"No, no," he reiterated more emphatically, "we cannot disregard the
passports issued by the Committee of Public Safety. But examine each
passport carefully, citizen Bibot! If you have any reasonable ground for
suspicion, detain the holder, and if you have not----"

The sound of singing was quite near now. With another wink and a final
leer, Marat drew back under the shadow of the cabaret, and Bibot
swaggered up to the main entrance of the gate.

"Qui va la?" he thundered in stentorian tones as a group of some half-
dozen people lurched towards him out of the gloom, still shouting
hoarsely their ribald drinking song.

The foremost man in the group paused opposite citizen Bibot, and with
arms akimbo, and legs planted well apart tried to assume a rigidity of
attitude which apparently was somewhat foreign to him at this moment.

"Good patriots, citizen," he said in a thick voice which he vainly tried
to render steady.

"What do you want?" queried Bibot.

"To be allowed to go on our way unmolested."

"What is your way?"

"Through the Porte Montmartre to the village of Barency."

"What is your business there?"