But the affair assumed a very different aspect on the arrival of a landau, preceded by gendarmes, from which three persons alighted: one in a uniform embroidered with silver, another with a scarf across his breast, the third in a frock coat. They were the sub-prefect, the special commissioner, and the recording clerk. No sooner had they set foot to the ground, than the responses of the litany were succeeded by threatening cries of "Down with the robbers!" which attracted from the house adjoining the church a fourth personage, the curé of Hugueville himself. He was a handsome old man, bare-headed despite the cold. Two other priests accompanied him. He came forward as far as the porch of his church, the keys of which he could not, upon his soul and his conscience, surrender. He was very pale. He, too, was assuming a terrible responsibility. Blood might be shed. He raised his aged arms which had so many times exhibited the monstrance to his flock, and which at that moment implored rather than commanded respect for his wishes. The gesture was instantly understood, so unbounded was his authority, readily explained by the aspect alone of that ascetic apostle. The insulting outcries were not repeated, and a vast silence overspread the multitude, while the newcomers ascended the steps, among the women who made way for them with visible terror. Abbé Valentin--that was the curé's name--stepped forward, and there ensued between the priest, whose face had lost its pallor, and the officials, a conversation the words of which did not reach any of the others. They noted its expressive pantomime: the curé shaking his venerable head so that his white hair fluttered in the wind, as one who meets urgent insistence with a categorical refusal, the sub-prefect almost imploring, the commissioner threatening, the recording clerk exhibiting papers. At last Abbé Valentin withdrew and the three civil functionaries, having taken counsel together, descended the steps, while the crowd, interpreting this retreat as a victory for the priest, shouted his name and began the chant:-- "Je suis chrétien, voilà ma gloire!" "I fancy that's settled," said Vigouroux, "and that we have no further business here." "On the contrary, it's just beginning," said Landri. "They have gone to fetch the workmen." A half-hour passed, during which the crowd ceased its singing to engage in excited conversation. The constant repetition of the words, "a locksmith," proved that the officer had guessed aright. At last the three functionaries reappeared, followed by a man visibly livid with fright; he was the public drummer of Hugueville, with his drum hanging from his neck. A prolonged howl greeted him, then abruptly ceased, to be succeeded by breathless curiosity. The commissioner, instead of ascending the steps as before, passed through the cordon of soldiers and went up to Landri.