Pale, in disordered garb, and with voices husky with emotion and fatigue, M. d’Escorval and the abbe followed in the wake of the rebels, imploring them to listen to reason. These two alone perceived the precipice towards which these misguided men were rushing, and they prayed to providence for an inspiration that might enable them to arrest this foolish enterprise while there was yet time. In fifty minutes the distance separating the Croix d’Arcy from Montaignac is covered. Soon the insurgents perceive the gate of the citadel, which was to have been opened for them by their friends within the town. It is eleven o’clock, and this gate is opened. Does not this circumstance prove that their friends are masters of the town, and that they are awaiting them in force? Hence, the column boldly advances, so certain of success that those who carry guns do not even take the trouble to load them. M. d’Escorval and the abbe alone foresee the catastrophe. They entreat the leader of the expedition not to neglect the commonest precautions; they implore him to send some two men on in advance to reconnoitre; they themselves offer to go, on condition that the peasants will await their return before proceeding farther. But their prayers are unheeded. The peasants pass the outer line of fortification in safety, and the head of the advancing column reaches the drawbridge. The enthusiasm now amounts to delirium; and who will be the first to enter is the only thought. Alas! at that very moment they hear a pistol fired. It is a signal, for instantly, and on every side, resounds a terrible fusillade. Three or four peasant fall, mortally wounded. The remainder pause, terror stricken and thinking only of escape. Still the leader encourages his men, there are a few of Napoleon’s old soldiers in the ranks; and a struggle begins, all the more frightful owing to the darkness! But it is not the cry of “Forward!” that suddenly rends the air. The voice of a coward raises the cry of panic: “We are betrayed! Let him save himself who can!” Then comes the end of all order. A wild fear seizes the throng; and these men fly madly, despairingly, scattered like withered leaves are scattered by the force of the tempest. XIV. At first Chupin’s extraordinary revelations and the thought that Martial, the heir of his name and dukedom, should so degrade himself as to enter into a conspiracy with vulgar peasants, had well-nigh overcome the Duke de Sairmeuse. However, M. de Courtornieu’s composure soon restored his _sang froid_. He hastened to the barracks, and in less than half-an-hour five hundred linesmen and three hundred Montaignac chasseurs were under arms. With those forces at his disposal it would have been easy enough to suppress the movement without the slightest bloodshed. It was only necessary to close the gates of the city, for it was not with clubs and fowling-pieces that these infatuated peasants could force an entrance into a fortified town.