That cry of his through the extemporised speaking-trumpet echoed from one end of Paris to the other, and, false as was the statement he made to the crowd about himself, it was terribly true about his fellow-prisoners. That cry roused Paris. The trumpet was but of tin, but it pealed the death-knell of the fortress that had stood four hundred years. CHAPTER XXV. When the Corporal and Gabrielle returned to the house, a council was held. Percenez, Nicholas, and the women sat upon the information given them by the old soldier. Percenez was very decided in his opinion. Berthier, he was convinced, would take immediate measures to preclude Gabrielle from visiting Versailles. This opinion was not shared by all the others. Madame Deschwanden justly argued, that, unless Berthier were a fool, he would know very well that an attempt at intervention with the queen must fail. 'But then,' she added, shrugging her shoulders, 'he may be a fool--most men are fools!' Percenez with natural good taste said nothing of the Intendant's pursuit of the girl, and the reason he had formed, on that account, of desiring to place her in a security from further annoyance, now that Berthier knew she was in Paris, and was aware, or could inform himself at any moment, where she was staying. The corporal rapped on the table. 'Meal-time!' he said. 'We are late; surely we can talk during dinner, and thus avoid throwing the routine of the evening out of gear.' 'Oh the wooden, clock-work man!' sighed Madame Deschwanden, rising and retiring in the direction of the kitchen. During dinner the colporteur turned the conversation; he had formed his resolution, and he intended to communicate it privately to the corporal. 'And pray,' said Percenez; 'Nicholas, what is that statue you are engaged upon now? I have observed it becoming every day more distinct and life-like.' 'It is a S. Généviève,' answered the young man, slightly colouring; 'you know who she was--a shepherd girl.' 'So I have perceived. For whom are you carving it?' 'For S. Étienne du Mont. It has been ordered long, but I felt no inspiration till of late.' 'Do you carve the figures without copies or models?' 'I generally have a model; my father or Madeleine stands for me, but they will not suit all subjects.' 'And this S. Généviève?' The young man became crimson. 'I thought I traced a resemblance,' said Percenez, slyly. 'Have you persuaded any one else to stand as a model?' 'No,' answered Klaus, looking down, and faltering; 'I am moulding this figure from an idea in my own mind.' 'I am thankful,' put in Madame Deschwanden, 'that you are at work upon a French saint. Those German saints are a disgrace to the Kalendar. I would not say "Bitte für uns" to them to save my life,--fusty, beer-drinking, tobacco-smoking fellows!'