Arthur was sure that he
was awake. There was Denot marching to and fro. Adolphe Denot, who but
the other day was in the house, not only as a friend, but as a comrade,
eager in the cause in which they were all embarked, as much at home in
the chateau as Henri Larochejaquelin himself: and now he was the worst
of traitors, and the most cruel of enemies--there was the sergeant of
the republican army, sitting as quiet and composed as though he were
merely idling his time away in his own barracks; and there was
Santerre--the much talked of republican brewer and General; the
sanguinary, remorseless, fanatic democrat; the sworn enemy of all that
was noble, loyal and gentle, the dreaded Santerre; for the Chevalier had
now learned the name of the big, clumsy, noisy man, whom he had seen
leading his troops into the salon where he was now sleeping--there he
was, sleeping fast: while care, anxiety, or a sense of duty banished
sleep from all the others, he, who had so much more need than others to
be watchful, was snoring loud, and dreaming of the denizens of the
faubourgs, who used to love him so well.
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