Hulin. Don't you know him?
Hoche. An Orléans? He who knows one, knows them all. He's a vicious vermin, who has caught hold of the robes of Liberty, and tries to harm her. He needs a slap, and he will get it. Let him alone.
Hulin. But what if he take away our liberty?
Hoche. That misshapen brat? He'd better take care that she doesn't take away his head! [Gonchon and his followers cover d'Orléans' head with crêpe. A procession then forms, in absurdly solemn order. Silence. All at once, the Old Woman Shopkeeper comes in beating a drum. A formidable shout arises.]
The People. Forward! [The procession starts. First comes the drummer, followed by Necker's bust, which the Porter carries on his head. He is surrounded by men armed with sticks and hatchets—young men, elegantly attired in silks, wearing jewels and watches, and armed with cudgels and swords; French Guards with drawn sabers; women, first among whom is La Contat, clinging to Desmoulins' arm. Then comes Gonchon, who carries Orléans' bust, followed by the shopkeepers of the Palais-Royal. Then the rest of the Crowd. A great silence, broken now and then by the low hum of the vast crowd. In the distance, shouting is heard; it grows nearer and nearer, and finally passes through the whole line like a tremor of passion. Then silence for a moment.]
Hoche [to Hulin, pointing at the People]. Well, Hulin, are you convinced now?
Hulin. Absurd. That disorderly mob! Attack
