At this moment M. Baze, who had heard the noise, and had just awakened, put on a dressing-gown, and cried, “Do not open the door.”

He had scarcely spoken these words when a man in plain clothes and three sergents de ville in uniform rushed into his chamber.  The man, opening his coat, displayed his scarf of office, asking M. Baze, “Do you recognize this?”

“You are a worthless wretch,” answered the Questor.

The police agents laid their hands on M. Baze.  “You will not take me away,” he said.  “You, a Commissary of Police, you, who are a magistrate, and know what you are doing, you outrage the National Assembly, you violate the law, you are a criminal!” A hand-to-hand struggle ensued—­four against one.  Madame Baze and her two little girls giving vent to screams, the servant being thrust back with blows by the sergents de ville.  “You are ruffians,” cried out Monsieur Baze.  They carried him away by main force in their arms, still struggling, naked, his dressing-gown being torn to shreds, his body being covered with blows, his wrist torn and bleeding.

The stairs, the landing, the courtyard, were full of soldiers with fixed bayonets and grounded arms.  The Questor spoke to them.  “Your Representatives are being arrested, you have not received your arms to break the laws!” A sergeant was wearing a brand-new cross.  “Have you been given the cross for this?” The sergeant answered, “We only know one master.”  “I note your number,” continued M. Baze.  “You are a dishonored regiment.”  The soldiers listened with a stolid air, and seemed still asleep.  Commissary Primorin said to them, “Do not answer, this has nothing to do with you.”  They led the Questor across the courtyard to the guard-house at the Porte Noire.

This was the name which was given to a little door contrived under the vault opposite the treasury of the Assembly, and which opened upon the Rue de Bourgogne, facing the Rue de Lille.

Several sentries were placed at the door of the guard-house, and at the top of the flight of steps which led thither, M. Baze being left there in charge of three sergents de ville.  Several soldiers, without their weapons, and in their shirt-sleeves, came in and out.  The Questor appealed to them in the name of military honor.  “Do not answer,” said the sergent de ville to the soldiers.

M. Baze’s two little girls had followed him with terrified eyes, and when they lost sight of him the youngest burst into tears.  “Sister,” said the elder, who was seven years old, “let us say our prayers,” and the two children, clasping their hands, knelt down.

Commissary Primorin, with his swarm of agents, burst into the Questor’s study, and laid hands on everything.  The first papers which he perceived on the middle of the table, and which he seized, were the famous decrees which had been prepared in the event of the Assembly having voted the proposal of the Questors.  All the drawers were opened and searched.  This overhauling of M. Baze’s papers, which the Commissary of Police termed a domiciliary visit, lasted more than an hour.