Louison nodded without surprise and turned her slow, restrained gaze on the room, while the eyes of Nicole, full of enthusiasm, leaped from group to group in rapid, eager scrutiny, resting finally on a knot of Marseillais near by. One man dominated these uncouth, bristling, living arsenals--a squat figure, sprawling under the grotesque shadows of the lamp, which further distorted his huge bulk and bullet head. One ungainly, crooked hand leaned in ponderous support upon the table; the other was flourished above him in frantic gestures, magnetic, absurd, comic, and terrible, as he harangued his comrades, who acclaimed his exhortations with shouts that burst above the ceaseless roar of the room. "They are not very coquette," Nicole said critically, "and not very clean." "Ah, but think how they have marched, all the way from Marseilles!" Geneviève cried, in protest. "You know them, then?" Nicole asked, astonished at this side of the girl. "Yes." "And that bear of a man in the center, do you know his name?" "Yes," she answered, with a slight disconcertion. "He is the Citoyen Javogues." "He looks like an ogre." "Wait till you hear him." "Really!" answered Nicole, with a smile which threw the girl into confusion. At this moment a rumble reached them from the outer room. Boudgoust, profoundly dejected, appeared, followed by the insouciant figure of Dossonville. Instantly the room was filled with cries. "What news?" "What news from Santerre?" "We attack?" "For to-night?" Dossonville, facing the eager, breathless gallery, shrugged his shoulders, uttering but one word: "Postponed." A roar of rage and disappointment drowned his voice. "Citoyens!" he cried, "I am but announcing the decision; I did not make it. The tyrants are intrenched. Mandat is in ambush at the Pont Neuf and the Arcade St. Jean. The leaders have decided the moment is unfavorable." The storm of protests increased. "More delay! Enough of waiting!" "Mon Dieu, we are not cowards!" "And the Prussians?" "Hé, yes, are we to wait for the foreign bandits?" "Javogues! Javogues!" "Javogues, lead us!" "Lead us, Javogues!" Nicole felt through the child at her side a sudden trembling and drawing of breath. Then into the center of the suddenly quiet room lurched the squat figure, bareheaded, bare-armed, bare-chested but for a tattered shirt. He seemed rooted to the floor, like a mound transformed to human shape, quivering in the primeval mold and passions.