The baron's apprehensions were soon justified. Having placed his prisoners under lock and key, he hastily assembled the gentlemen in a council of war, explaining his fears and difficulties. The peasantry would, of course, be wild with indignation, and, all things considered, there was plenty of excuse for excess. It was as though some one had deliberately flung a lighted fuse into an open barrel of gunpowder. Montbazon could not withstand a serious assault, for it consisted of an agglomeration of clustering rooms, chiefly built of wood and plaster around a small stone pleasure house in the centre. Of course, there was a courtyard with imposing gates, necessary adjuncts to the dignity of a dwelling that called itself a chateau, but, in sooth, the walls were thin and tottery--more suitable for the support of pear trees _en espalier_ than for withstanding an armed attack. Duty must be done, however. The Seigneurie of Touraine would one and all be smirched with the disgrace, if members of their order were handed over without a struggle to the vengeance of bucolic bumpkins. No doubt, no doubt--all the gentlemen agreed, but those who had brought their womenfolk over with them to enjoy this ill-omened fête day were unable to mask their anxiety. The peasantry all over France had, during the last few years, been guilty of raids upon the chateaux, had pillaged some, burnt others, inflicted outrages on the inhabitants. Was it likely that, though their province had hitherto been quieter than most, the people, justly exasperated by a dreadful crime, would hearken to the voice of reason? It was, of course, right and proper that the marquis and his brethren should be fairly tried and sentenced, but really---at least, so thought one of the assembly--it would be better to abandon them to their fate than risk the safety of the ladies. His neighbour, who was given to seeing things in an unpleasant light, shook his pate and sighed. "You forget," he said, "that these mooncalves neither think nor reason. They are buffeted by impulse, led by the nose by the first comer. Whether we give up the culprits or no, they will want to retaliate on all of us. It is class against class, and has been all along." This was true enough, and gloom descended on the company. "What they will do," suggested one of the party, "will depend upon the man who is their leader." There was the case in a nutshell. When the people arrived at Montbazon, the Baron de Vaux must interpellate the leader, and be guided by that person's attitude.