His further cries for help were cut short by one of the scholars thrusting a baked apple into his mouth, and immediately tying his scarf over it. The miserable little Gascon was directly seized and hoisted on to the table, in spite of his violent struggles; whilst the abbe commenced a profane chant, intended as a parody upon some religious service.
Where their frolic might have ended cannot be defined. The consequences of the orgies in the time of Louis XIV., in every position of life, were little cared for; and the unhappy Jean might have been strangled by accident with very little compunction, had not a violent knocking at the door alarmed the revellers, and caused them to desist for the minute from their lawless proceedings. A silence ensued, unbroken except by the efforts of the Gascon to release himself, in the course of which he kicked the flagons and goblets about in all directions.
‘Open to the Garde Bourgeois!’ cried a voice outside.
There was no resisting the command. The host unbarred the door, and a little pursy man, who looked like a perambulating triumphal car of apoplexy, entered the cabaret.
‘Master Poncelet,’ he said to the host, as he shook his head, until his face was a deep crimson; ‘this is against the law, and I must look to it, as answerable for the morality of the faubourgs. We cannot allow this brawling four hours after curfew—we cannot allow it.’
‘If you had come two minutes later,’ said Blacquart, as he forced himself from his tormentors, ‘you would have seen me a——’
Under what guise the Garde Bourgeois would have seen Jean Blacquart was never made known to him. A back-handed blow from Theria overturned the Gascon into the corner of the room, from whence he did not care to arise, not knowing what reception might next await him.
‘Maître Picard,’ said the host with respect, addressing the patrol; ‘these are learned clerks—scholars of Mazarin and of Cluny; with some from the Hôtel Dieu. They seek the faubourgs for quiet and study.’
‘I cannot help it, Master Poncelet,’ replied the bourgeois; ‘the morality of St. Marcel requires the utmost vigilance of its superintendents. Messieurs, you must respect my authority, and put out all the lights directly.’
‘Call in your guard to do it,’ said Philippe Glazer; ‘we are not lackeys.’