"In God's name, M. le Marechal!" came in an awed whisper from one or two men in the forefront of the crowd--"in God's name throw away that light!" "Not until you have thrown down your muskets!" A hundred muskets fell with a dull clatter to the ground. "The light, M. le Marechal! the light...!" "Now one of you ring the alarm bell!" "The light...!" "Silence!" he called aloud, so that the night air rang with his sonorous voice. "The alarm bell, I said. Pierre Deprez--you! The others stand at attention. Hands up!" One man slunk away from the rest, and, shrinking, walked slowly in the direction of the Lodge. The naked light of the lanthorn flickered in the storm; every moment it seemed as if it must catch the edge of de Maurel's blouse or the woodwork round the door. One hundred pairs of eyes were fixed in frenzied terror upon him, yet so potent was the feeling of horror which held the men in thrall, that not one of them dared to move if only to stretch out his hand toward that light which threatened them all with such an appalling death. A moment or so later the first clang of the alarm bell reverberated through the manifold sounds of the storm. It was followed almost immediately by the multisonous hooting of sirens in the distance and the peal of the alarm bell from the foundry half a kilometre away. And as the measured sounds of the bells and the sirens swelled to one majestic resonance, drowning now the roll of thunder and the soughing of the stormy blast, it seemed--for the space of one supreme second--that the men would repent them of their terror; for one second it seemed as if they would gather up their weapons again, and, throwing all prudence to the winds, rush and overcome that man who--single-handed--held them so completely in his power. De Maurel, standing beside the door a step or two above them, saw the first sign of this reaction--the unmistakable oscillation of a crowd when it is moved by one common impulse. He felt the one weak spot in his armour--the possibility of his being struck even now by a chance musket-shot, so that not even with a dying gesture could he accomplish that which he was so grimly resolved to do. And without an instant's hesitation, even as like a wave the crowd swayed towards him, he lifted one corner of his linen blouse and held it to the flame; another second and the woodwork would most inevitably be ablaze. A cry of horror rose from a hundred lips; the crowd swayed back--the supreme second had gone by; and coolly, with his free hand, de Maurel extinguished the flame on his blouse. Then he threw back his head and a loud laugh broke from his lips. "And 'tis to such cowards," he said loudly, "that French men and women would entrust the destinies of France!" IV