, Plassans!"

Crowds streamed across the esplanade. The man with the sabre, surrounded
by the folks from Faverolles, marched off with several of the country
contingents--Vernoux, Corbiere, Marsanne, and Pruinas--to outflank the
enemy and then attack him. Other contingents, from Valqueyras, Nazere,
Castel-le-Vieux, Les Roches-Noires, and Murdaran, dashed to the left,
scattering themselves in skirmishing parties over the Nores plain.

And meantime the men of the towns and villages that the wood-cutter had
called to his aid mustered together under the elms, there forming a dark
irregular mass, grouped without regard to any of the rules of strategy,
simply placed there like a rock, as it were, to bar the way or die. The
men of Plassans stood in the middle of this heroic battalion. Amid the
grey hues of the blouses and jackets, and the bluish glitter of the
weapons, the pelisse worn by Miette, who was holding the banner with
both hands, looked like a large red splotch--a fresh and bleeding wound.

All at once perfect silence fell. Monsieur Peirotte's pale face appeared
at a window of the Hotel de la Mule-Blanche. And he began to speak,
gesticulating with his hands.

"Go in, close the shutters," the insurgents furiously shouted; "you'll
get yourself killed."

Thereupon the shutters were quickly closed, and nothing was heard save
the regular, rhythmical tramp of the soldiers who were drawing near.

A minute, that seemed an age, went by. The troops had disappeared,
hidden by an undulation of the ground; but over yonder, on the side of
the Nores plain, the insurgents soon perceived the bayonets shooting
up, one after another, like a field of steel-eared corn under the rising
sun. At that moment Silvere, who was glowing with feverish agitation,
fancied he could see the gendarme whose blood had stained his hands. He
knew, from the accounts of his companions, that Rengade was not dead,
that he had only lost an eye; and he clearly distinguished the unlucky
man with his empty socket bleeding horribly. The keen recollection of
this gendarme, to whom he had not given a thought since his departure
from Plassans, proved unbearable. He was afraid that fear might get the
better of him, and he tightened his hold on his carbine, while a mist
gathered before his eyes. He felt a longing to discharge his gun
and fire at the phantom of that one-eyed man so as to drive it away.
Meantime the bayonets were still and ever slowly ascending.

W