He woke up with a start at this famous patriotic song: "_Guerre aux tyrans! jamais, jamais en France,_ _Jamais l'Anglais ne regnera!_"[8] "No!" cried he, stretching out his arms toward the stage.

"Never! Let us swear it together on the sacred altar of our native land! Perish, perfidious Albion! _Vive l'Empereur!_" The pit and orchestra arose at once, less to express accord with Fougas' sentiments, than to silence him.

During the following _entr'acte_, a commissioner of police said in his ear, that when one had dined as he had, one ought to go quietly to bed, instead of interrupting the performance of the opera.
He replied that he had dined as usual, and that this explosion of patriotic sentiment had not proceeded from the stomach.
"But," said he, "when, in this palace of misused magnificence, hatred of the enemy is stigmatized as a crime, I must go and breathe a freer air, and bow before the temple of Glory before I go to bed." "You'll do well to do so," said the policeman.
He went out, haughtier and more erect than ever, reached the Boulevard, and ran with great strides as far as the Corinthian temple at the end.
While on his way, he greatly admired the lighting of the city.

M.
Martout had explained to him the manufacture of gas; he had not understood anything about it, but the glowing and ruddy flame was an actual treat to his eyes.
As soon as he had reached the monument commanding the entrance to the _Rue Royale_, he stopped on the pavement, collected his thoughts for an instant, and exclaimed: "Oh, Glory! Inspirer of great deeds, widow of the mighty conqueror of Europe! receive the homage of thy devoted Victor Fougas! For thee I have endured hunger, sweat, and frost, and eaten the most faithful of horses.
For thee I am ready to brave further perils, and again to face death on every battle-field.

I seek thee rather than happiness, riches, or power.
Reject not the offering of my heart and the sacrifice of my blood! As the price of such devotion, I ask nothing but a smile from thy eyes and a laurel from thy hand!" This prayer went all glowing to the ears of _Saint Marie Madeleine_, the patroness of the ex-temple of Glory.