The mob was divided, threatening to clash and annihilate itself. The result was a dozen times in doubt, but after half an hour of lull and tumult the verdict was for the course of the law. Barabant again mounted the tribune and put the resolution of arrest.
Javogues and the two Marseillais were led away; the storm rolled out; the hall emptied; a few loiterers straggled down the benches, staring at Nicole, who, exhausted, sobbed on the shoulder of Goursac:
"What a mistake! What a mistake!"
Barabant, leaving the tribune, approached his friends. Now that the passions of the moment were cold, he began to doubt the wisdom of his act.
"I could not help it, Nicole," he said, moved by her utter grief. "It was right, Goursac, was it not?"
Twice he repeated the question without success; nor did the other answer until they reached the Rue Maugout. Then, at length, his bitterness broke through.
"Barabant," he cried, "I will say but one thing: my life is on your head."
"That is absurd," protested Barabant. "Javogues is in prison. He will be condemned."
"He will not remain there one hour!" Goursac replied curtly; but conquering his dejection, he extended his hand. "Barabant, I know you meant well—but you made a mistake. Remember what I say!"
"Meaning I have betrayed you?"