“For you will be able to tell me the meaning of all this noise, this
beating of drums,--
“‘Clamorque, virum, clangorque tubarum.’”
“A terrible misfortune has happened,” answered the mayor. From the tone
of his voice one might have imagined it was he himself who had been
afflicted; and the lawyer was so strongly impressed in this way, that he
said,--
“My dear friend, what is the matter? _Quid?_ Courage, my friend, keep
cool! Remember that the poet advises us, in misfortune never to lose our
balance of mind:--
“‘AEquam, memento, rebus in arduis,
Sevare mentem.’”
“Incendiaries have set Valpinson on fire!” broke in the mayor.
“You do not say so? Great God!
“‘Jupiter,
Quod verbum audio.’”
“More than that. Count Claudieuse has been shot, and by this time he is
probably dead.”
“Oh!”
“You hear the drummer is beating the alarm. I am going to the fire; and
I have only come here to report the matter officially to you, and to ask
you to see to it that justice be done promptly and energetically.”
There was no need of such a serious appeal to stop at once all the
lawyer’s quotations.
“Enough!” he said eagerly. “Come, let us take measures to catch the
wretches.”
When they reached National Street, it was as full as at mid-day; for
Sauveterre is one of those rare provincial towns in which an excitement
is too rare a treat to be neglected. The sad event had by this time
become fully known everywhere. At first the news had been doubted; but
when the doctor’s cab had passed the crowd at full speed, escorted by
a peasant on horseback, the reports were believed. Nor had the firemen
lost time. As soon as the mayor and M. Daubigeon appeared on New-Market
Square, Capt. Parenteau rushed up to them, and, touching his helmet with
a military salute, said,--
“My men are ready.”
“All?”
“There are hardly ten absentees. When they heard that Count and Countess
Claudieuse were in need--great heavens!--you know, they all were ready
in a moment.”
“Well, then, start and make haste,” commanded M. Seneschal. “We shall
overtake you on the way: M. Daubigeon and I are going to pick up M.
Galpin, the magistrate.”
They had not far to go.
The magistrate had already been looking for them all over town: he was
just appearing on the Square, and saw them at once.
In striking contrast with the commonwealth attorney, M. Galpin was a
professional man in the full sense of the word, and perhaps a little
more. He was the magistrate all over, from head to foot, and from the
gaiters on his ankles to the light blonde whiskers on his face. Although
he was quite young, yet no one had ever seen him smile, or heard him
make a joke. He was so very stiff that M. Daubigeon suggested he had
been impaled alive on the sword of justice.
At Sauveterre M. Galpin was looked upon as a superior man. He certainly
believed it himself: hence he was very impatient at being confined to so
narrow a sphere of action, and thought his brilliant ability wasted
upon the prosecution of a chicken-thief or a poacher. But his
almost desperate efforts to secure a better office had always been
unsuccessful. In vain he had enlisted a host of friends in his behalf.
In vain he had thrown himself into politics, ready to serve any party
that would serve him.
But M. Galpin’s ambition was not easily discouraged, and lately after a
journey to Paris, he had thrown out hints at a great match, which would
shortly procure him that influence in high places which so far he had
been unable to obtain. When he joined M. Daubigeon and the mayor, he
said,--
“Well, this is a horrible affair! It will make a tremendous noise.” The
mayor began to give him the details, but he said,--
“Don’t trouble yourself. I know all you know. I met the peasant who had
been sent in, and I have examined him.”