“The fire-eaters!”
“The Arab devourers!”
“Come for their dromedary!”
In the midst of these noisy jests, two soldiers and a corporal advanced with much difficulty. Their bayonets and the barrels of their guns were alone visible above the heads of this hideous and compact crowd. Some officious person had been to inform the officer at the nearest guard house, that a considerable crowd obstructed the public way.
“Come, here is the guard—so march to the guard-house!” said the policeman, taking Mother Bunch by the arm.
“Sir,” said the poor girl, in a voice stifled by sobs, clasping her hands in terror, and sinking upon her knees on the pavement; “sir,—have pity—let me explain—”
“You will explain at the guard-house; so come on!”
“But, sir—I am not a thief,” cried Mother Bunch, in a heart-rending tone; “have pity upon me—do not take me away like a thief, before all this crowd. Oh! mercy! mercy!”
“I tell you, there will be time to explain at the guard-house. The street is blocked up; so come along!” Grasping the unfortunate creature by both her hands, he set her, as it were, on her feet again.
At this instant, the corporal and his two soldiers, having succeeded in making their way through the crowd, approached the policeman. “Corporal,” said the latter, “take this girl to the guard-house. I am an officer of the police.”