“Now, Monsieur Hochon, you must allow us to manage this affair in our own way,” answered Mouilleron; “you don’t know all:  Gilet recognized your painter.”

At this instant a clamor was heard from the other end of the town, growing louder and louder, like the roll of thunder, as it followed the course of the Grande-Narette.

“Here he is! here he is!—­he’s arrested!”

These words rose distinctly on the ear above the hoarse roar of the populace.  Poor Joseph, returning quietly past the mill at Landrole intending to get home in time for breakfast, was spied by the various groups of people, as soon as he reached the place Misere.  Happily for him, a couple of gendarmes arrived on a run in time to snatch him from the inhabitants of the faubourg de Rome, who had already pinioned him by the arms and were threatening him with death.

“Give way! give way!” cried the gendarmes, calling to some of their comrades to help them, and putting themselves one before and the other behind Bridau.

“You see, monsieur,” said the one who held the painter, “it concerns our skin as well as yours at this moment.  Innocent or guilty, we must protect you against the tumult raised by the murder of Captain Gilet.  And the crowd is not satisfied with suspecting you; they declare, hard as iron, that you are the murderer.  Monsieur Gilet is adored by all the people, who—­look at them!—­want to take justice into their own hands.  Ah! didn’t we see them, in 1830, dusting the jackets of the tax-gatherers? whose life isn’t a bed of roses, anyway!”

Joseph Bridau grew pale as death, and collected all his strength to walk onward.

“After all,” he said, “I am innocent.  Go on!”

Poor artist! he was forced to bear his cross.  Amid the hooting and insults and threats from the mob, he made the dreadful transit from the place Misere to the place Saint-Jean.  The gendarmes were obliged to draw their sabres on the furious mob, which pelted them with stones.  One of the officers was wounded, and Joseph received several of the missiles on his legs, and shoulders, and hat.

“Here we are!” said one of the gendarmes, as they entered Monsieur Hochon’s hall, “and not without difficulty, lieutenant.”

“We must now manage to disperse the crowd; and I see but one way, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant to the magistrates.  “We must take Monsieur Bridau to the Palais accompanied by all of you; I and my gendarmes will make a circle round you.  One can’t answer for anything in presence of a furious crowd of six thousand—­”

“You are right,” said Monsieur Hochon, who was trembling all the while for his gold.

“If that’s your only way to protect innocence in Issoudun,” said Joseph, “I congratulate you.  I came near being stoned—­”

“Do you wish your friend’s house to be taken by assault and pillaged?” asked the lieutenant.  “Could we beat back with our sabres a crowd of people who are pushed from behind by an angry populace that knows nothing of the forms of justice?”