"If you do not consent to do what I ask of you," I added, "not only will I not help you off with your helmet, but I will call in all your neighbours, and then go and find the Municipal Council!"
"You'll end your days on the scaffold!" cried my uncle.
"The hand of Rose!" I repeated. "You told me that it would only be by force that you would be made to say 'yes'—say it, or I will call in the neighbours!"
The clock was still striking; my uncle raised his arms as if to curse me.
"Decide at once," I cried, "somebody is coming!"
"Well, then—yes!" murmured my uncle. "But make haste!"
"On your word of honour?"
"On my word of honour!"
The visor gave way, the gorget-piece also, and my uncle's head issued from durance, red as a poppy.
Just in time. The chemist at the corner, a colleague in the Municipal Council, entered the shop.