Of these intentions the Captain did not leave them long in doubt.

A brisk word of command brought his men into a bristling line of attack, which in itself should have proved sufficient to ensure the peasantry's respect.
"Citizens" cried the officer, stepping forward, "in the name of the French Republic I charge you to withdraw and to leave us unhampered in the business we are here to discharge." "Citizen-captain," answered the giant Souvestre, constituting himself the spokesman of his fellows, "we demand to know by what right you interfere with honest patriots of France in the act of ridding it of some of the aristocratic vermin that yet lingers on its soil ?" The officer stared at his interlocutor, amazed by the tone of the man as much as by the sudden growls that chorused it, but nowise intimidated by either the one or the other.
"I proclaimed my right when I issued my charge in the name of the Republic," he answered shortly.
"We are the Republic," Souvestre retorted, with a wave of the hand towards the ferocious crowd of men and women behind him.

"We are the Nation--the sacred people of France.

In our own name, Citizen-soldier, we charge you to withdraw and leave us undisturbed." Here lay the basis of an argument into which, however, the Captain, being neither politician nor dialectician, was not minded to be drawn.
He shrugged his shoulders and turned to his men.
"Present arms!" was the answer he delivered, in a voice of supreme unconcern.
"Citizen-captain, this is an outrage," screamed a voice in the mob.

"If blood is shed, upon your own head be it." "Will you withdraw ?" inquired the Captain coldly.
"To me, my children," cried Souvestre, brandishing his sabre, and seeking to encourage his followers.