Westerman as he spoke, stood leaning on the back of a chair, and Bourbotte also rose as he answered him.

“I have yet to learn,” aid he, “that you yourself ever were able to make good soldiers out of country clowns in less than a month’s time.  When you have done so, then you may speak to me on the subject without impertinence.”

“I give you my word, citizen General,” answered Westerman, “I shall say to you, then and now, whatever I, in the performance of my duty, may think fits and if you deem me impertinent, you may settle that point with the Convention, or, if you prefer it, with myself.”

“Westerman, you are unfair to General Bourbotte,” said Santerre; “he has said nothing which need offend you.”

“It is the General that is offended, not I,” said Westerman; “I only beg that he may not talk mawkish nonsense, and tell us that his fellows are too valiant, and too noble to put to the sword unarmed royalists, when everybody knows they are good for nothing else, and that they would run and scatter from the fire of a few muskets, like a lot of plovers from a volley of stones.”

“I grant you,” said Bourbotte, “that my soldiers are men and not monsters.  They are, as yet, French peasants, not German cut-throats.”

“Now, by Heaven, Bourbotte,” said the Prussian, “you shall swallow that word,” and he seized a pistol from off the table.  “German cut-throat! and that from you who have no other qualities of a soldier than what are to be found in a light pair of heels.  You shall, at any rate, have to deal with one German, whether he be a cut-throat or not.”

“In any way you please,” said Bourbotte, “that is, in any open or honest way.”  And as he spoke, he stepped back one step, and took his sword out of the scabbard.

The pistol which Westerman had taken from the table belonged to Santerre, and when he saw it in the hand of his friend, he leapt up and seized hold of the German’s arm.

“Are you mad Westerman,” said he; “do you wish to fight here in the Mayor’s house?  I tell you, you were wrong, in taunting him as you did; sit quiet till I make peace between you.”

“Taunting him! now, by Heaven, that is good.  I will leave it to Barrere to say who first taunted the other.  Nonsense, Santerre, leave hold of me I say:  you do not think I am going to murder the man, do you?”

General Chouardin also got up and put himself between the two armed men.  “Put up your sword, Bourbotte,” whispered he, leading him off to the further window of the room; “you are no match for him here:  if Barrere chooses he will have you recalled to Paris, and your neck will then not be worth a month’s purchase.”

“Gentlemen,” said Barrere, “this will never do.  You can neither of you serve the nation well if you persist in quarrelling between yourselves.  General Bourbotte, you should apologize to our friend Westerman for the insult which you offered to his countrymen.”