It was a scarf of strong dead colours, dark red and old gold and purple, probably of Oriental fabrication. Altogether the man had something a shade barbaric about him; more like a Hungarian squire than an ordinary French officer. His French, however, was obviously that of a native; and his French patriotism was so impulsive as to be slightly absurd. His first act when he burst out of the archway was to call in a clarion voice down the street: "Are there any Frenchmen here?" as if he were calling for Christians in Mecca.
Armagnac and Brun instantly stood up; but they were too late.
Men were already running from the street corners; there was a small but ever-clustering crowd. With the prompt French instinct for the politics of the street, the man with the black moustache had already run across to a corner of the cafe, sprung on one of the tables, and seizing a branch of chestnut to steady himself, shouted as Camille Desmoulins once shouted when he scattered the oak-leaves among the populace.
"Frenchmen!" he volleyed; "I cannot speak! God help me, that is why I am speaking! The fellows in their filthy parliaments who learn to speak also learn to be silent--silent as that spy cowering in the house opposite! Silent as he is when I beat on his bedroom door!
Silent as he is now, though he hears my voice across this street and shakes where he sits! Oh, they can be silent eloquently-- the politicians! But the time has come when we that cannot speak must speak. You are betrayed to the Prussians. Betrayed at this moment.
Betrayed by that man. I am Jules Dubosc, Colonel of Artillery, Belfort.
We caught a German spy in the Vosges yesterday, and a paper was found on him--a paper I hold in my hand. Oh, they tried to hush it up; but I took it direct to the man who wrote it--the man in that house!
It is in his hand. It is signed with his initials. It is a direction for finding the secret of this new Noiseless Powder. Hirsch invented it;Hirsch wrote this note about it. This note is in German, and was found in a German's pocket. `Tell the man the formula for powder is in grey envelope in first drawer to the left of Secretary's desk, War Office, in red ink. He must be careful. P.H.'"
He rattled short sentences like a quick-firing gun, but he was plainly the sort of man who is either mad or right. The mass of the crowd was Nationalist, and already in threatening uproar; and a minority of equally angry Intellectuals, led by Armagnac and Brun, only made the majority more militant.
"If this is a military secret," shouted Brun, "why do you yell about it in the street?"
"I will tell you why I do!" roared Dubosc above the roaring crowd.
"I went to this man in straight and civil style. If he had any explanation it could have been given in complete confidence. He refuses to explain.
He refers me to two strangers in a cafe as to two flunkeys.
He has thrown me out of the house, but I am going back into it, with the people of Paris behind me!"
A shout seemed to shake the very facade of mansions and two stones flew, one breaking a window above the balcony.
The indignant Colonel plunged once more under the archway and was heard crying and thundering inside. Every instant the human sea grew wider and wider; it surged up against the rails and steps of the traitor's house; it was already certain that the place would be burst into like the Bastille, when the broken french window opened and Dr Hirsch came out on the balcony. For an instant the fury half turned to laughter; for he was an absurd figure in such a scene. His long bare neck and sloping shoulders were the shape of a champagne bottle, but that was the only festive thing about him. His coat hung on him as on a peg; he wore his carrot-coloured hair long and weedy; his cheeks and chin were fully fringed with one of those irritating beards that begin far from the mouth. He was very pale, and he wore blue spectacles.
Livid as he was, he spoke with a sort of prim decision, so that the mob fell silent in the middle of his third sentence.
"...only two things to say to you now. The first is to my foes, the second to my friends. To my foes I say: It is true I will not meet M. Dubosc, though he is storming outside this very room.
It is true I have asked two other men to confront him for me.
And I will tell you why! Because I will not and must not see him-- because it would be against all rules of dignity and honour to see him.
Before I am triumphantly cleared before a court, there is another arbitration this gentleman owes me as a gentleman, and in referring him to my seconds I am strictly--"
Armagnac and Brun were waving their hats wildly, and even the Doctor's enemies roared applause at this unexpected defiance.
Once more a few sentences were inaudible, but they could hear him say:
"To my friends--I myself should always prefer weapons purely intellectual, and to these an evolved humanity will certainly confine itself.
But our own most precious truth is the fundamental force of matter and heredity. My books are successful; my theories are unrefuted; but I suffer in politics from a prejudice almost physical in the French.
I cannot speak like Clemenceau and Deroulede, for their words are like echoes of their pistols. The French ask for a duellist as the English ask for a sportsman. Well, I give my proofs: I will pay this barbaric bribe, and then go back to reason for the rest of my life."
Two men were instantly found in the crowd itself to offer their services to Colonel Dubosc, who came out presently, satisfied.
One was the common soldier with the coffee, who said simply:
"I will act for you, sir. I am the Duc de Valognes." The other was the big man, whom his friend the priest sought at first to dissuade; and then walked away alone.
In the early evening a light dinner was spread at the back of the Cafe Charlemagne. Though unroofed by any glass or gilt plaster, the guests were nearly all under a delicate and irregular roof of leaves; for the ornamental trees stood so thick around and among the tables as to give something of the dimness and the dazzle of a small orchard.
