The other ought simply to go to Poissy.
The former has the wherewithal to die in the purple, and to end his life with pomp and royally, as monarchs end and tragedies.

The other must live; live between four walls behind bars, through which the people can look at him, sweeping courtyards, making horse-hair brushes or list shoes, emptying buckets, with a green cap on his head, wooden shoes on his feet, and straw in his shoes.
Ah! ye leaders of the old parties, ye men of absolutism, in France you voted _en masse_ among 7,500,000; outside of France you applauded, taking this Cartouche for the hero of order.

He is ferocious enough for it, I admit; but look at his size.

Don't be ungrateful to your real colossi; you have cashiered your Haynaus and your Radetzkys too precipitately.

Above all, weigh this comparison, which so naturally presents itself to the mind.