Bokelskere.no

The judge's face was dirty, his coat was ripped half off his back. In one hand he had a very fine duelling pistol, one of a valuable pair made for Maurice de Saxe: and in the other a meat-cleaver.

'But the waste, the irresponsibility,' Hérault said. 'They've plundered the Saint-Lazare monestary. All that fine furniture, my God, and the silver. Yes, they've raided the cellars, they're lying in the streets vomiting now. What's that you say? Versailles? Did you say "finish it off" or "finish them off"? If so I'd better get a change of clothes, I'd hate to turn up at the palace looking like this. Oh yes,' he said, and he gripped his cleaver and charged back into the crowds, 'it beats filing writs, doesn't it?'

He had never been so happy: never, never before.