CONCLUDED.
About a month after this memorable expedition of M. Gombard’s the town of Loisel was in a state of extraordinary commotion; the elections were going on, which meant that all men had gone mad, that the seven devils were let loose, and that no man could be sure of sleeping in his own bed from one night to another. The decree had gone forth that General Blagueur was the government candidate, which signified that every man was to vote for him, and that every man who didn’t was a dead man—every man, that is, who had anything to lose or anything to hope for from the powers that were. No one knew who this General Blagueur was, or where he came from, or anything about him, except that he was the right man whom it was their business to put into the right place. This was all it concerned them to know or to care as dutiful subjects of Napoleon III. But though there were many such at Loisel, there were many of another sort, who set their backs stiffly against the right man, and were perversely bent on having a wrong man of their own. It does not matter to our story whether this rebellious outburst was justifiable or successful. It may be mentioned, however, for the comfort of the many who are born sympathizers with rebels in every class and country, that the rebellion of Loisel did succeed, and that General Blagueur was ignominiously beaten. But what a price Loisel paid for this wicked victory! A detachment of troops was at once sent down to prey upon its vitals
and hold a cocked pistol at its head. The state subsidy promised to the local municipality for rebuilding the tumble-down hospital was refused; the concession for a railway to connect it with the main line, after having been distinctly promised to an enterprising company, was withdrawn; the prefect was “promoted” to a post in a dismal, out-of-the-way town in an eastern department. It was said at one moment that the mayor was going to be dismissed, or in some way visited by the imperial displeasure. But this was one of those unreasoning panics that are common to every period of social terror; men lose their heads, and see monstrous and impossible events impending. The government, powerful as it was, never dreamed of laying a finger on M. Gombard.
The worthy mayor forbore, with his usual prudence, from taking any prominent part in the war that was raging at Loisel, and ostensibly left the prefect all the honors and perils of leadership; but it was perfectly well known, as he admitted to friends in confidence, that if M. le Préfet reigned, M. le Maire governed; and M. le Maire’s power arose in great measure from the consummate tact with which he managed to hide this fact from everybody, above all from M. le Préfet. Now, it happened that, just when the excitement of the contest was at its greatest, when the wildest stories were afloat about the sinister machinations of the government, the base and cruel means it employed to compass its ends—setting brother against brother, and wife against husband, carrying bribery and discord and all manner of corruption into the very marrow of the bones of Loisel—it happened that, when things were in this state, a young man arrived at the principal inn of the place. He did nothing
to provoke the anger or suspicions of the population: he was silent, unobtrusive, speaking to no one at the table-d’hôte where he took his meals; but before he had been two days at Loisel the entire town was infuriated against him. He had been seen standing before a dismantled old round tower that guarded the entrance to the town, and once had boasted of battlements and a cannon; this report had gone abroad the first day of his arrival, and the next morning it was positively stated that he had been seen by an applewoman and a milkman walking round the tower, and scrambling upon a broken wall close by to get a view into it. It was at an early hour, before anybody was likely to be abroad. Such facts, resting on such clear and forcible evidence, admitted only of one interpretation—the stranger was a paid miscreant sent down to examine the tower with a view to fortifying it as of yore, and so terrifying the refractory towns-people into surrendering their independence to the government. A council was called by the outraged citizens, and in ten minutes the fate of the engineer was decided. A rush was made on the inn where he lodged; he was seized, dragged forth amidst the yells of the enraged mob, and would have rendered up his mercenary soul to judgment there and then, if the prefect had not chanced to ride up at the moment to the scene of popular justice.
“What is this? Call out the soldiers! I will have every man of you shot, if you don’t release your prisoner!” he cried, charging boldly into the fray.
“He’s a spy, a traitor! We won’t have him here! He wants to murder us; to butcher our wives and children,” etc. Fifty people shouted out these and similar cries together;
but they had ceased maltreating the unfortunate stranger, and were now only clutching him and threatening him with clenched fists.
“If he is guilty of any misdemeanor or crime, or intent to commit crime, he shall be made to answer for it; but it is the business of the law to see justice done, not yours. Let go your prisoner!” said the prefect in a tone of high command.
Courage and the prestige of lawful authority seldom fail to impress and subdue an excited mass of men. The mob fell back, and two gendarmes, at a sign from the prefect, stepped forward; the crowd made way for them. “That man is under arrest. Conduct him to the mairie and lock him up,” said the prefect.