“Parbleu! It’s too easy,” they said, and retiring into the doorway they lit fresh cigarettes.
How slowly the time seemed to pass! I paced up and down the pavement anxiously. Several times I felt like bolting. The false beard I had donned was so uncomfortable; and, after all, I began to think, it was rather tough on my belle-mère. There in the darkened doorway I could see the glow of three cigarettes, and I could imagine the contemptuous, sneering eyes behind them. Hunching forward, the chauffeur seemed asleep. The street was silent, dark, deserted. Then suddenly I heard a step ... it was her.
Yes, there was no doubt. Passing under a distant lamp I had a convincing glimpse of her. I could not mistake the massive figure waddling along in the black serge costume of the market women, with the black shawl over her shoulders, the black umbrella in the hand. She was hatless too, and carried a satchel. All this I saw in a vivid moment ere I turned to my bullies and whispered huskily:
“Ready there, boys! She comes.”
My excitement seemed to communicate itself to them. Their cigarettes dropped, and Alphonse peered out almost nervously.
“Sapristi! that her?” he exclaimed hoarsely. “You are sure, Monsieur?”
“Yes, yes; sure, sure. She’s a large girl.”
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say: “Monsieur, our patron, he has a droll taste among the women, par exemple. But that is not our affair. Steady there Gaston and Alphonse! Get ready for the spring.”
The three men were tense and couchant; the chauffeur snored steadily; the unsuspecting footsteps drew nearer and nearer. Crossing the street, I stood in the shadow on the other side.
What happened in the next half minute I can only surmise. I saw three dark shadows launch themselves on another shadow. I heard a scream of surprise that was instantly choked by a hairy masculine hand. I heard another hoarse yell as a pair of strong teeth met in that masculine hand. I heard volleys of fierce profane Gallic expletives, grunts, groans, yelps of pain and the unmistakable whacking of an umbrella. Evidently my desperadoes weren’t having it all their own way. The bigger shadow seemed to be holding the smaller ones at bay, striking with whirling blows at them every time they tried to rush in. The smaller shadows seemed to be less and less inclined to rush in; each was evidently nursing some sore and grievous hurt, and the joy of battle did not glow in them. There is no doubt they would have retired discomfited had not their doughty antagonist suddenly tripped and fallen with a resounding thump backwards. Then with a mutual yell of triumph they all knelt on her chest.