HOGUE _goes out_, JEAN _crosses to_ PAUL.

JEAN.

When you are recognized, our pursuit will recommence.

PAUL.

How much time is needed to make sure your escape?

JEAN.

At least one hour.--If your disguise is discovered in less time, you
will have risked your life in vain.

PAUL.

Don't fear!

JEAN.

I have your word, and no matter what happens, you will play your part
for one whole hour?

PAUL.

You have my word, however tragic this comedy may become.

JEAN.

When the General is free, I shall return.

[_A bell tolls the hour of Two_.]

Listen! Remember, you have pledged your honour to endure all things
for an hour. Till then--God help you!

[_Exit_.

_Shouts and yells outside from Republican soldiers_; PAUL _sits near
the fire and pays no attention. Firing outside, followed by cries and
cheers_.

POTIN.

[_Outside_.]

This way!--This way!--That's his nest!--We'll find the bird in there!

[_Rushes on, followed by_ SOLDIERS.]

[_Looking around_.]

Deserted! The rogue of a royal General is hiding like a mouse! We'll
unearth him!--Come on!

[_He is going toward door, followed by his_ MEN, _when he sees_ PAUL,
_and starts back_.]

Halt!

[_Points at_ PAUL.]

See!--There is La Rochejacquelein!

[_To the_ MEN.]

Make ready--Aim!

[SOLDIERS _aim at_ PAUL, _who does not move_]

[_To_ PAUL.]

General La Rochejacquelein, we recognize your uniform. Surrender!

[PAUL _does not move_.]

General, your sword, or we fire!

PAUL.

[_Rising coolly_.]

Fire!

POTIN.

We do not want to kill you.

[_Advancing with extended hand_.]

We'd rather have your sword.

PAUL.

[_Recognizing_ POTIN, _speaks aside_.]

Potin!--The wretch!--He may recognize me before the hour is up!

[_He draws his sword and extends it backward_.

POTIN.

[_Taking the sword_.]

General, you are our prisoner.

[_To_ SOLDIERS.]

Comrades, to us--a squad of the battalion of the Bonnet Rouge--is due
the glory of taking the leader of these Royalist Brigands!--Hurrah for
our Battalion!

[_All cheer_.

VOICES.

[_Outside_.]

Long live the Republic!

POTIN.

[_Looking off_]

Bah! Here come the rabble--a crowd of anarchists!

GOUJON.

Who never share the fighting.

POTIN.

But claim all the glory fighting brings.

GOUJON.

Curse these civil shouters!

SOLDIERS _all groan. Cries of "Carrac! Carrac!" with cheers heard
outside_.

POTIN.

He