In a tavern he had stolen a knife, having at the same time concealed twelve creutzers in the salt-cellar: with this implement he now scraped off his mustache.
Nevertheless, he had no sooner crossed the frontier than he was arrested. This time he did not stop to enlist the pity of the gens d'armes, but defended himself with all his might and made desperate efforts to get free: he was thrown down, however, and manacled.
He was now forwarded from circuit to circuit by the hands of the gens d'armes. In silence he walked along, his right hand chained to his right foot: he looked upon himself as upon an animal driven to the slaughter.
But when, coming from Sulz, he issued from the Empfingen copse and found that he was to be dragged in chains through his native village, he fell on his knees before the gens d'armes and begged him with tears to be so merciful as to take him around outside of the village.
But the voice of authority answered "No," and Florian struck his left hand into his eyes to blind himself to his own degradation: his right hand rattled helplessly in the chain. Florian--the cynosure of neighboring eyes, he who had known no keener joy than to be the object of universal attention--was now to be exposed in these shameful trappings and in such disgraceful company. For the first time in his life he could have prayed that people might not have eyes to cast upon him. As he passed the Red Tailor's house, Crescence was chopping wood at the pile. The hatchet dropped from her hand, and for a moment she stood paralyzed: the next instant she rushed upon Florian with open arms and fell upon his neck. The gens d'armes disengaged her gently. "I'll go with you through the village," said Crescence, without weeping. "You sha'n't bear your shame alone. Does the iron hurt you? Don't fret too much, for my sake."
Florian, unable to speak, motioned to her with his left hand to turn back; but she walked by his side,
as if riveted to him by an invisible chain. The news spread through the village like wildfire. Caspar and Babbett were standing before the Eagle: the former had a mug of beer in his hand, and brought it to Florian to drink. The gens d'armes would not permit it. Florian begged them not to let Crescence go any farther, and Babbett at last persuaded her to remain. All were weeping.
He went alone through the rest of the familiar streets.
George the blacksmith, prevented by the cold from sitting in front of his door, saw him from behind his window and touched his cap from sheer embarrassment. At the manor-house farmer's he met the French simpleton, who pointed to his upper lip, saying, "Mus a loni ringo." In spite of himself, a painful smile passed over Florian's features.