"There are more than two hundred of them, M. Simon," said Olivier; "they
are armed with clubs and stones, and unfortunately the greater part of
our workmen are in Paris. We are not above forty here in all; the women
and children are already flying to their chambers, screaming for terror.
Do you not hear them?"

The ceiling shook beneath the tread of many hasty feet.

"Will this attack be a serious one?" said the marshal to his father, who
appeared more and more dejected.

"Very serious," said the old man; "there is nothing more fierce than
these combats between different unions; and everything has been done
lately to excite the people of the neighborhood against the factory."

"If you are so inferior in number," said the marshal, "you must begin by
barricading all the doors--and then--"

He was unable to conclude. A burst of ferocious cries shook the windows
of the room, and seemed so near and loud, that the marshal, his father,
and the young workman, rushed out into the little garden, which was
bounded on one side by a wall that separated it from the fields. Suddenly
whilst the shouts redoubled in violence, a shower of large stones,
intended to break the windows of the house, smashed some of the panes on
the first story, struck against the wall, and fell into the garden, all
around the marshal and his father. By a fatal chance, one of these large
stones struck the old man on the head. He staggered, bent forward, and
fell bleeding into the arms of Marshal Simon, just as arose from without,
with increased fury, the savage cries of, "Death to the Devourers!"