Suddenly the cry: "Stop thief!" "Stop thief!" resounded in the middle of the road, and a man who was running away as fast as his legs could carry him was seized by four or five workingmen in blouses and armed with guns. Among these a ragpicker with a long white beard, but still strong, was conspicuous. His clothes were in tatters, and, although he carried a musket under his arm he did not remove his pack from his shoulder. He was one of the first to seize the runaway, and now held him firmly by the collar, while a woman, running toward the group and panting for breath, cried:
"Stop thief! Stop thief!"
"Did this fellow rob you, my good woman?" asked the ragpicker.
"Yes, my good man," she answered. "I was standing at my door. This man ran up and said to me: 'The people are rising; we must have arms.' 'Monsieur, I haven't any,' I answered him. Thereupon he pushed me aside and went into my shop, despite all I could do, saying: 'Well, if you have no arms, I shall take money to buy some.' So saying, he opened my till, took out of it thirty-two francs that I had there, and a gold watch. I tried to hold him, but he drew a knife upon me—fortunately I parried the blow with my hand—here, see the cut I got. I cried for help, and he fled!"
The culprit was a good sized, robust, and well clad man, but of ignoble countenance. Hardened vice had left its indelible impress upon his wasted features.
"It is not true! I stole nothing!" he cried in a husky voice, struggling to avoid being searched. "Let me go! What does it concern you, anyhow?"
"That may concern us considerably, my young fellow!" answered the ragpicker, holding firm to his collar. "You stabbed this poor woman after robbing her of her money and a watch in the name of the people. Keep still! This demands an explanation."
"Here is the watch, for one thing," said a workingman after searching the thief.
"Can you identify it, madam?"
"I should think so, monsieur! It is old and heavy."