"It's a march against the castle!"

I went into Fontan's. He was not there, and some men were talking in
the twilight of the closed shutters.

"The Baroness is in a dreadful way. She's seen a dark mass in the
distance. Some young men of the aristocracy have armed themselves and
are guarding her. She says it's another Jacquerie[1] rising!"

[Footnote 1: A terrible insurrection of the French peasantry in
1358.--Tr.]

"Ah, my God! What a mess!" said Crillon.

"It's the beginning of the end!" asserted old Daddy Ponce, shaking his
grayish-yellow forehead, all plaited with wrinkles.

Time went by--still no news. What are they doing yonder? What shall
we hear next?

At last, towards three o'clock Postaire is framed in the doorway,
sweating and exultant. "It's over! It's all right, my lad!" he gasps;
"I can vouch for it that they all arrived together at the Gozlans'
villa. Messrs. Gozlan were there. The delegates, I can vouch for it
that they started shouting and threatening, my lad! 'Never mind that!'
says one of the Messrs. Gozlan, 'let's have a drink first; I'll vouch
for it we'll talk better after!' There was a table and champagne, I'll
vouch for it. They gave 'em it to drink, and then some more and then
some more. I'll vouch for it they sent themselves something down, my
lad, into their waistcoats. I can vouch for it that the bottles of