"Have those two remainders of Hébertists been caught?" he interrupted the youth abruptly.
"No news yet, Citizen Quenet."
"No news?" he repeated icily, then suddenly tossed the stack of files he was holding into the air and shouted, "No news!"
The papers flew and slapped the face of the small soldier, scattering all over the ground. One piece''s edge sliced a long gash on the soldier''s forehead, blood trickling like a thread of crimson lace down his face to his chin.
The boy timidly lowered his head and glimpsing up at Quenet''s chest heaving with rage.
But at the sight of blood, Andre seemed to calm down all of a sudden. He leaned on the long desk and stroked his forehead to his chin with his palm, murmuring languidly, "I''m sorry, citizen."