VINTIMILLE [_to himself, as he looks at_ HOCHE]. Strange men! How came our France to breed such creatures? They are Germans. Germans? No. I have known Prussians more French than this one. Who has wrought this change? HOCHE. Remember, there is still chance for coming to an understanding; in a short while, that chance will be lost. The moment you draw blood, it will be too late. DE FLUE. You had better give this advice to your friends. HOCHE [_with a shrug, to_ JULIE]. Come, little pigeon, they refuse your olive branch. [_He takes_ JULIE _on his shoulder_.] DE LAUNEY [_to_ HOCHE]. Nothing can conquer the Bastille. It may be surrendered, but never taken. HOCHE. It will be surrendered. DE LAUNEY. And who will surrender it? HOCHE. Your evil conscience! [HOCHE _goes out with_ JULIE, _amid a general silence. No one thinks of stopping him._] VINTIMILLE [_reflectively_]. Our evil conscience! DE LAUNEY [_suddenly_]. Well! Why did we let him go? DE FLUE. He is still in the court. DE LAUNEY. Run after him and stop him! BÉQUART. Monseigneur, it is impossible. THE PENSIONERS [_grunting assent_]. He's an envoy. DE LAUNEY. Impossible, you rascal! Envoy from whom? BÉQUART [_gravely_]. The people. DE FLUE [_to the Swiss Guards_]. Arrest him! BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS [_to the Swiss Guards_]. No, comrades, not that! Don't arrest him! A Swiss GUARD [_trying to_ pass]. That was the command. BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS. Don't you dare go, or you'll have us to deal with! VINTIMILLE [_watching them, aside_]. Ah, ha! [_Aloud._] Good! [_To_ DE LAUNEY.] Don't insist. A Swiss GUARD [_entering from the exterior court, to_ DE LAUNEY]. Monseigneur, there is an immense crowd coming out of the Rue Saint-Antoine. They have taken the Invalides, and are dragging along twenty cannon. DE FLUE. The devil! But we must decide now, or everything will be spoiled. Let us rout the band, or they will defeat us. [_Great clouds of smoke roll up above the outer walls._] DE LAUNEY. What is that smoke? A Swiss GUARD. They've fired the outlying buildings. DE LAUNEY. Scoundrels! So they want a pitiless warfare? They shall have it. DE FLUE. Shall we fire? DE LAUNEY. Wait-- DE FLUE. For what, in the name of God? DE LAUNEY [_with a questioning look at_ VINTIMILLE]. Monsieur de Vintimille. VINTIMILLE [_rather scornfully_]. I told you what I thought. Do as you like. One word of advice: whatever you decide on, don't change it. DE LAUNEY. You have a free hand, Monsieur de Flue. Give it to them! [DE LAUNEY, DE FLUE, _and the Swiss Guards go out into the other court._]