of so many thousand livres legally due. The moment is trying;
there are some ten thousand soldiers now in Metz, and one spirit seems
to have spread among them.

Bouille is firm as the adamant; but what shall he do? A German Regiment,
named of Salm, is thought to be of better temper: nevertheless Salm too
may have heard of the precept, Thou shalt not steal; Salm too may know
that money is money. Bouille walks trustfully towards the Regiment de
Salm, speaks trustful words; but here again is answered by the cry
of forty-four thousand livres odd sous. A cry waxing more and more
vociferous, as Salm's humour mounts; which cry, as it will produce
no cash or promise of cash, ends in the wide simultaneous whirr of
shouldered muskets, and a determined quick-time march on the part of
Salm--towards its Colonel's house, in the next street, there to seize
the colours and military chest. Thus does Salm, for its part; strong in
the faith that meum is not tuum, that fair speeches are not forty-four
thousand livres odd sous.

Unrestrainable! Salm tramps to military time, quick consuming the way.
Bouille and the officers, drawing sword, have to dash into double quick
pas-de-charge, or unmilitary running; to get the start; to station
themselves on the outer staircase, and stand there with what of
death-defiance and sharp steel they have; Salm truculently coiling
itself up, rank after rank, opposite them, in such humour as we can
fancy, which happily has not yet mounted to the murder-pitch. There will
Bouille stand, certain at least of one man's purpose; in grim calmness,
awaiting the issue. What the intrepidest of men and generals can do is
done. Bouille, though there is a barricading picket at each end of
the street, and death under his eyes, contrives to send for a Dragoon
Regiment with orders to charge: the dragoon officers mount; the dragoon
men will not: hope is none there for him. The street, as we say,
barricaded; the Earth all shut out, only the indifferent heavenly Vault
overhead: perhaps here or there a timorous householder peering out of
window, with prayer for Bouille; copious Rascality, on the pavement,
with prayer for Salm: there do the two parties stand;--like chariots
locked in a narrow thoroughfare; like locked wrestlers at a dead-grip!
For two hours they stand; Bouille's sword glittering in his hand,
adamantine resolution clouding his brows: for two hours by the clocks of
Metz. Moody-silent stands Salm, with occasional