"Ma foi, the rascals have been caught pocket-picking—serve them jolly well right too. I saw them do it. Come, comrade, we will give evidence and get them well lodged in the Violon. Ils sont des sacr—res Allemands."
At this moment a carriage and pair came dashing up, and a footman arrayed in gorgeous livery descended from his perch and opened the door. A general, magnificently attired in full dress uniform with a row of orders on his breast, stepped out, carrying his head proudly in the air, and looking for all the world like one of the old heroes of Gravelotte with his venerable-looking white locks and greyish white beard and moustache. The crowd made way for him and cheered as he marched with a firm military step towards the struggling prisoners.
"Halt!" he cried in a voice of thunder, as the gendarmes, petrified with astonishment, stood at attention immediately and saluted him.
"What are you doing with those two gentlemen?" he demanded in an imperious tone.
"We are taking them to the gendarmerie for assaulting this Piedmontese with his bear, and for violently resisting us while we were performing our duty in arresting him. One of them threw my comrade on to the ground and would have killed him had not a third member of the force arrived."
"I command you to release them immediately. Are you aware that they happen to be particular friends of mine, and belong to the Embassy? I shall hold you all three responsible for this. Give me your names at once. Do you hear me?" he said, as he stamped his foot on the ground with impatience as they hesitated to obey him.
Trembling with fear they wrote their names and numbers on a card, and handed it to him.
"Now go," he cried, "and take care not to touch my friends again, or beware——" and he shook a warning finger at them.
The three gendarmes stepped back a couple of paces, saluted, and then turning round speedily became lost in the crowd.
"Now step into my carriage," said the General as the footman opened the door for the two guests.