vening at a given hour--seven o'clock had Auguste Moleux, the
town-crier, understood--the boom of the cannon would be heard, the gates
of the town would be opened, the harbour would become a free port.

The inhabitants of Boulogne were ready to shout:

"Vive the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

Whatever he was--hero or spy--he was undoubtedly the primary cause of
all their joy.

By the time Auguste Moleux had cried out the news throughout the town,
and pinned the new proclamation of mercy up on every public building,
all traces of fatigue and anxiety had vanished. In spite of the fact
that wearisome vigils had been kept in every home that night, and that
hundreds of men and women had stood about for hours in the vicinity of
the Gayole Fort, no sooner was the joyful news known, than all lassitude
was forgotten and everyone set to with a right merry will to make the
great fete-day a complete success.

There is in every native of Normandy, be he peasant or gentleman, an
infinite capacity for enjoyment, and at the same time a marvellous
faculty for co-ordinating and systematizing his pleasures.

In a trice the surly crowds had vanished. Instead of these, there were
groups of gaily-visaged men pleasantly chattering outside every eating
and drinking place in the town. The national holiday had come upon
these people quite unawares, so the early part of it had to be spent
in thinking out a satisfactory programme for it. Sipping their beer
or coffee, or munching their cherries a l'eau-de-vie, the townsfolk
of Boulogne, so lately threatened with death, were quietly organizing
processions.

There was to be a grand muster on the Place de la Senechaussee, then
a torchlight and lanthorn-light march, right round the Ramparts,
culminating in a gigantic assembly outside the Town Hall, where the
Citizen Chauvelin, representing the Committee of Public Safety, would
receive an address of welcome from the entire population of Boulogne.

The procession was to be in costume! There were to be Pierrots and
Pierettes, Harlequins and English clowns, aristocrats and goddesses! All
day the women and girls were busy contriving travesties of all sorts,
and the little tumbledown shops in the Rue de Chateau and the Rue
Frederic Sauvage--kept chiefly by Jews and English traders--were
ransacked for old bits of finery, and for remnants of costumes, worn
in the days when Boulogne was still a gay city and Carnivals were held
every year.

And then, of course,