the people, to whom I am going to announce the news. You, Torchebeuf
beat the tattoo throughout the whole neighborhood as far as the hamlets
of Gerisaie and Salmare, in order to assemble the militia in the public
square. You, Pommel, get your uniform on quickly, just the coat and
cap. We are going to the town-hall to demand Monsieur de Varnetot to
surrender his powers to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Now carry out those orders quickly. I will go over to your house with
you, Pommel, since we shall act together."

Five minutes later, the commandant and his subordinates, armed to the
teeth, appeared on the square, just as the little Viscount de Varnetot,
his legs encased in gaiters as for a hunting party, his gun on his
shoulder, was coming down the other street at double-quick time,
followed by his three green-coated guards, their swords at their sides
and their guns swung over their shoulders.

While the doctor stopped, bewildered, the four men entered the town-hall
and closed the door behind them.

"They have outstripped us," muttered the physician, "we must now wait
for reenforcements. There is nothing to do for the present."

Lieutenant Picart now appeared on the scene.

"The priest refuses to obey," he said. "He has even locked himself in
the church with the sexton and beadle."

On the other side of the square, opposite the white, tightly closed
town-hall, stood the church, silent and dark, with its massive oak door
studded with iron.

But just as the perplexed inhabitants were sticking their heads out of
the windows or coming out on their doorsteps, the drum suddenly began
to be heard, and Torchebeuf appeared, furiously beating the tattoo. He
crossed the square running, and disappeared along the road leading to
the fields.

The commandant drew his sword, and advanced alone to half way between
the two buildings behind which the enemy had intrenched itself, and,
waving his sword over his head, he roared with all his might:

"Long live the Republic! Death to traitors!"

Then he returned to his officers.

The butcher, the baker and the druggist, much disturbed, were anxiously
pulling down their shades and closing their shops. The grocer alone kept
open.

However, the militia were arriving by degrees, each man in a different
uniform, but all wearing a black cap with gold braid, the cap being the
principal part of the outfit. They were armed with old rusty guns, the
old guns which had hung for thirty