“Who talked of sparing?” said Chouardin.  “I only said that I would sooner that a brave enemy should die in battle than be handled by an executioner.  Talk as you will, you cannot disgrace such a man as Cathelineau.”

“Cannot I, indeed, citizen General?” said Westerman, rising from his seat and coming into the middle of the room.  “I do then utterly despise, scorn, and abominate him, and all such as him.  I can conceive nothing in human form more deplorably low, more pitiably degraded, than such a poor subservient slave as he was.”

“There, Westerman, you are grossly wrong,” said Santerre.  “Your cowardly Marquis, run-fling from the throne which he pretends to reverence, but does not dare to protect; whose grand robes and courtly language alone have made him great; who has not heart enough even to love the gay puppets who have always surrounded him, or courage enough to fight for the unholy wealth he has amassed:  this man I say is contemptible.  Such creatures are as noxious vermin, whom one loathes, and loathing them destroys.  You no less destroy the tiger, who ravages the green fields which your labour has adorned; who laps the blood of your flocks, and threatens the life of your children and servants, but you do not despise the tiger; you keep his hide, as a monument of your victory over a brave and powerful enemy.  Cathelineau was the tiger, who was destroying, before it had ripened, the precious fruit of the Revolution.”

“The tiger is a noble beast,” said Westerman.  “He is hungry, and he seeks his prey; he is satisfied, and he lays down and sleeps; but Cathelineau was a mean jackal, who strove for others, not for himself.  I can understand the factious enmity of the born aristocrat, who is now called upon to give up the titles, dignities, and so-called honours, which, though stolen from the people, he has been taught to look upon as his right.  He contends for a palpable possession which his hand has grasped, which he has tasted and long enjoyed.  I know that he is a robber and a spoiler of the poor; I know, in short, that he is an aristocrat, and as such I would have him annihilated, abolished from the face of the earth.  I would that the aristocrats of France had but one neck, that with a grasp of my own hand, I might at once choke out their pernicious breath,” and the republican laid upon the table his huge hand, and tightly clenched his fingers as though he held between them the imaginary throat of the aristocracy of France; “but,” continued he, “much as I hate a gentleman, ten times more strongly do I hate, despise, and abhor the subservient crew of spiritless slaves who uphold the power of the masters, who domineer over them, who will not accept the sweet gift of liberty, who are kicked, and trodden on, and spat upon, and will not turn again; who will not rise against their tyrants, even when the means of doing so are brought to their hands; who willingly, nay, enthusiastically, lay their necks in the dust, that their fellow-creatures may put their feet upon them.  Of such was this Cathelineau, and of such I understand are most of those who hound on these wretched peasants to sure destruction.  For them I have no pity, and with them I have no sympathy.  They have not the spirit of men, and I would rejoice that the dogs should lick their blood from off the walls, and that birds of prey should consume their flesh.”