“This time,” said I, “they will have to dance to our piping,” and we rushed down to the Mirandole terrace, which overhangs the lower town. We could see nothing but a dense cloud of smoke shot through with red flames; above our heads sounded the frantic tocsin from the tower of St. Martin’s, while from below rose a perfectly infernal clamor. “Comrades,” said I, “let us get down there as quick as we can, for the oven is heating, and no mistake,--but who is to lead us? You, Saulsoy?” He hung back, however, saying that it was bad enough to be out of his bed at midnight, with an old musket in his hand, but when it came to making him Captain, that was a little too much! He did not mind obeying, he said, but for a fellow who had never been able to decide anything in his life, it was ridiculous to ask him to give orders. “Who will be chief, then?” No one stirred; I was ready to dance with impatience, but such people are all alike, willing enough to follow, but when it comes to taking the lead, no one at home! They were all cautious householders, and with them the habit of hesitation is so inveterate that they will spend half a day bargaining over the sheet they want to buy, and fingering the linen until, perhaps, the chance is gone. “If no one else offers, I will be captain!” cried I. “But first understand one thing: for this night I give orders and you obey them; no talking, no hanging back, for if we fail now we are all lost; so remember I am to be master. It will be time enough to judge me tomorrow. What do you say?” “Agreed!” they shouted with one voice, and we started down the hill. I went first, Gangnot at my left, and Bardet, the town crier, on my right with his drum. Down by the gate leading to the suburbs, we found a crowd of people, men, women, and children, streaming out toward the place where looting was going on, as if it were a fair. They were all in a very good humor, and some of the housewives were carrying baskets as they do on a market day. They moved politely aside to let us pass, not knowing who we were, and then fell into step, and marched on behind us. Among them was a man I knew, Perruche, the barber. He was carrying a paper lantern in his hand, and as I came near, he held it up to my face, and as soon as he saw who it was he called out, “Hullo, Colas! Glad to see you back! Come and have a drink.” “Tomorrow if you like,” said I. “There is a time for everything.” “You must be breaking up, Breugnon. Thirst is always in season, and if we wait till tomorrow all the good wine may be gone. Is it possible that you have actually lost your taste for a good September vintage?” “Stolen drink has no flavor.” “Stolen? You mean saved out of a burning house. I should be a pretty fool to let it all run away into the gutter.”