, dancing, and gesticulation. As Miette
passed along she was carried away by a _farandole_[*] which spread
whirling all round the Grand' Place. Silvere followed her. His thoughts
of death and his discouragement were now far away. He wanted to fight,
to sell his life dearly at least. The idea of a struggle intoxicated
him afresh. He dreamed of victory to be followed by a happy life with
Miette, amidst the peacefulness of the universal Republic.

[*] The _farandole_ is the popular dance of Provence.

The fraternal reception accorded them by the inhabitants of Orcheres
proved to be the insurgents' last delight. They spent the day amidst
radiant confidence and boundless hope. The prisoners, Commander
Sicardot, Messieurs Garconnet, Peirotte and the others, who had been
shut up in one of the rooms at the mayor's, the windows of which
overlooked the Grand' Place, watched the _farandoles_ and wild outbursts
of enthusiasm with surprise and dismay.

"The villains!" muttered the Commander, leaning upon a window-bar, as
though bending over the velvet-covered hand-rest of a box at a theatre:
"To think that there isn't a battery or two to make a clean sweep of all
that rabble!"

Then he perceived Miette, and addressing himself to Monsieur Garconnet,
he added: "Do you see, sir, that big girl in red over yonder? How
disgraceful! They've even brought their mistresses with them. If this
continues much longer we shall see some fine goings-on."

Monsieur Garconnet shook his head, saying something about "unbridled
passions," and "the most evil days of history." Monsieur Peirotte, as
white as a sheet, remained silent; he only opened his lips once, to say
to Sicardot, who was still bitterly railing: "Not so loud, sir; not so
loud! You will get us all massacred."

As a matter of fact, the insurgents treated the gentlemen with the
greatest kindness. They even provided them with an excellent dinner in
the evening. Such attentions, however, were terrifying to such a quaker
as the receiver of taxes; the insurgents he thought would not treat them
so well unless they wished to make them fat and tender for the day when
they might wish to devour them.

At dusk that day Silvere came face to face with his cousin, Doctor
Pascal. The latter had followed the band on foot, chatting with the
workmen who held him in the greatest respect. At first he had striven
to dissuade them from the struggle; and then, as if convinced by their
arguments, he h