“What makes you think so?” demands Parjeau. “_Mon Dieu!_ It is not well to predict evil, but do you see those eight or ten yoke of oxen down there by Simmonet’s mill? Well, there it will begin--the stampede, I mean. Do you see that great ox rearing in the air and----” The sense of danger makes him silent, and rushing to the nearest house he shouts at the top of his voice: “A stampede! A stampede! Call the women and children in quickly!” “What! Is old Father Jerome crazy?” cries Andoche, who remains seated at a table, half overcome by his potations. Others at once realize the danger, and shouts of “A stampede!” resound in the ears of the peasants like the peals of a tocsin. Among marching armies as well as sleeping camps sometimes a terrible fright takes possession of soldiers. The horror-stricken men, without a moment’s pause, throw down their arms and run here and there in mad confusion. How many times has a general, sure of his campaign, seen victory vanish because of a sudden panic without reason and for which nobody (?) is responsible. So with these cattle that a moment since were quiet and under control. Some nameless terror, like an insidious simoom, has seized the herd. The fury spreads like magic, and they madly plunge and rear, and turn the market-place into a scene of wild and noisy chaos. The danger is supreme. “A stampede!” The appalling announcement echoes like a peal of thunder throughout the startled fair. Then suddenly an ominous stillness prevails, and for half a minute not a movement is made among the frightened people who are watching the spectacle from a neighboring cottage. But an unearthly bellowing breaks the brief silence, and with heads erect and glittering eyes the cattle madly paw the ground, upturning stones and tearing up the earth until thick, blinding clouds of dust obscure the landscape. Who now can doubt the danger? The merciless sun goads the herd to frenzy. Fadard, intoxicated but still prudent, followed by Andoche, approaches the door of the _cabaret_[A] where they have been dawdling. A cloud of hot dust fills their eyes and nostrils, and they gladly seek refuge within. [Footnote A: A drinking pavilion.] At the same moment the distracted beasts make another dash. Like demons they career about the market-place, trampling upon and killing each other in their desperate struggle to reach the exit gates. Through these they plunge and go tearing along the highway, the earth seeming to tremble beneath their feet. The little booths by the wayside are far from safe. A part of Andoche’s jacket is carried away impaled upon the horn of a bull which has dashed against the wall of the _cabaret_. Consternation fills the hearts of the villagers. All who have dear ones abroad on the road or in the fields are pale with anguish. Children, too, are missing, and the suspense is heart-breaking. What will be the sequel? They hardly dare look out to see if the storm and fury have at all abated.