Ah! if all were armed in the same manner! We are short of muskets.

See, the labourers have only got cudgels!" Miette, still speechless, looked on and listened.

As Silvere spoke to her of her father, the blood surged to her cheeks.

Her face burnt as she scrutinised the sportsmen with a strange air of mingled indignation and sympathy.

From this moment she grew animated, yielding to the feverish quiver which the insurgents' songs awakened.
The column, which had just begun the "Marseillaise" afresh, was still marching down as though lashed on by the sharp blasts of the "Mistral." The men of La Palud were followed by another troop of workmen, among whom a goodly number of middle class folks in great-coats were to be seen.
"Those are the men of Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx," Silvere resumed.