But Pinacle fastened the ribbon to the smith's hat, while the latter said:
"That is what we want now. We are all dead, and should wear our own mourning."
And he cried savagely:
"Vive l'Empereur!"
I was better satisfied to see the black ribbon on his hat than on mine, and I slipped quickly through the crowd to avoid Pinacle.
We had great difficulty in getting into the mairie and in climbing the old oak stairs, where people where going up and down in swarms. In the great hall above, the gendarme Kelz walked about, maintaining order as well as he could, and in the council-chamber at the side, where there is a painting of Justice with her eyes blindfolded, we heard them calling off the numbers. From time to time a conscript came put with flushed face, fastening his number on his cap and passing with bowed head through the crowd, like a furious bull who cannot see clearly and who would seem to wish to break his horns against the walls. Others, on the contrary, passed pale as death. The windows of the mairie were open, and without were heard six or seven pieces playing together. It was horrible.
I pressed Catharine's hand, and we passed slowly through the crowd to the hall where Monsieur the Sous-Préfet, the Mayors, and the Secretaries were seated on their tribune, calling the numbers aloud as if pronouncing sentence of death in a court of justice; for all those numbers were really sentences of death.
We waited a long while.
It seemed as if there was no longer a drop of blood in my veins, when at last my name was called.
I advanced, seeing and hearing nothing; I put my hand in the box and drew a number.