And yet how shall Nanci think:  not a City but a Bedlam!  Grim Chateau-Vieux is for defence to the death; forces the Municipality to order, by tap of drum, all citizens acquainted with artillery to turn out, and assist in managing the cannon.  On the other hand, effervescent Regiment du Roi, is drawn up in its barracks; quite disconsolate, hearing the humour Salm is in; and ejaculates dolefully from its thousand throats:  “La loi, la loi, Law, law!” Mestre-de-Camp blusters, with profane swearing, in mixed terror and furor; National Guards look this way and that, not knowing what to do.  What a Bedlam-City:  as many plans as heads; all ordering, none obeying:  quiet none,—­except the Dead, who sleep underground, having done their fighting!

And, behold, Bouille proves as good as his word:  ‘at half-past two’ scouts report that he is within half a league of the gates; rattling along, with cannon, and array; breathing nothing but destruction.  A new Deputation, Municipals, Mutineers, Officers, goes out to meet him; with passionate entreaty for yet one other hour.  Bouille grants an hour.  Then, at the end thereof, no Denoue or Malseigne appearing as promised, he rolls his drums, and again takes the road.  Towards four o’clock, the terror-struck Townsmen may see him face to face.  His cannons rattle there, in their carriages; his vanguard is within thirty paces of the Gate Stanislaus.  Onward like a Planet, by appointed times, by law of Nature!  What next?  Lo, flag of truce and chamade; conjuration to halt:  Malseigne and Denoue are on the street, coming hither; the soldiers all repentant, ready to submit and march!  Adamantine Bouille’s look alters not; yet the word Halt is given:  gladder moment he never saw.  Joy of joys!  Malseigne and Denoue do verily issue; escorted by National Guards; from streets all frantic, with sale to Austria and so forth:  they salute Bouille, unscathed.  Bouille steps aside to speak with them, and with other heads of the Town there; having already ordered by what Gates and Routes the mutineer Regiments shall file out.

Such colloquy with these two General Officers and other principal Townsmen, was natural enough; nevertheless one wishes Bouille had postponed it, and not stepped aside.  Such tumultuous inflammable masses, tumbling along, making way for each other; this of keen nitrous oxide, that of sulphurous fire-damp,—­were it not well to stand between them, keeping them well separate, till the space be cleared?  Numerous stragglers of Chateau-Vieux and the rest have not marched with their main columns, which are filing out by the appointed Gates, taking station in the open meadows.  National Guards are in a state of nearly distracted uncertainty; the populace, armed and unharmed, roll openly delirious,—­betrayed, sold to the Austrians, sold to the Aristocrats.  There are loaded cannon with lit matches among them, and Bouille’s vanguard is halted within thirty paces of the Gate.  Command dwells not in that mad inflammable mass; which