grew a little pale. If they would not go out --in fact, he must
go ahead now. It was not only his right, but his duty. And he
looked anxiously at the house of the mayoralty, hoping that he
might see the door open and his adversary show himself. But the
door remained closed. What was to be done? The crowd was
increasing, surrounding the militia. Some laughed.

One thought, especially, tortured the doctor. If he should make
an assault, he must march at the head of his men; and as, with
him dead, all contest would cease, it would be at him, and at him
alone that M. de Varnetot and the three guards would aim. And
their aim was good, very good! Picard had reminded him of that.

But an idea shone in upon him, and turning to Pommel, he said:
"Go, quickly, and ask the apothecary to send me a napkin and a
pole."

The Lieutenant hurried off. The doctor was going to make a
political banner, a white one, that would perhaps, rejoice the
heart of that old legitimist, the mayor.

Pommel returned with the required linen and a broom handle. With
some pieces of string, they improvised a standard, which Massarel
seized in both hands. Again, he advanced toward the house of
mayoralty, bearing the standard before him. When in front of the
door, he called out: "Monsieur de Varnetot!"

The door opened suddenly, and M. de Varnetot and the three guards
appeared on the threshold. The doctor recoiled, instinctively.
Then, he saluted his enemy courteously, and announced, almost