About nine o’clock we heard a formidable clamour, but it was far away. For a time it neither drew nearer nor became more distant. The crowd that made it must be marking time. We distinctly distinguished a sort of refrain of two notes, the meaning of which we could not grasp. Suddenly the bell rang at the gate.
“There they are!” exclaimed Aunt Deen.
But no; under the gas jet only one shadow was distinguishable, and that a small one. Aunt Deen and mother were of opinion that the gate should be opened only for a good reason.
“Probably some one is sick,” observed my father; and he himself went to the gate. He recognised in the nocturnal visitor Mimi Pachoux, who had furtively hastened thither to tell us:
“It appears, Doctor, that there are other cases; and they are assaulting the mayor’s office.”
“Oh, truly? What is it that they are shouting?”
“Resign! Resign!”
“Very well, good friend. I am going.”
When this dialogue was reported to Aunt Deen she wanted to reward our labourer’s devotion, but father checked her.
“Oh, don’t be in a hurry, aunt. He ran away from me these last days. He simply anticipates the popular movement, when he is perfectly sure of its direction.”