Then the doctor, seeing that his reputation was at stake, resolved to put an end to the matter in one way or another; and he was about to take some measures, undoubtedly energetic ones, when the door of the telegraph station opened and the little servant of the postmistress appeared, holding in her hands two papers.

First she went to the commandant and gave him one of the despatches; then she crossed the empty square, confused at seeing the eyes of everyone on her, and lowering her head and running along with little quick steps, she went and knocked softly at the door of the barricaded house, as though ignorant of the fact that those behind it were armed.

The door opened wide enough to let a man’s hand reach out and receive the message; and the young girl returned blushing, ready to cry at being thus stared at by the whole countryside.

In a clear voice, the doctor cried: 

“Silence, if you please.”

When the populace had quieted down, he continued proudly: 

“Here is the communication which I have received from the government.”

And lifting the telegram he read: 

Former mayor dismissed.  Inform him immediately, More orders
following. 
For the sub-prefect: 
SAPIN, Councillor.

He was-triumphant; his heart was throbbing with joy and his hands were trembling; but Picart, his former subordinate, cried to him from a neighboring group: 

“That’s all right; but supposing the others don’t come out, what good is the telegram going to do you?”

M. Massarel grew pale.  He had not thought of that; if the others did not come out, he would now have to take some decisive step.  It was not only his right, but his duty.

He looked anxiously at the town-hall, hoping to see the door open and his adversary give in.

The door remained closed.  What could he do?  The crowd was growing and closing around the militia.  They were laughing.

One thought especially tortured the doctor.  If he attacked, he would have to march at the head of his men; and as, with him dead, all strife would cease, it was at him and him only that M. de Varnetot and his three guards would aim.  And they were good shots, very good shots, as Picart had just said.  But an idea struck him and, turning to Pommel, he ordered: 

“Run quickly to the druggist and ask him to lend me a towel and a stick.”

The lieutenant hastened.

He would make a flag of truce, a white flag, at the sight of which the royalist heart of the mayor would perhaps rejoice.

Pommel returned with the cloth and a broom-stick.  With some twine they completed the flag, and M. Massarel, grasping it in both hands and holding it in front of him, again advanced in the direction of the town-hall.  When he was opposite the door, he once more called:  “Monsieur de Varnetot!” The door suddenly opened and M. de Varnetot and his three guards appeared on the threshold.