"But you were at the duel, M. le Vicomte?" The speaker was Buton.
"Yes," I said nervously. "But what of that? I saw M. le Marquis safe on his way home, and I thought that the crowd had separated. Now--" and I paused, listening.
"You fancy that you still hear them?" he said, eying me closely and smiling.
"Yes; I fear that they are at mischief."
"We are afraid of that, too," the smith answered drily, setting his elbows on the table, and looking at me anew. "It is not impossible."
Then I understood. I caught Doury's eye--which would fain have escaped mine--and read it there. The hooting of the distant crowd rose more loudly on the summer stillness; as it did so, faces round the table grew graver, lips grew longer, some trembled and looked down; and I understood. "My God!" I cried in excitement, trembling myself. "Is no one going to do anything, then? Are you going to sit here, while these demons work their will? While houses are sacked and women and children----"
"Why not?" Buton said curtly.
"Why not?" I cried.
"Ay, why not?" he answered sternly--and I began to see that he dominated the others; that he would not and they dared not. "We went about to keep the peace, and see that others kept it. But your white cockades, your gentlemen bullies, your soldierless officers, M. le Vicomte--I speak without offence--would not have it. They undertook to bully us; and unless they learn a lesson now, they will bully us again. No, Monsieur," he continued, looking round with a hard smile--already power had changed him wondrously--"let the people have their way for half an hour, and----"
"The people?" I cried. "Are the rascals and sweepings of the streets, the gaol-birds, the beggars and forçats of the town--are they the people?"