‘I think not,’ said Blacquart; ‘although they know me as a daring and gallant coadjutor. My appearance in the streets might provoke suspicion with any of the students I might meet.’
To the joy of the Gascon, who thought inside the house the safest position with such an event about to come off, Maître Picard rose, with some trouble, from his settle, and, puffing and blowing, started out to summons his brother-guards. The Gascon remained to finish the wine; which, having done, he felt so nerved that he sang bold and warlike songs to himself, and then drawing his sword fought imaginary duels with nobody, and slaughtered many chimerical adversaries, concluding from mere want of breath, in high good humour with himself and his prowess. He was yet panting from his late courageous exertions, when his landlord returned with a few of his brethren in the guard, and these were speedily followed by others, who were stationed in the shop and parlour. Their presence increased the Gascon’s valour to such a pitch that, when he saw they had all arrived, he even offered to go and fight the students himself. And had it not been for one of the guard, who, from sheer wickedness, recommended Jean to do so, to his extreme terror, there is no knowing to what lengths he might have gone, or what wonderful actions he might have committed.
The curfew sounded; the lights disappeared in the Quartier Latin, as the shops were closed, and the glimmer of the lanterns alone illumined the thoroughfares. Maître Picard disposed the Garde Bourgeois for a proper sortie, and then went up to Blacquart’s room, accompanied by the student, whom he placed to keep a look out at the window.
‘I think I hear them coming,’ said Jean, after he had been a short time at his post.
‘They are marching in order,’ observed Maître Picard, with breathless attention; ‘the students have mustered strongly.’
‘No; it is the Guet Royal,’ returned the Gascon, as the night-patrol came round the corner of the Rue de la Harpe.
‘I think we had better call them in, too,’ said the affrighted little hatter.
‘No—no,’ answered Jean; ‘the disturbance and the clank of their arms will alarm the others. Beside, is there not enough to protect you? You have me.’
‘Very true,’ said Maître Picard. But he said it as if he did not think it was. However, he was resigned to his fate, and the Guet Royal passed along the Rue des Mathurins, turning off towards the Sorbonne.
‘They will not be back for half an hour,’ murmured Maître Picard, as the last cresset disappeared round the corner.