"Very good. It is not for a short time only, but for some months. One
cannot hurry the people. Besides, we are not ready. The rifles we
bought, the ammunition we must steal."

"They are good rifles--they are English," said the butcher.

"Yes; the English Government is full of chivalry. They are always ready
to place it within the power of their enemies to be as well armed as
themselves."

The old gentleman laughed--a pleasant, cooing laugh. He invariably
encouraged humour, this genial philanthropist.

"At last Friday's meeting," Lerac said shortly, "we enrolled forty new
members. We now number four hundred and two in our _arrondissement_
alone."

"Good," muttered the Citizen Morot, without enthusiasm.

"And four hundred hardy companions they are."

"So I should imagine" (very gravely).

"Four hundred strong men," broke in the old gentleman rather hastily.
"Ah, but that is already a power."

"It is," opined Lerac sententiously, "the strong man who is the power.
Riches are nothing; birth is nothing. This is the day of force. Force is
everything."