"Advance one inch further!"
The machinist recoiled. The shouting of the mob reached the chamber. All arose with the desire to run away. The help from Falaise had not arrived. They bewailed the count's absence. Marescot kept twisting a pen; Père Coulon groaned; Heurtaux lashed himself into a fury to make them send for the gendarmes.
"Command them to come!" said Foureau.
"I have no authority."
The noise, however, redoubled. The whole green was covered with people, and they were all staring at the first story of the building when, at the window in the middle, under the clock, Pécuchet made his appearance.
He had ingeniously gone up by the back-stairs, and, wishing to be like Lamartine, he began a harangue to the populace:
"Citizens!—--"
But his cap, his nose, his frock-coat, his entire personality lacked distinction.
The man in the knitted waistcoat asked him:
"Are you a workman?"