used to say:
`Where would you have me go, traitor?'' Fouche replied:
`Wherever you please, imbecile!''
That''s what the Republicans are like."
"That is true," said Theodule.
M. Gillenormand half turned his head, saw Theodule, and went on:--
"When one reflects that that scoundrel was so vile as to turn carbonaro! Why did you leave my house?
To go and become a Republican!
Pssst! In the first place, the people want none of your republic, they have common sense, they know well that there always have been kings, and that there always will be; they know well that the people are only the people, after all, they make sport of it, of your republic-- do you understand, idiot?
Is it not a horrible caprice?
To fall in love with Pere Duchesne, to make sheep''s-eyes at the guillotine, to sing romances, and play on the guitar under the balcony of ''93--it''s enough to make one spit on all these young fellows, such fools are they!
They are all alike.
Not one escapes. It suffices for them to breathe the air which blows through the street to lose their senses.
The nineteenth century is poison. The first scamp that happens along lets his beard grow like a goat''s, thinks himself a real scoundrel, and abandons his old relatives. He''s a Republican, he''s a romantic.
What does that mean, romantic? Do me the favor to tell me what it is.