"You know very well there
is no truth in it."

"What, not true? Do you mean to say it is not true that we are betrayed?
Ah, come, my aristocratic friend, perhaps you are one of them, perhaps
you belong to the d--d band of dirty traitors?" He came forward
threateningly. "If you are you have only to say so, my fine gentleman,
for we will attend to your case right here, and won't wait for your
friend Bismarck, either."

The others were also beginning to growl and show their teeth, and Jean
thought it time that he should interfere.

"Silence there! I will report the first man who says another word!"

But Chouteau sneered and jeered at him; what did he care whether he
reported him or not! He was not going to fight unless he chose, and they
need not try to ride him rough-shod, because he had cartridges in his
box for other people beside the Prussians. They were going into action
now, and what discipline had been maintained by fear would be at an
end: what could they do to him, anyway? he would just skip as soon as he
thought he had enough of it. And he was profane and obscene, egging the
men on against the corporal, who had been allowing them to starve. Yes,
it was his fault that the squad had had nothing to eat in the last
three days, while their neighbors had soup and fresh meat in plenty,
but "monsieur" had to go off to town with the "aristo" and enjoy himself
with the girls. People had spotted 'em, over in Sedan.

"You stole the money belonging to the squad; deny it if you dare, you
_bougre_ of a belly-god!"

Things were beginning to assume an ugly complexion; Lapoulle was
doubling his big fists in a way that looked like business, and Pache,
with the pangs of hunger gnawing at his vitals, laid aside his natural
douceness and insisted on an explanation. The only reasonable one among
them was Loubet, who gave one of his pawky laughs and suggested that,
being Frenchmen, they might as well dine off the Prussians as eat one
another. For his part, he took no stock in fighting, either with fists
or firearms, and alluding to the few hundred francs that he had earned
as substitute, added:

"And so, that was all they thought my hide was worth! Well, I am not
going to give them more than their money's worth."

Maurice and Jean were in a towering rage at the idotic onslaught,
talking loudly and repelling Chouteau's insinuations, when out from the
fog came a stentorian voice, bellowing:

"What's this? what's this? Show me