“The duck’s foot!” went up a shriek: “it is a Cagot—a Cagot!”
Ned, in his fury, could actually laugh.
“It is a brother, sisters of the confraternity!” he cried.
They were baffled only for the moment. If they dared not touch, they could fling. There were heavy stones in plenty under the snow. They were already stooping to gather them, when a fresh diversion occurred. A patrol of the national guard broke into the rabble and disintegrated it.
At once arose a clamour of demands, retorts and counter-retorts, shrieking denunciations. Ned awaited the issue in perfect coolness. Suddenly a couple of gens-d’armes approached and collared him.
“You arrest me, messieurs?”
“Certainly, citizen.”
“But I am an Englishman, and have done nothing but help a woman in distress.”
“That is well, then. It will serve thee, no doubt, before the commissary.”
“What commissary?”