Yes, lies," he screeched in his shrillest falsetto, "and the journalists are robbers." "But, Monsieur Mouton--" "Yes, brigands," continued the clerk.

"They are the cause of all our misfortunes; they brought about the Revolution and its paper money, witness Murat." "Excuse me," said Rodolphe, "you mean Marat." "No, no," resumed Monsieur Mouton, "Murat, for I saw his funeral when I was quite a child--" "But I assure you--" "They even brought you a piece at the Circus about him, so there." "Exactly," said Rodolphe, "that was Murat." "Well what else have I been saying for an hour past ?" exclaimed the obstinate Mouton.

"Murat, who used to work in a cellar, eh?
Well, to put a case.

Were not the Bourbons right to guillotine him, since he had played the traitor ?" "Guillotine who?
Play the traitor to whom ?" cried Rodolphe, button-holing Monsieur Mouton in turn.
"Why Marat." "No, no, Monsieur Mouton.

Murat, let us understand one another, hang it all!" "Precisely, Marat, a scoundrel.