Do you doubt it?"
"I hope it," said the schooled Leandre.
"You may believe it," said Scaramouche, and again the acclamations
rolled into thunder.
Polichinelle and Rhodomont exchanged glances: indeed, the former
winked, not without mirth.
"Sacred name!" growled a voice behind them. "Is the scoundrel at
his political tricks again?"
They turned to confront M. Binet. Moving with that noiseless tread
of his, he had come up unheard behind them, and there he stood now
in his scarlet suit of Pantaloon under a trailing bedgown, his little
eyes glaring from either side of his false nose. But their attention
was held by the voice of Scaramouche. He had stepped to the front
of the stage.
"He doubts it," he was telling the audience. "But then this M.
Leandre is himself akin to those who worship the worm-eaten idol of
Privilege, and so he is a little afraid to believe a truth that is
becoming apparent to all the world. Shall I convince him? Shall I
tell him how a company of noblemen backed by their servants under
arms - six hundred men in all - sought to dictate to the Third
Estate of Rennes a few short weeks ago? Must I remind him of the
martial front shown on that occasion by the Third Estate, and how
they swept the streets clean of that rabble of nobles - cette
canaille noble.
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