evening-dressed

When Marat took out a pistol at the tribune, and exclaimed, “One word more, and I shoot myself,” or when David rose from the extreme bench of the Mountain and shouted out, “I demand, I insist upon it, that you assassinate me,” they were scarcely more ripe for Charenton than M. Odillon Barrot, when, Cataline-like, he rushed from the Palais Bourbon, “Abiit, excepit, evasit, erupit”—when, Sylla-like, “He dared depart / In savage grandeur home,” to return, the next day, with the same decent demeanour and benign appearance, at the head of the same array of evening-dressed and white-cravatted individuals, professing bit by bit, and day after day, principles which in their accelerated advance approach them more and more to sans culottes.