_Coup d'etat_, you are indeed modest! How now! a man has done all we have recalled or related: has taken an oath and perjured himself; was the guardian of a constitution and destroyed it, was the servant of a republic and betrayed it, was the agent of a sovereign assembly and violently crushed it; used the military pass-word as a poignard to kill military honour, used the standard of France to wipe away mud and shame, put handcuffs on the generals of Africa, made the representatives of the people travel in prison-vans, filled Mazas, Vincennes, Mont Valerien, and Sainte-Pelagie with inviolable men, shot down point-blank, on the barricade of the law, the legislator girt with that scarf which is the sacred and venerable symbol of the law; gave to a colonel, whom we could name, a hundred thousand francs to trample duty under foot, and to each soldier ten francs a day; distributed in four days forty thousand francs' worth of brandy to each brigade; covered with the gold of the Bank the card-tables of the Elysee, and said to his friends, "Help yourselves!" killed M.Adde in his own house, M.Belval in his own house, M.
Debaecque in his own house, M.Labilte in his own house, M.de Couvercelle in his own house, M.Monpelas in his own house, M.Thirion de Mortauban in his own house; massacred on the boulevards and elsewhere, shot anybody anywhere, committed numerous murders, of which he modestly confesses to only one hundred and ninety-one; changed the trenches about the trees on the boulevards into pools of blood; spilt the blood of the infant with the blood of the mother, mingling with both the champagne of the gendarmes!--a man has done all these things, has taken all this trouble; and when he asks the nation: "Are you satisfied ?" he obtains only seven million five hundred thousand voters!--Really, he is underpaid.
Sacrifice one's self "to save society," indeed! O, ingratitude of nations! In truth, three millions of voices replied "_No_." Who was it, pray, who said that the South Sea savages call the French the "_oui-ouis_ ?" Let us speak seriously.

For irony is painful in such tragic matters.
_Coup d'etat_ men, nobody believes in your seven million five hundred thousand votes.
Come, be frank, and confess that you are more or less swindlers, that you cheat a little.

In your balance-sheet of the 2nd of December you set down too many votes,--and not enough corpses.
Seven million five hundred thousand! What figure is that?
Whence comes it?
What do you want us to do with it?
Seven million, eight million, ten million, what does it matter?
We concede you everything, and we contest everything with you.
The seven million you have, plus the five hundred thousand; the round sum, plus the odd money; you say so, prince, you affirm it, you swear it; but what proves it?
Who counted?
Baroche.

Who examined?
Rouher.

Who checked?
Pietri.