VINTIMILLE. Messieurs, you are quite right in wishing to burn that blackguard aristocrat, who makes game of you, despises you, and who goes about saying that dogs ought to be whipped when they show their teeth. Burn, Messieurs, by all means burn, but I warn you, take care that the flame of your just fury does not scorch you, and demolish what is yours along with what is his. Let me ask you first of all, Messieurs, whether it is right to ruin M. de Vintimille and those who ruin him--his creditors, that is? At least allow me to beg you to spare the furniture, which belongs to me, and for which the scoundrel has not paid a son. CROWD. Take back your furniture! VINTIMILLE. I am encouraged, Messieurs, by the success of my request, to make another, this time on behalf of the architect of the house. He has been no more successful than I in extracting écus from the pocket of M. de Vintimille; and he asks you to consider what harm you would do him in destroying his only security? CROWD. Save the house! VINTIMILLE. And as for his wife, Messieurs--why burn what belongs to you? His wife is of the people. The Court, the city, the clergy, the middle-classes, have often appreciated her splendid qualities. She possesses a liberal mind, and she recognizes no privileges: the three orders are equal in her eyes. In her person she realizes the perfect union of the nation. Let us do honor to so rare a virtue. Messieurs, let us show mercy for Madame. DESMOULINS. Mercy for Notre Dame! THE CROWD [_laughing_]. Yes, yes, mercy for Madame! VINTIMILLE. Really, Messieurs, I am taking advantage-- THE CROWD. No, no! VINTIMILLE. Finally, Messieurs, if you burned M. de Vintimille's children, would you not tremble to vie with our tragediennes? THE CROWD [_laughing_]. Long live the children! Ha, ha! VINTIMILLE [in _a changed tone_]. As for him, burn him, Messieurs, burn him, burn him. And, let me tell you, if you don't burn him, he will burn you! [_He steps down from the chair, and disappears into the Crowd, who laugh and shout, and applaud him._] LA CONTAT [_going quickly to_ VINTIMILLE]. Run quickly! They might recognize you! VINTIMILLE. Hello, Contat, were you there? What are you doing in such vile company? LA CONTAT. Don't make fun of the dogs until you are well out of the village. VINTIMILLE. Oh, not every barking dog bites. Come! LA CONTAT. Later. VINTIMILLE. I shall meet you at the Bastille. LA CONTAT. Very well: at the Bastille. [VINTIMILLE _goes out._] HOCHE. The rascal! What effrontery! HULIN. A mixture of courage and nasty vileness. HOCHE. Often to be observed in our "betters." HULIN. This one made his fortune by marrying one of the late king's mistresses; and the same man wins honor at Crefeld and Rosbach.