baskets out to the Secretary-General, who ventured a question: âWhat if they donât want to wear them?â
âThen throw them out! Right now, we have work to do.â
The three conspirators entered the Prefectâs office, shutting the door in the clerksâ faces.
âHere is your office, Morin. Lovely location. First of all, reprint our appeal using the Prefectureâs services, and order them to be posted up in every district.â
âIf they obey me ...â
âThis pack of cowards is under your orders.â
âBut what if Monsieur de Chabrol comes back?â asked Morin anxiously.
âWhat? Are you going to give up on us now?â
âNo, no ...â
âYouâve got plenty of time, those windbags from the councils and the ministries will go on endlessly nattering, they havenât a clue where their interests lie, and anyway, as of this evening, Paris will have a Russian or Austrian governor.â
Octave pricked up his ears:
âDid you hear that? Sounds like horses, a whole troop of them.â
âHere we go!â said Morin gloomily. âThe Prefectâs back.â
Octave and La Grange opened one of the windows.
A detachment of cavalrymen, in blue uniforms and black shakos, was coming from the quays, led by a general in a plumed cocked hat. âThe Prussians!â said the Marquis. These good people will help us.â La Grange seized the second basket of cockades and dragged Octave over to the big staircase, where some terrified officials were holding hasty confabulations.
Down below, Monsieur Walknaer was negotiating with anyone who still refused to wear a royalist cockade. When he saw La Grange and Octave slipping off towards the front steps, he joined them. They reached the courtyard together just as the dragoons of Brandenburg were marching in. At the sight of them, the General dismounted and introduced himself. He was a middle-aged man, covered with medals and gold badges, with a thin goatee and a smartly curled moustache.
âI am General Baron Plotho, Chief of Staff to the King of Prussia ...â
âWhere are you going, General?â asked the Marquis.
âTo see the Prefect.â
âI am the Prefect.â
âSehr gut
, Meuzieur! I have come to reach the agreement with you for the living places of the Emperors of Russia and Austria, my sovereign and some princes who are with them.â
âSecretary General!â cried La Grange.
âIâm here, sir, thereâs no need to shout,â said poor Walknaer.
âWho is in charge of the accommodation of the foreign sovereigns?â
âMonsieur Monnet, the head of department.â
âDrop your basket and call him this minute!â
Walknaer ran off and came back almost immediately with a fat, maggot-like character who, adjusting his white tie, began to speak without waiting.
âEverything has been sorted out. His Majesty the Emperor of Russia wants to live on the Champs-Elysées, the Emperor of Austria in the boulevards, the King of Prussia has demanded the Faubourg Saint-Germain ...â
âHave the
mairies
of those
arrondissements
been warned of this?â
âNot yet, but...â
âBut I am dealing with it myself,â said La Grange, âalong with the General.â And the Marquis gestured to the coach-driver who was waiting on his box in the courtyard. The coach pulled in at the bottom of the stairs.
âYou canât take that carriage!â Monsieur Walknaer protested, embarrassed.
âAnd why not?â
âItâs Monsieur de Chabrolâs...â
âHe is nothing now!â And then, to the Prussian: âGet in, General, together we must go and recognize the residences of our liberators.â
âThis is a very good idea, I think,â said Baron Plotho, climbing into the berlin.
Octave joined him with the cockades, and La Grange issued an order to the coachman: âRue de
âThen throw them out! Right now, we have work to do.â
The three conspirators entered the Prefectâs office, shutting the door in the clerksâ faces.
âHere is your office, Morin. Lovely location. First of all, reprint our appeal using the Prefectureâs services, and order them to be posted up in every district.â
âIf they obey me ...â
âThis pack of cowards is under your orders.â
âBut what if Monsieur de Chabrol comes back?â asked Morin anxiously.
âWhat? Are you going to give up on us now?â
âNo, no ...â
âYouâve got plenty of time, those windbags from the councils and the ministries will go on endlessly nattering, they havenât a clue where their interests lie, and anyway, as of this evening, Paris will have a Russian or Austrian governor.â
Octave pricked up his ears:
âDid you hear that? Sounds like horses, a whole troop of them.â
âHere we go!â said Morin gloomily. âThe Prefectâs back.â
Octave and La Grange opened one of the windows.
A detachment of cavalrymen, in blue uniforms and black shakos, was coming from the quays, led by a general in a plumed cocked hat. âThe Prussians!â said the Marquis. These good people will help us.â La Grange seized the second basket of cockades and dragged Octave over to the big staircase, where some terrified officials were holding hasty confabulations.
Down below, Monsieur Walknaer was negotiating with anyone who still refused to wear a royalist cockade. When he saw La Grange and Octave slipping off towards the front steps, he joined them. They reached the courtyard together just as the dragoons of Brandenburg were marching in. At the sight of them, the General dismounted and introduced himself. He was a middle-aged man, covered with medals and gold badges, with a thin goatee and a smartly curled moustache.
âI am General Baron Plotho, Chief of Staff to the King of Prussia ...â
âWhere are you going, General?â asked the Marquis.
âTo see the Prefect.â
âI am the Prefect.â
âSehr gut
, Meuzieur! I have come to reach the agreement with you for the living places of the Emperors of Russia and Austria, my sovereign and some princes who are with them.â
âSecretary General!â cried La Grange.
âIâm here, sir, thereâs no need to shout,â said poor Walknaer.
âWho is in charge of the accommodation of the foreign sovereigns?â
âMonsieur Monnet, the head of department.â
âDrop your basket and call him this minute!â
Walknaer ran off and came back almost immediately with a fat, maggot-like character who, adjusting his white tie, began to speak without waiting.
âEverything has been sorted out. His Majesty the Emperor of Russia wants to live on the Champs-Elysées, the Emperor of Austria in the boulevards, the King of Prussia has demanded the Faubourg Saint-Germain ...â
âHave the
mairies
of those
arrondissements
been warned of this?â
âNot yet, but...â
âBut I am dealing with it myself,â said La Grange, âalong with the General.â And the Marquis gestured to the coach-driver who was waiting on his box in the courtyard. The coach pulled in at the bottom of the stairs.
âYou canât take that carriage!â Monsieur Walknaer protested, embarrassed.
âAnd why not?â
âItâs Monsieur de Chabrolâs...â
âHe is nothing now!â And then, to the Prussian: âGet in, General, together we must go and recognize the residences of our liberators.â
âThis is a very good idea, I think,â said Baron Plotho, climbing into the berlin.
Octave joined him with the cockades, and La Grange issued an order to the coachman: âRue de
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