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me person, running across the little garden, opened the door hastily, and entered the room in which were the marshal and his father. It was Olivier, the young workman, who had been able to effect his escape from the village in which the Wolves had assembled. "M. Simon! M. Simon!" cried he, pale, and panting for breath. "They are here--close at hand. They have come to attack the factory." "Who?" cried the old man, rising hastily. "The Wolves, quarrymen, and stone-cutters, joined on the road by a crowd of people from the neighborhood, and vagabonds from town. Do you not hear them? They are shouting, 'Death to the Devourers!'" The clamor was indeed approaching, and grew more and more distinct. "It is the same noise that I heard just now," said the marshal, rising in his turn. "There are more than two hundred of them, M. Simon," said Olivier; "they are armed with clubs and stones, and unfortunately the greater part of our workmen are in Paris. We are not above forty here in all; the women and children are already flying to their chambers, screaming for terror. Do you not hear them?" The ceiling shook beneath the tread of many hasty feet. "Will this attack be a serious one?" said the marshal to his father, who appeared more and more dejected. "Very serious," said the old man; "there is nothing more fierce than these combats between different unions; and everything has been done lately to excite the people of the neighborhood against the factory." "If you are so inferior in number," said the marshal, "you must begin by barricading all the doors--and then--" He was unable to conclude. A burst of ferocious cries shook the windows of the room, and seemed so near and loud, that the marshal, his father, and the young workman, rushed out into the little garden, which was bounded on one side by a wall that separated it from the fields. Suddenly whilst the shouts redoubled in violence, a shower of large stones, intended to break the windows of the house, smashed some of the panes on the first story, struck against the wall, and fell into the garden, all around the marshal and his father. By a fatal chance, one of these large stones struck the old man on the head. He staggered, bent forward, and fell bleeding into the arms of Marshal Simon, just as arose from without, with increased fury, the savage cries of, "Death to the Devourers!" CHAPTER IV. THE WOLVES AND THE DEVOURERS. It was a frightful thin
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