"Ha! are you really Victor de Mauleon?" asked Monnier, not fiercely, but under his breath,--in that sort of stage whisper which is the natural utterance of excited men under the mingled influence of potent drink and hoarded rage. "Certainly; I am Victor de Mauleon." "And you were in command of the -- company of the National Guard on the 30th of November at Champigny and Villiers?" "I was." "And you shot with your own hand an officer belonging to another company who refused to join yours?" "I shot a cowardly soldier who ran away from the enemy, and seemed a ringleader of other runaways; and in so doing, I saved from dishonour the best part of his comrades." "The man was no coward. He was an enlightened Frenchman, and worth fifty of such aristos as you; and he knew better than his officers that he was to be led to an idle slaughter. Idle--I say idle. What was France the better, how was Paris the safer, for the senseless butchery of that day? You mutinied against a wiser general than Saint Trochu when you murdered that mutineer." "Armand Monnier, you are not quite sober to-night, or I would argue with you that question. But you no doubt are brave: how and why do you take the part of a runaway?" "How and why? He was my brother, and you own you murdered him: my brother--the sagest head in Paris. If I had listened to him, I should not be,--bah!--no matter now what I am." "I could not know he was your brother; but if he had been mine I would have done the same." Here Victor's lip quivered, for Monnier griped him by the arm, and looked him in the face with wild stony eyes. "I recollect that voice! Yet-- yet--you say you are a noble, a Vicomte--Victor de Mauleon, and you shot my brother!" Here he passed his left hand rapidly over his forehead. The fumes of wine still clouded his mind, but rays of intelligence broke through the cloud. Suddenly he said in a loud, and calm, and natural voice: "Mons. le Vicomte, you accost me as Armand Monnier--pray how do you know my name?" "How should I not know it? I have looked into the meetings of the 'Clubs rouges.' I have heard you speak, and naturally asked your name. _Bon soir_ M. Monnier! When you reflect in cooler moments, you will see that if patriots excuse Brutus for first dishonouring and then executing his own son, an officer charged to defend his country may be surely pardoned for slaying a runaway to whom he was no relation, when in slaying he saved the man's name and kindred from dishonour--unless, indeed, you insist on telling the world why he was slain." "I know your voice--I know it. Every sound becomes clearer to my ear. And if--"