"Je suis chrétien, voilà ma gloire!"
"I fancy that's settled," said Vigouroux, "and that we have no further business here."
"On the contrary, it's just beginning," said Landri. "They have gone to fetch the workmen."
A half-hour passed, during which the crowd ceased its singing to engage in excited conversation. The constant repetition of the words, "a locksmith," proved that the officer had guessed aright. At last the three functionaries reappeared, followed by a man visibly livid with fright; he was the public drummer of Hugueville, with his drum hanging from his neck. A prolonged howl greeted him, then abruptly ceased, to be succeeded by breathless curiosity. The commissioner, instead of ascending the steps as before, passed through the cordon of soldiers and went up to Landri.
"I have not found any workmen in Hugueville, lieutenant," he said, "to break in the door. They have all left their workshops, to avoid doing it. Their curé has made fanatics of them. I am going to ask you to give me your assistance. Here is my requisition."
And he handed the lieutenant a paper which he ran through with his eyes. The spectators of this tragic episode—one more incident in the lamentable tale of the most criminal of religious wars—saw only the helmet bending over the document, which the constantly increasing wind seemed to try to tear from the hand that held it.
"I have brought the drummer to make the announcement," added the commissioner.
"Very good," said Landri, in a voice choked with emotion, "let him do so."
In the same hollow voice he ordered the six sappers to take their axes and follow him. He began to mount the steps, while the three rolls of the drum announced the imminence of the catastrophe. They were followed by several minutes of painful anticipation. Landri, standing now on the platform, had halted, and he said no word. As he ascended the steps, he had looked up at the great clock over the portal of the church. It marked almost nine o'clock. At that moment the Marquis de Claviers was on Rue de Solferino. They were about to remove the bier of the man for whom he wept as a friend, as a brother. Tears were streaming down his noble face. His great heart was torn with grief.
That vision had arisen before the lieutenant with a distinctness which brought him abruptly to a standstill. He, the son of the Judas, was on the point of making that heart bleed from another wound!