I glanced at him. Some faint remembrance of the fellow woke in me. “M. le Comte,” he went on, in the same low voice, “once rewarded me with a handsome vail for some trifling service. It was the lucky louis-d’or of my fortunes. Here was a little of the means; the Revolution was my opportunity. Now the masters serve the waiters. I devour with my teeth what I once devoured with my eyes. You see me president of a section; but, _pardieu_! I have no quarrel with aristocrats of a fastidious palate. It was the contemplation of such educated me to a right humour in gastronomy. I am indebted to monsieur for many a delicate hint in selection.” Again I thought of the poor Michau. “I am honoured,” I said. “And so, M. Crépin, this is the goal of your high republicanism?” “My faith!” he said, with a generous chuckle, “I acknowledge it. I have existed forty years that I may live one--perhaps no more. To drink and to eat and to love _en prince_--I have the capacity for it and the will. I have nursed my constitution on broken scraps. This _fesse-Mathieu_ here offends me. Had I a fortune, I would fling it away on a single desired dish if necessary. We have waived the right to think of the morrow. But, how is monsieur known?” “They call me Citizen Thibaut.” “Citizen Thibaut, I drink to our better acquaintance. This Médoc--I have not grudged it you in former years. Your refined appreciation of it has many a time glorified to me my supper of stale fragments. But for you, maybe, I had not learned the secret of its fragrance. To my past master in epicurism I gulp a grateful toast.” He was as good as his word. “Citizen Crépin,” I said, “where do you live?” “Rue de Jouy, St Antoine,” he answered. “I seek a convenient landlord. Will you accommodate me?” “With all my heart.” I heard the _vieillard_ at the next table gobble and choke. I turned my head to look, sprang to my feet, and my glass crashed on the boards. In that instant the room had leaped into uproar--for something immediate, swift, and terrible had happened. It was this: The fast-eating man at the table opposite, having finished his dinner, was risen to pay his bill. He stood with impatient hand outstretched as Février fumbled in his pocket for the change; and at the moment a fellow, thick-set, stubble-bearded, dressed in a blouse and faded cloak, strode up the room and paused by him. “Are you Deputy Lepelletier?” said he. The diner turned and nodded. “You have voted in this affair of the king?” “_Mais oui_,” said the other--“for death.” “_Scélérat--prends ca!_” and with the word he whipped a long blade from under his cloak and passed it into the body of the deputy. I saw the flash and heard the piteous bleat, as also, I swear, the sound of the flesh sucking to the steel. Février snatched at the murderer, and was spun to the floor like a skittle. I saw startled figures rise, chairs and tables totter, and the one bounding amongst them. He got clear away.