He turned on his heel and joined the darkness, while back came the unmusical voice:
"Dansons la carmagnole,
Vive le son, vive le son!
Dansons la carmagnole,
Vive le son—"
The rest lost itself faintly among distant roofs.
Barabant, recommencing his tedious pacing, returned to the Rue St. Antoine, where the sound of light footsteps warned him of the approach of a woman or a child.
"Can it be Nicole?" he thought hopefully, but his spirits fell as the woman came on doubtfully in a wavering line.
"Good evening, citoyenne," he said gallantly. "There are not many of your sex abroad to-night, and alone."
The woman gave the countersign, "The 10th of August."
Barabant, seeing that she was not inclined to enter into a conversation, cried:
"Take pity on the patriot, citoyenne. The hours are dull."