The children, alarmed at this scene, began to cry, and the idiotic mother sat up in her bed.
"If any one has a right to call for the guard, it is we, you Mister Twistabout," said Bourdin.
"And the guard would lend us a hand to carry you off to gaol if you resist," added Malicorne. "We have not the magistrate with us, it is true; but if you have any wish for his company, we'll find you one, just out of bed, hot and heavy; Bourdin will go and fetch him."
"To prison! me?" exclaimed Morel, struck with dismay.
"Yes, to Clichy."
"To Clichy?" repeated the artisan, with an air of despair.
"It seems a hardish pill," said Malicorne.
"Well, then, to the debtors' jail, if you like that better," said Bourdin.
"You—what—indeed—why—the notary—ah, mon Dieu!"
And the workman, pale as death, fell on his stool, unable to add another word.