[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 champagne came like magic out of the ground.  Fontan kept always bringing them as though he was coining them.  Got to admit it was an extra-double-special guaranteed champagne, that you want to go cautious with.  So then, after three-quarters of an hour, nearly all the deputation were drunk.  They spun round, tongue-tied, and embraced each other,—­I can vouch for it.  There were some that stuck it, but they didn’t count, my lad!  The others didn’t even know what they’d come for.  And the bosses; they’d had a fright, and they didn’t half wriggle and roar with laughing—­I’ll vouch for it, my lad!  An’ then, to-morrow, if they want to start again, there’ll be troops here!”

Joyful astonishment—­the strike had been drowned in wine!  And we repeated to each other, “To-morrow there’ll be the military!”

“Ah!” gaped Crillon, rolling wonder-struck eyes, “That’s clever!  Good; that’s clever, that is!  Good, old chap——­”

He laughed a heavy, vengeful laugh, and repeated his familiar refrain full-throated:  “The sovereign people that can’t stand on its own legs!”

By the side of a few faint-hearted citizens who had already, since the morning, modified their political opinions, a great figure rises before my eyes—­Fontan.  I remember that night, already long ago, when a chance glimpse through the vent-hole of his cellar showed me shiploads of bottles of champagne heaped together, and pointed like shells.  For some future day he foresaw to-day’s victory.  He is really clever, he sees clearly and he sees far.  He has rescued law and order by a sort of genius.

The constraint which has weighed all day on our gestures and words explodes in delight.  Noisily we cast off that demeanor of conspirators which has bent our shoulders since morning.  The windows that were closed during the weighty hours of the insurrection are opened wide; the houses breathe again.