”
“I say that I have come in the name of the people, to demand that you surrender the Bastille.”
De Launay shrugged his shoulders.
“The people are, in truth, very strange animals,” said he.