“Le jour de gloire est arrive?” sang the croaking voice of Dame Capoulade, and there it stopped abruptly upon catching sight of La Boulaye and his companion in the doorway. Mademoiselle shivered out of loathing; but La Boulaye felt his pulses quickened with hope, for surely all this was calculated to assist him in his purpose. At the abrupt interruption of the landlady's version of the “Marseillaise” the men swung round, and upon seeing the Deputy they sought in ludicrous haste to repair the disorder of their appearance. “So!” thundered Caron. “This is the watch you keep? This is how you are to be trusted? And you, Guyot,” he continued, pointing his finger at the man. “Did I not bid you await my orders? Is this how you wait? You see that I am compelled to reconduct the Citoyenne myself, for I might have called you in vain all night.” Guyot came forward sheepishly, and a trifle unsteady in his gait. “I did not hear you call, Citizen,” he muttered. “It had been a miracle if you had with this din,” answered La Boulaye. “Here, take the Citoyenne back to her carriage.” Obediently Guyot led the Citoyenne across the room and out into the courtyard, and the men, restrained by La Boulaye's severe presence, dared scarcely so much as raise their eyes to her as she passed out. “And now to your posts,” was Caron's stern command. “By my soul, if you were men of mine I would have you flogged for this. Out with you!” And he pointed imperiously to the door. “It is a bitter night, Citizen,” grumbled one of them. “Do you call yourself soldiers, and does a touch of frost make cowards of you? Outside, you old wives, at once! I'll see you at your post before I go to bed.” And with that he set himself to drive them out, and they went, until none but his own half-dozen remained. These he bade dispose themselves about the hearth, in which they very readily obeyed him. On a side-table stood a huge steaming can which had attracted La Boulaye's attention from the moment that he had entered the room. He went to peer into this, and found it full almost to the brim of mulled red wine. With his back to those in the room, so as to screen his actions, he had uncorked the phial as he was approaching the can. Now, as he made pretence first to peer into it and then to smell its contents, he surreptitiously emptied the potion into it, wondering vaguely to himself whether the men would ever wake again if they had drunk it. Slipping the phial into his sash he turned to Mother Capoulade, who had descended from the table and stood looking very foolish. “What is this?” he demanded angrily. “It was a last cup of wine for the men,” she faltered. “The night is bitterly cold, Citizen,” she added, by way of excusing herself. “Bah!” snarled Caron, and for a moment he stood there as if deliberating. “I am minded to empty it into the kennel,” he announced. “Citizen!” cried the woman, in alarm. “It is good wine, and I have spiced it.”