His guffaw broke in a rasping cough which seemed to tear his broad chest to ribbons. For a moment speech was denied him; even oaths failed to reach his lips, trembling like an unset jelly in this distressing spasm. His neighbours alongside the table, the young enthusiast opposite, the comely matron, paid no heed to him--waited indifferently until the clumsy lout had regained his breath. This, mark you, was not an era of gentleness or womanly compassion, and an asthmatic mudlark was not like to excite pity. Only when he once more stretched out his long limbs, raised his head and looked about him, panting and blear-eyed, did the girl insist quietly: "But you have heard _Him_ speak!" "Aye!" the ruffian replied drily. "I did." "When?" "Night before last. Tenez! He was stepping out of citizen Duplay's house yonder. He saw me leaning against the wall close by. I was tired, half asleep, what? He spoke to me and asked me where I lived." "Where you lived?" the girl echoed, disappointed. "Was that all?" the matron added with a shrug of her shoulders. The neighbours laughed. The men enjoyed the discomfiture of the women, who were all craning their necks to hear something great, something palpitating, about their idol. The young enthusiast sighed, clasped her hands in fervour. "He saw that you were poor, citizen Rateau," she said with conviction; "and that you were tired. He wished to help and comfort you." "And where did you say you lived, citizen?" the young matron went on, in her calm, matter-of-fact tone. "I live far from here, the other side of the water. Not in an aristocratic quarter like this one--what?" "You told _Him_ that you lived there?" the girl still insisted. Any scrap or crumb of information even remotely connected with her idol was manna to her body and balm to her soul. "Yes, I did," citizen Rateau assented. "Then," the girl resumed earnestly, "solace and comfort will come to you very soon, citizen. He never forgets. His eyes are upon you. He knows your distress and that you are poor and weary. Leave it to him, citizen Rateau. He will know how and when to help." "He will know, more like," here broke in a harsh voice, vibrating with excitement, "how and when to lay his talons on an obscure and helpless citizen whenever his Batches for the guillotine are insufficient to satisfy his lust!" A dull murmur greeted this tirade. Only those who sat close by the speaker knew which he was, for the lights were scanty and burnt dim in the open air. The others only heard--received this arrow-shot aimed at their idol--with for the most part a kind of dull resentment. The women were more loudly indignant. One or two young devotees gave a shrill cry or so of passionate indignation. "Shame! Treason!" "Guillotine, forsooth! The enemies of the people all deserve the guillotine!" And the enemies of the people were those who dared raise their voices against their Chosen, their Fetich, the great, incomprehensible Mystery.