An important point was gained, and there was a movement of relief among the gentlemen. But stiff-necked old De Vaux could not bring himself civilly to accept a boon from what he considered the low scum. "I rejoice," he said, gruffly, "that you should save yourself from the stigma of slaying women. We take your word that your mob will remain without and that the ladies shall pass unharmed. But I suppose you are not such a fool as to expect that I shall give up the marquis and his brothers?" "This man who stands beside me, alas, is right," Jean replied, sternly. "Your vulture class is infatuated and doomed to ruin, and calls down its own destruction. The besotted arrogant nobles must indeed be crushed--trodden down wholesale." "Sir, you forget yourself," stiffly remarked the baron. "A last warning! You are playing with both property and life." "Advice from you? Merci! A peasant Jack in office!" "I would save you if I could, but you are as vapouring and saucy as the rest." The gentlemen within disapproved highly of the conduct of old De Vaux. What he deemed heroic--worthy of a Bayard or a Conde--they considered stupid and imprudent. What was to be gained by angering this man with so vast a concourse at his back? Some of the country squires, audibly expostulating, pulled at his legs and coat tails, to end a foolish colloquy. The baron, therefore, brought his ill-timed taunts to an undignified conclusion, and declared that if the mob would make a way the ladies were ready to come forth. Boulot removed his hat and bowed, and the baron, not to be outdone in the outward forms of courtesy, removed his own with a flourish and performed a low obeisance.