"Marat!" cried some man in the crowd. "Marat!" yelled the cobbler
Simon, who had been since August the friend and admirer of Marat,
and was to be seen everywhere at his side. "Listen, friends, listen!
Marat is going to speak to us; he will tell us how it happens that
Paris has bread no more, and that we shall all have to starve
together! Marat is going to speak!"
"Silence, silence!" scattered men commanded here and there.
"Silence!" ejaculated a gigantic woman, with broad, defiant face,
around which her black hair hung in dishevelled masses, and which
was gathered up in partly-secured knots under her white cap. With
her broad shoulders and her robust arms she forced her way through
the crowd, directing her course toward the place where Marat
was standing, and near him Simon the cobbler, on whose broad
shoulders, as upon a desk, Marat was resting one hand.
"Silence!" cried the giantess. "Marat, the people's friend, is going
to speak! Let us listen, for it will certainly do us good. Marat is
clever and wise, and loves the people!"
Marat's green, blazing eyes fixed themselves upon the gigantic form
of the woman; he shrank back as if an electrical spark had touched
him, and with a wonderful expression of mingled triumph and joy.
"Come nearer, goodwife!" he exclaimed; "let me press your hand, and
bring all the excellent, industrious, well-minded women of Paris to
take Marat, the patriot, by the hand!"
The woman strode to the place where Marat was standing and reached
him her hand.
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