was intended, I can assure you,” rasped Citizen Julien hastily as he released his grip on Jacqueline’s shoulder and slowly moved in front of her. “If I have offended either of you, please accept my sincerest apologies,” he continued humbly.
The man named Georges burst out laughing. “Apologies?” He sneered in disbelief and took a menacing step forward. “Tell you what, old man. Give us your money, and we’ll just forget the whole thing.”
Citizen Julien considered for a moment and then sighed. “These times of change are difficult for all of us,” he remarked sympathetically. “How can I refuse to share my meager earnings with a fellow citizen in need?” He reached inside the deep folds of his enormous overcoat and produced a small, worn leather purse. He opened it up and calmly extracted a few notes.
“All of it,” commanded the man with the bottle.
Citizen Julien stared at his purse regretfully a moment, and then tossed it onto the ground, where it lay at the feet of the man named Georges. He bent and greedily snatched it up to examine its contents.
“I trust we may go now?” asked Citizen Julien, still appearing quite tranquil as he leaned heavily on his cane.
“Not just yet,” said the man with the bottle. He stared at Citizen Julien. “That looks like a very warm coat you’re wearing, Citizen. Give it over.”
“He will freeze!” protested Jacqueline, outraged by the man’s demand.
The man shrugged his shoulders. “That’s his problem, not mine.” He stepped closer to her and spat on the ground. “I’ll have your jacket, too, boy. And your shoes.”
Jacqueline hesitated. She had no idea how much further they had to go, but without her shoes and with Citizen Julien freezing in the November night air, she did not think they would make it.
“I said hand them over boy,” repeated the man menacingly. “Now.”
“No,” she snapped, her heart racing with fear and fury. She realized she had no choice. She would have to fight these men, and she looked about desperately for something to use as a weapon.
“Now, now, Jacques, let us not be selfish,” interjected Citizen Julien in a soft, scolding tone. “Such behavior is unworthy of a true citizen.”
Jacqueline stared at him in disbelief. He actually seemed to be more concerned about her behavior than about the fact that they were being robbed of their money and their clothes. She wondered if perhaps his mind was weak from age.
“It is evident to me the needs of these men outweigh our own. We must try to help them,” he soothed as he slowly began to undo the buttons on his coat. “After all, what is a coat or a pair of shoes between brothers of the revolution?” he asked philosophically.
“Shut up and be quick about it,” snapped Georges.
Citizen Julien appeared to be having some trouble with his buttons. “I fear my fingers are too aged to manage the last few,” he murmured apologetically. “Perhaps, my friend, you would be kind enough to assist?” he asked the man with the bottle.
The man stepped toward him, leaned down, and began to fumble with the last few buttons. As soon as he bent his head to see to the task, Citizen Julien swung his cane high above his head and brought it crashing down on the back of the man’s skull. The man groaned and slumped onto the ground.
“What the hell—” shouted his companion furiously as he lurched toward Citizen Julien.
Jacqueline reached down and grabbed the liquor bottle the other man had dropped. As Citizen Julien pulled his pasty fist back to drive it into the face of his attacker, Jacqueline lifted her weapon into the night sky and then smashed it down on the assailant’s head. The bottle broke, blood gushed into the wool of the man’s red cap, and without the slightest murmur he fell to the ground beside his friend. Citizen Julien, his fist suspended in midair, stared at her in amazement.
“It would appear you really did attack a captain of the National Guard
The man named Georges burst out laughing. “Apologies?” He sneered in disbelief and took a menacing step forward. “Tell you what, old man. Give us your money, and we’ll just forget the whole thing.”
Citizen Julien considered for a moment and then sighed. “These times of change are difficult for all of us,” he remarked sympathetically. “How can I refuse to share my meager earnings with a fellow citizen in need?” He reached inside the deep folds of his enormous overcoat and produced a small, worn leather purse. He opened it up and calmly extracted a few notes.
“All of it,” commanded the man with the bottle.
Citizen Julien stared at his purse regretfully a moment, and then tossed it onto the ground, where it lay at the feet of the man named Georges. He bent and greedily snatched it up to examine its contents.
“I trust we may go now?” asked Citizen Julien, still appearing quite tranquil as he leaned heavily on his cane.
“Not just yet,” said the man with the bottle. He stared at Citizen Julien. “That looks like a very warm coat you’re wearing, Citizen. Give it over.”
“He will freeze!” protested Jacqueline, outraged by the man’s demand.
The man shrugged his shoulders. “That’s his problem, not mine.” He stepped closer to her and spat on the ground. “I’ll have your jacket, too, boy. And your shoes.”
Jacqueline hesitated. She had no idea how much further they had to go, but without her shoes and with Citizen Julien freezing in the November night air, she did not think they would make it.
“I said hand them over boy,” repeated the man menacingly. “Now.”
“No,” she snapped, her heart racing with fear and fury. She realized she had no choice. She would have to fight these men, and she looked about desperately for something to use as a weapon.
“Now, now, Jacques, let us not be selfish,” interjected Citizen Julien in a soft, scolding tone. “Such behavior is unworthy of a true citizen.”
Jacqueline stared at him in disbelief. He actually seemed to be more concerned about her behavior than about the fact that they were being robbed of their money and their clothes. She wondered if perhaps his mind was weak from age.
“It is evident to me the needs of these men outweigh our own. We must try to help them,” he soothed as he slowly began to undo the buttons on his coat. “After all, what is a coat or a pair of shoes between brothers of the revolution?” he asked philosophically.
“Shut up and be quick about it,” snapped Georges.
Citizen Julien appeared to be having some trouble with his buttons. “I fear my fingers are too aged to manage the last few,” he murmured apologetically. “Perhaps, my friend, you would be kind enough to assist?” he asked the man with the bottle.
The man stepped toward him, leaned down, and began to fumble with the last few buttons. As soon as he bent his head to see to the task, Citizen Julien swung his cane high above his head and brought it crashing down on the back of the man’s skull. The man groaned and slumped onto the ground.
“What the hell—” shouted his companion furiously as he lurched toward Citizen Julien.
Jacqueline reached down and grabbed the liquor bottle the other man had dropped. As Citizen Julien pulled his pasty fist back to drive it into the face of his attacker, Jacqueline lifted her weapon into the night sky and then smashed it down on the assailant’s head. The bottle broke, blood gushed into the wool of the man’s red cap, and without the slightest murmur he fell to the ground beside his friend. Citizen Julien, his fist suspended in midair, stared at her in amazement.
“It would appear you really did attack a captain of the National Guard
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