LITMIR.BIZ

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I haven’t any time today.”

      As he equipped himself from head to foot, he gave a series of important orders to his servant:

      “Run over to Lieutenant Picart and to Second Lieutenant Pommel, and tell them that I am expecting them here immediately. Also send me Torchebeuf with his drum. Quick! quick!”

      When Celeste had gone out, he sat down and thought over the situation and the difficulties which he would have to surmount.

      The three men arrived together in their working clothes. The commandant, who expected to see them in uniform, felt a little shocked.

      “Don’t you people know anything? The emperor has been taken prisoner, the Republic has been proclaimed. We must act. My position is delicate, I might even say dangerous.”

      He reflected for a few moments before his bewildered subordinates, then he continued:

      “We must act and not hesitate; minutes count as hours in times like these. All depends on the promptness of our decision. You, Picart, go to the cure and order him to ring the alarm-bell, in order to get together the people, to whom I am going to announce the news. You, Torchebeuf beat the tattoo throughout the whole neighborhood as far as the hamlets of Gerisaie and Salmare, in order to assemble the militia in the public square. You, Pommel, get your uniform on quickly, just the coat and cap. We are going to the town-hall to demand Monsieur de Varnetot to surrender his powers to me. Do you understand?”

      “Yes.”

      “Now carry out those orders quickly. I will go over to your house with you, Pommel, since we shall act together.”

      Five minutes later, the commandant and his subordinates, armed to the teeth, appeared on the square, just as the little Viscount de Varnetot, his legs encased in gaiters as for a hunting party, his gun on his shoulder, was coming down the other street at double-quick time, followed by his three green-coated guards, their swords at their sides and their guns swung over their shoulders.

      While the doctor stopped, bewildered, the four men entered the town-hall and closed the door behind them.

      “They have outstripped us,” muttered the physician, “we must now wait for reenforcements. There is nothing to do for the present.”

      Lieutenant Picart now appeared on the scene.

      “The priest refuses to obey,” he said. “He has even locked himself in the church with the sexton and beadle.”

      On the other side of the square, opposite the white, tightly closed town-hall, stood the church, silent and dark, with its massive oak door studded with iron.

      But just as the perplexed inhabitants were sticking their heads out of the windows or coming out on their doorsteps, the drum suddenly began to be heard, and Torchebeuf appeared, furiously beating the tattoo. He crossed the square running, and disappeared along the road leading to the fields.

      The commandant drew his sword, and advanced alone to half way between the two buildings behind which the enemy had intrenched itself, and, waving his sword over his head, he roared with all his might:

      “Long live the Republic! Death to traitors!”

      Then he returned to his officers.

      The butcher, the baker and the druggist, much disturbed, were anxiously pulling down their shades and closing their shops. The grocer alone kept open.

      However, the militia were arriving by degrees, each man in a different uniform, but all wearing a black cap with gold braid, the cap being the principal part of the outfit. They were armed with old rusty guns, the old guns which had hung for thirty years on the kitchen wall; and they looked a good deal like an army of tramps.

      When he had about thirty men about him, the commandant, in a few words, outlined the situation to them. Then, turning to his staff: “Let us act,” he said.

      The villagers were gathering together and talking the matter over.

      The doctor quickly decided on a plan of campaign.

      “Lieutenant Picart, you will advance under the windows of this town-hall and summon Monsieur de Varnetot, in the name of the Republic, to hand the keys over to me.”

      But the lieutenant, a master mason, refused:

      “You’re smart, you are. I don’t care to get killed, thank you. Those people in there shoot straight, don’t you forget it. Do your errands yourself.”

      The commandant grew very red.

      “I command you to go in the name of discipline!”

      The lieutenant rebelled:

      “I’m not going to have my beauty spoiled without knowing why.”

      All the notables, gathered in a group near by, began to laugh. One of them cried:

      “You are right, Picart, this isn’t the right time.”

      The doctor then muttered:

      “Cowards!”

      And, leaving his sword and his revolver in the hands of a soldier, he advanced slowly, his eye fastened on the windows, expecting any minute to see a gun trained on him.

      When he was within a few feet of the building, the doors at both ends, leading into the two schools, opened and a flood of children ran out, boys from one side, girls from the ether, and began to play around the doctor, in the big empty square, screeching and screaming, and making so much noise that he could not make himself heard.

      As soon as the last child was out of the building, the two doors closed again.

      Most of the youngsters finally dispersed, and the commandant called in a loud voice:

      “Monsieur de Varnetot!”

      A window on the first floor opened and M. de Varnetot appeared.

      The commandant continued:

      “Monsieur, you know that great events have just taken place which have changed the entire aspect of the government. The one which you represented no longer exists. The one which I represent is taking control. Under these painful, but decisive circumstances, I come, in the name of the new Republic, to ask you to turn over to me the office which you held under the former government.”

      M. de Varnetot answered:

      “Doctor, I am the mayor of Canneville, duly appointed, and I shall remain mayor of Canneville until I have been dismissed by a decree from my superiors. As mayor, I am in my place in the townhall, and here I stay. Anyhow, just try to get me out.”

      He closed the window.

      The commandant returned to his troop. But before giving any information, eyeing Lieutenant Picart from head to foot, he exclaimed:

      “You’re a great one, you are! You’re a fine specimen of manhood! You’re a disgrace to the army! I degrade you.”

      “I don’t give a—!”

      He turned away and mingled with a group of townspeople.

      Then the doctor hesitated. What could he do? Attack? But would his men obey orders? And then, did he have the right to do so?

      An idea struck him. He ran to the telegraph office, opposite the town-hall, and sent off three telegrams:

      To the new republican government in Paris.

      To the new prefect of the Seine-Inferieure, at Rouen.

      To the new republican sub-prefect at Dieppe.

      He explained the situation, pointed out the danger which the town would run if it should remain in the hands of the royalist mayor; offered his faithful services, asked for orders and signed, putting all his titles after his name.

      Then he returned to his battalion, and, drawing ten francs from his pocket, he cried: “Here, my friends, go eat and drink; only leave me a detachment of ten men to guard against anybody’s leaving

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