“The satellites of our young Hercules, the indomitable leader’s gang.”
“Well...?” stammered Victoire, utterly unnerved.
“Well, as I don’t want to be caught in the trap, I shall start by clearing out. Are you coming, Hercules?”
He rolled the child in a blanket, so that only its head remained outside, gagged its mouth as gently as possible and made Victoire fasten it to his shoulders:
“See, Hercules? We’re having a game. You never thought you’d find gentlemen to play pick-a-back with you at three o’clock in the morning! Come, whoosh, let’s fly away! You don’t get giddy, I hope?”
He stepped across the window-ledge and set foot on one of the rungs of the ladder. He was in the garden in a minute.
He had never ceased hearing and now heard more plainly still the blows that were being struck upon the front-door. He was astounded that Daubrecq was not awakened by so violent a din:
“If I don’t put a stop to this, they’ll spoil everything,” he said to himself.
He stood in an angle of the house, invisible in the darkness, and measured the distance between himself and the gate. The gate was open. To his right, he saw the steps, on the top of which the people were flinging themselves about; to his left, the building occupied by the portress.
The woman had come out of her lodge and was standing near the people, entreating them: