He shouted, he laughed, and he cried, until one of the soldiers in a fit of rage struck him heavily on the head.
Armand fell backwards, stunned by the blow; his foot slipped on the wet pavement.

Was he indeed drunk, or was he dreaming?
He put his hand up to his forehead; it was wet, but whether with the rain or with blood he did not know; but for the space of one second he tried to collect his scattered wits.
"Citizen St.Just!" said a quiet voice at his elbow.
Then, as he looked round dazed, feeling a firm, pleasant grip on his arm, the same quiet voice continued calmly: "Perhaps you do not remember me, citizen St.Just.I had not the honour of the same close friendship with you as I had with your charming sister.

My name is Chauvelin.

Can I be of any service to you ?".