“Denounce Henri!” said the old man; “denounce my own dear, gallant son, the most loyal of those who love their King—­the bravest of the brave!  No, Sir!  I give you no thanks for your mercy, if you intended any.  I, and my daughter, Sir, cannot bear arms for our King; she by reason of her sex, and I from my infirmities; but, Sir, we can die for him; we can die for him as readily as the bravest who falls in the first ranks of the battle.  Had I still so much power in my own house as to command a cup of wine, I would drink my last pledge to my royal master—­but it matters not; the heart and the will are still the same,” and taking off the tasselled velvet cap which he wore, he waved it above his head, exclaiming, “Vive le Roi! vive le Roi!”

“The accursed, pestilent old fanatic!” said Santerre, spurning the table as he rose in his passion, and upsetting it into the middle of the room; and then he walked up and down the salon with rapid strides, trying to induce himself to give orders for the immediate execution of the staunch old royalist.

“What is to be done next, General?” said one of his officers, who did not quite admire the evident clemency of the brewer.

“The accursed, pestilent old fanatic!” he repeated between his teeth; and then he said, after drawing a long breath:  “they must go to Paris, and let Fouquier Tinville deal with them.  There may be secrets that I know not of.  I think it better that they should go to Paris.”  And he felt relieved of a heavy load in having devised a scheme by which he could avoid having himself to give the order for the execution.  “Let him be locked up, and well treated, mind you.  He shall go to Saumur in his own carriage, and Barrere may send him to Paris how he pleases, or to the devil if he chooses.”

“And the servants, General?”

“Oh! ah, yes, the servants!” said Santerre, walking out into the hall to inspect them; “women, an’t they?  What, five, six, seven, nine women, one old man, and a boy; well, I suppose we must have them out in a row, and shoot them.”

Down on their knees went the nine women and the boy, imploring that their innocent lives might be spared to them.  Momont, like his master, had still some spirit in his bosom, and kept his seat, saying to himself, but out loud, “I told him so—­I told him so.  I told him that we who remained here needed as much courage as those who went to the wars; but now, he that talked so much, he’s the only one to run away.”  The poor butler alluded to Chapeau, who had certainly been in the house a few minutes before the arrival of the republicans, and who as certainly had not been seen since.

“I suppose we must have them out before the house, and fire upon them?”

And he turned to the officer who was next to him, as though asking his advice.

“If you ask my advice, General, I would make no difference between the lot; ten minutes should see the last of the whole set of them—­the old man, his daughter, and the rest.  If we are to send every master of a family with his children up to Paris, or even to Saumur, the tribunals can never do their work, nor can the guillotines fall half fast enough for them.”