‘It is almost close to the ground,’ he said. ‘Now it touches it; and that rascal Theria has got hold of the end. He puts his foot in it. Huzza! huzza! now wind away; he is ours.’
And the rotund little man delivered himself up to the performance of such joyful gymnastics, that at last his hat fell off and tumbled into the street. A student, who saw it fall, thought it was Theria’s, and cramming his casquette into his cloak-pocket, put it on, until the other should come down.
‘Now, stop! for your life!’ said Maître Picard to the Gascon, who kept winding away in great trepidation, but saying through it all that he was easily accomplishing the work of six men. ‘Now stop! he is on a level with the sign; let him remain there.’
Jean implicitly obeyed; the catch fell into the toothed wheel, and he came to the window, whilst Maître Picard hurried down stairs very rapidly, by reason of his gravity, and told his fellow police that it was time to make their charge. They accordingly rushed into the street, and were face to face with the students.
‘Trapped!’ ejaculated Theria, as he felt his progress stopped, and saw the tumult below. ‘Oh, Master Blacquart, you shall pay for this.’
A terrible riot ensued. What the students wanted in numbers, they made up in strength and daring. They wrested the partisans from their opponents to turn against them, and in all probability would have come off the conquerors, had not Maître Picard opened one of his upper windows and discharged a blunderbus therefrom—not to injure his enemies, but to give the alarm by the report of this novel weapon, not long imported from Holland.[9] It had the desired effect, and in a few minutes brought back the Guet Royal.
Some of the students fled at once as they saw the night-patrol advance, for they were men with whom there was no trifling. Those who remained, being a small number, were now captured by the bourgeois; and then Maître Picard emerged from his house, and Theria was let down and seized.
‘Huzza!’ cried the little chapelier, giving way to fresh antics. ‘We have caught you—eh? Take him away; to the guard-house with such a brawler. Stop—no—the glory shall be with me. Gentlemen of the Guet Royal, march on with your other prisoners; the Garde Bourgeois will take charge of the ringleader. Mauvais sujet—ugh!’
Camille took no notice of Maître Picard’s address. He was, however, chafing with anger inwardly at being thus caught.
‘To the guard-house!’ continued Maître Picard, ‘without loss of time. I have rid Paris of a brigand—a cut-purse. En avant!’