A great noise, at first from a distance, was heard rapidly approaching along the street. Presently distinct cheers were heard: "Good luck to Marcel!" "To a happy issue, to a happy issue!" "Good luck to Marcel!" and almost at the same time Marguerite entered her husband's cabinet saying: "Simon the Feather-dealer, Philip Giffart, Consac and other friends are in arms in the street with a large number of faithful partisans cheering for you. Our friends consider it prudent to come for you and escort you to the town-hall."
"Good-bye, Marguerite, dear and beloved wife!" said Marcel with profound but well-controlled emotion, thinking that this was perhaps the last time he might press to his heart the companion of his life. "Adieu ... and may we soon meet again!"
"Oh, my friend, these cheers that acclaim you with enthusiasm reassure me ... Our friends are guarding you."
Fear nothing; I shall see you again to-morrow ... Adieu!... Adieu once more!" repeated Marcel, who despite his courage, felt his heart breaking at the moment of a separation that might be eternal. Giving a last embrace to Marguerite, Marcel descended to the street. There he was met by several of the councilmen in the midst of a large crowd of partisans whose sympathetic acclamations redoubled at the sight of their idol. Discouragement had, it was true, gained over a majority of the people. Nevertheless Marcel could still count upon many devoted and intrepid hearts.
"Friends!" Marcel cried out aloud to the councilmen, "we shall not go to the town-hall, but to the gate of St. Antoine. I shall tell you more on the way."
The words were caught by one of the three men who all during the evening had never left the approaches to Marcel's house. The spy said to his companions:
"Let one of you hurry to the Sire of Charny and notify him that Marcel is going with his men to the gate of St. Antoine. The other of you run ahead of the bandits and notify Master Maillart that they are coming. I shall follow them at a distance and watch their movements. Let each be at his post and well armed."
CHAPTER V.
THE GATE OF ST. ANTOINE.
The clock had sounded the first hour of morning from the church in the quarter of St. Antoine. Just before sinking below the horizon the moon still shed enough light to brighten with a fringe of silver the topmost battlement of the two high towers that defend the gate of St. Antoine, towards which Etienne Marcel was wending his way accompanied by the councilman Philip Giffart and Jocelyn, and holding two keys in his hands. The other magistrates and a group of their partisans had posted themselves, at the request of the provost, in a house near the ramparts. The profoundest silence reigned near a wide and dark vaulted passage that led to the gate of the city. A man leading a horse by the bridle followed Marcel at a little distance.
"This is the decisive moment," Marcel was saying to his companions. "If Charles the Wicked has come to our rendezvous, we then have a chance of success ... if not, I shall mount that horse and ride to Charenton to deliver myself to the Regent!"