THE OLD BOURGEOIS. Provost Flesselles is a traitor. He pretends to be one of us, but he's in communication with Versailles. THE MASON. He's the one who organized the Bourgeois Militia; it pretends to defend us, but it tries to tie our hands. They're all Judases, ready to sell us. THE CARPENTER. That only teaches us not to depend on any one but ourselves. But I've known that for a long while. [_During the above,_ CAMILLE _lightly taps the window, and calls "Lucile!_" _The light disappears, and the window opens._ LUCILE'S _pretty face, with her lovely teeth and winning smile, appear at the window. Each puts his fingers to his mouth, a warning to be careful. They converse by means of lovers' signs. Each time the workers false their heads from the barricade and look in her direction, Lucile quickly shuts the window. But two workingmen catch sight of her._] A WORKINGMAN [_pointing to_ DESMOULINS]. What's he doing anyway? SECOND WORKINGMAN. The little fellow's in love. Don't bother him! FIRST WORKINGMAN. He'll fight all the better for it. The rooster will defend his hen. [_They continue working, from time to time glancing up good-naturedly at the lovers. But they always observe caution, in order not to interrupt them._] LUCILE [_in an undertone_]. What are you doing there? DESMOULINS. It's a fort to defend you. [_They look at each other and smile._] LUCILE. I can't stay any longer. My people are here. DESMOULINS. Just one moment! LUCILE. Later. When every one has gone. [LUCILE _listens._] They're calling me. Wait. [_She blows a kiss at him and disappears._] THE MASON [_looking at the barricade_]. There, that's done--and well done, I may say. THE CARPENTER [_slapping_ DESMOULINS _on the shoulder_]. Don't work too hard: you'll come down with pleurisy. DESMOULINS. Each one has his work, comrade. After all, this barricade here is the result of my talk. THE MASON. What are you talking about? THE CARPENTER. Do you work with your voice? DESMOULINS. Was neither, of you at the Palais-Royal yesterday? THE CROWD. The Palais-Royal?--Listen to that!--Are you the little fellow who called us to arms, and gave us our cockades? Are you Monsieur Desmoulins? Wonderful speech!--How well you spoke! I cried! Fine little fellow!--Monsieur Desmoulins, let me shake hands with you!--Long live Monsieur Desmoulins! Long live our little Camille! GONCHON [_enters, in the uniform of a Captain of the Bourgeois Militia, followed by his patrol._] What the devil are you doing there? What's all this talking! You're disturbing the peace! Make way, there! Go back home! THE PEOPLE. There's that damned Bourgeois Guard again!--Down with them!--Disturb the peace? That's good!--We're defending Paris! GONCHON. That's not your affair. THE PEOPLE [_indignantly_]. Not our affair? GONCHON [_with vehemence_]. That's not your affair. That's our business, and ours alone. We are the Permanent Committee on defense. Damn you, get out of here!