The conductor's bâton gave three short taps. On the sudden abatement of the tumult, rose the superb rhythm of the opening notes,—a virile introduction.
All the men had bared their heads simultaneously.
No; not all.
"Hats off!" shouted someone behind us.
For whom was the order meant? For Laquarrière, I could see. He shrugged his shoulders to show that it pleased him to thwart such a fool. But the moment was ill-chosen. Other voices, already grown threatening, repeated:
"Hats off! Hats off!"
He gave way, smiling scornfully.
The orchestra excelled themselves. At the opening of the refrain the general attention was caught and held by the imperative call of the repeated high note, and the feelings of the audience carried away by the well-marked rhythm of the melody. A warlike jollity was abroad. I swear I had a momentary vision of risen troops hurling themselves in serried ranks against the hostile masses. I shivered. I was entering into communion with the multitude....
Laquarrière leant towards me and made some remark which I did not catch, but which I had to acknowledge with a smile.... My trance was over, I listened untroubled to the crash of the brasses, as it grew in intensity and rose headlong to the heights, to die away in wild flourishes. Then from two thousand throats there rose a clamour which rolled like thunder round the roof. A new thrill ran through me; I was just going to shout ... when Laquarrière seized me by the arm.