ed. We must act. My position is delicate, I
might even say dangerous."

He reflected for a few moments before his bewildered subordinates, then
he continued:

"We must act and not hesitate; minutes count as hours in times like
these. All depends on the promptness of our decision. You, Picart, go to
the cure and order him to ring the alarm-bell, in order to get together
the people, to whom I am going to announce the news. You, Torchebeuf beat
the tattoo throughout the whole neighborhood as far as the hamlets of
Gerisaie and Salmare, in order to assemble the militia in the public
square. You, Pommel, get your uniform on quickly, just the coat and cap.
We are going to the town-hall to demand Monsieur de Varnetot to surrender
his powers to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Now carry out those orders quickly. I will go over to your house with
you, Pommel, since we shall act together."

Five minutes later, the commandant and his subordinates, armed to the
teeth, appeared on the square, just as the little Viscount de Varnetot,
his legs encased in gaiters as for a hunting party, his gun on his
shoulder, was coming down the other street at double-quick time, followed
by his three green-coated guards, their swords at their sides and their
guns swung over their shoulders.

While the doctor stopped, bewildered, the four men entered the town-hall
and closed the door behind them.

"They have outstripped us," muttered the physician, "we must now wait for
reenforcements. There is nothing to do for the present."

Lieutenant Picart now appeared on the scene.

"The priest refuses to obey," he said. "He has even locked himself in the
church with the sexton and beadle."

On the other side of the square, opposite the white, tightly closed
town-hall, stood the church, silent and dark, with its massive oak door
studded with iron.

But just as the perplexed inhabitants were sticking their heads out of
the windows or coming out on their doorsteps, the drum suddenly began to
be heard, and Torchebeuf appeared, furiously beating the tattoo. He
crossed the square running, and disappeared along the road leading to the
fields.

The commandant drew his sword, and advanced alone to half way between the
two buildings behind which the enemy had intrenched itself, and, waving
his sword over his head, he roared with all his might:

"Long live the Republic! Death to traitors!"

Then he returned to his officers.

The butcher, the baker and