The whole thing—­it seemed like a vision—­was over in a second.  Chauvelin, sick and faint with the sudden rush of blood to his head, closed his eyes for one brief instant.  The next, the crowd had closed round him; anxious inquiries reached his re-awakened senses.

But he uttered one quick, hoarse cry: 

“Hebert!  A moi!  Are you there?”

“Present, citizen!” came in immediate response.  And a tall figure in the tattered uniform affected by the revolutionary guard stepped briskly out of the crowd.  Chauvelin’s claw-like hand was shaking visibly.

“The man Mole,” he called in a voice husky with excitement.  “Seize him at once!  And, name of a dog! do not allow a living soul in or out of the house!”

Hebert turned on his heel.  The next moment his harsh voice was heard above the din and the general hubbub around: 

“Quite safe, citizen!” he called to his chief.  “We have the rogue right enough!”

There was much shouting and much cursing, a great deal of bustle and confusion, as the men of the Surete closed the doors of the defunct demagogue’s lodgings.  Some two score men, a dozen or so women, were locked in, inside the few rooms which reeked of dirt and of disease.  They jostled and pushed, screamed and protested.  For two or three minutes the din was quite deafening.  Simonne Evrard pushed her way up to the forefront of the crowd.

“What is this I hear?” she queried peremptorily.  “Who is accusing citizen Mole?  And of what, I should like to know?  I am responsible for everyone inside these apartments...and if citizen Marat were still alive—­”

Chauvelin appeared unaware of all the confusion and of the woman’s protestations.  He pushed his way through the crowd to the corner of the anteroom where Mole stood, crouching and hunched up, his grimy hands idly fingering the papers which Chauvelin had returned to him a moment ago.  Otherwise he did not move.

He stood, silent and sullen; and when Chauvelin, who had succeeded in mastering his emotion, gave the peremptory command:  “Take this man to the depot at once.  And do not allow him one instant out of your sight!” he made no attempt at escape.

He allowed Hebert and the men to seize him, to lead him away.  He followed without a word, without a struggle.  His massive figure was hunched up like that of an old man; his hands, which still clung to his identity papers, trembled slightly like those of a man who is very frightened and very helpless.  The men of the Surete handled him very roughly, but he made no protest.  The woman Evrard did all the protesting, vowing that the people would not long tolerate such tyranny.  She even forced her way up to Hebert.  With a gesture of fury she tried to strike him in the face, and continued, with a loud voice, her insults and objurgations, until, with a movement of his bayonet, he pushed her roughly out of the way.

After that Paul Mole, surrounded by the guard, was led without ceremony out of the house.  Chauvelin gazed after him as if he had been brought face to face with a ghoul.