A thunderbolt falling in the midst of these good people, so peacefully assembled there, would not have produced a more appalling effect. It was a horrible thing at that period to be imprisoned by the enmity of the king. Louvières sprang forward to snatch his sword, which stood against a chair in a corner of the room; but a glance from the worthy Broussel, who in the midst of it all did not lose his presence of mind, checked this foolhardy action of despair. Madame Broussel, separated by the width of the table from her husband, burst into tears, and the young girls clung to their father’s arms. “Come, sir,” said Comminges, “make haste; you must obey the king.” “Sir,” said Broussel, “I am in bad health and cannot give myself up a prisoner in this state; I must have time.” “It is impossible,” said Comminges; “the order is strict and must be put into execution this instant.” “Impossible!” said Louvières; “sir, beware of driving us to despair.” “Impossible!” cried a shrill voice from the end of the room. Comminges turned and saw Dame Nanette, her eyes flashing with anger and a broom in her hand. “My good Nanette, be quiet, I beseech you,” said Broussel. “Me! keep quiet while my master is being arrested! he, the support, the liberator, the father of the people! Ah! well, yes; you have to know me yet. Are you going?” added she to Comminges. The latter smiled. “Come, sir,” said he, addressing Broussel, “silence that woman and follow me.” “Silence me! me! me!” said Nanette. “Ah! yet one wants some one besides you for that, my fine king’s cockatoo! You shall see.” And Dame Nanette sprang to the window, threw it open, and in such a piercing voice that it might have been heard in the square of Notre Dame: “Help!” she screamed, “my master is being arrested; the Councillor Broussel is being arrested! Help!” “Sir,” said Comminges, “declare yourself at once; will you obey or do you intend to rebel against the king?” “I obey, I obey, sir!” cried Broussel, trying to disengage himself from the grasp of his two daughters and by a look restrain his son, who seemed determined to dispute authority. “In that case,” commanded Comminges, “silence that old woman.” “Ah! old woman!” screamed Nanette. And she began to shriek more loudly, clinging to the bars of the window: “Help! help! for Master Broussel, who is arrested because he has defended the people! Help!” Comminges seized the servant around the waist and would have dragged her from her post; but at that instant a treble voice, proceeding from a kind of _entresol_, was heard screeching: “Murder! fire! assassins! Master Broussel is being killed! Master Broussel is being strangled.” It was Friquet’s voice; and Dame Nanette, feeling herself supported, recommenced with all her strength to sound her shrilly squawk.