At last two or three policemen have appeared upon the scene. He shakes himself loose from the people about him, and strides toward one of these functionaries; Van Vernet is himself again.
“A form comes reeling out from among the smoke and fire-tongues, staggering beneath a burden.”—[page 237].
The eyes of the crowd follow his movements in amazement. They see him speak a few words in the ear of one of the officers; see that worthy beckon to a second, and whisper to him in turn. And then, leaning upon the arm of officer number one, and following in the wake of officer number two, who clears the way with authoritative waves of his magic club, he passes them by without a word or glance, and soon, with his double escort, is lost in the darkness, leaving the throng baffled, dissatisfied and, more than all, astounded.
“And he never stops to ask who saved him!” cries a woman’s shrill voice.
“Oh, the wretch!”
“What shameful ingratitude!”
And now their thoughts return to the rescuer, the gallant fellow who has risked his life to save an ingrate.
But he, too, is gone. In the moment when their eyes and their thoughts were following Vernet, he has disappeared.