Pitou had a great desire to take his helmet also, only he was not quite certain that what Father Billot had said with regard to offensive weapons extended to defensive accoutrements.
But while thus arming himself, Pitou directed his ears towards the Place Vendôme.
“Ho, ho!” said he, “it appears to me that the Royal
Germans are coming this way again.”
And in fact the noise of a troop of horsemen returning at a foot—pace could be heard. Pitou peeped from behind the corner of the coffee—house called La Regence, and perceived, at about the distance of the market of St. Honoré, a patrol of dragoons advancing, with their musketoons in hand.
“Oh, quick, quick!” cried Pitou, “here they are, coming back again.”
Billot cast his eyes around him to see if there was any means of offering resistance. There was scarcely a person in the square.
“Let us go, then,” said he, “to the College Louis—le—Grand.”
And he went up the Rue de Chartres, followed by Pitou, who, not knowing the use of the hook upon his belt, was dragging his long sabre after him.
“A thousand thunders!” exclaimed Billot; “why, you look like a dealer in old iron. Fasten me up that lath there.”
“But how?” asked Pitou.
“Why, so, by Heaven!—there!” said Billot. And he hooked Pitou’s long sabre up to his belt, which enabled the latter to walk with more celerity than he could have done but for this expedient.
They pursued their way without meeting with any impediment, till they reached the Place Louis XV.; but there Billot and Pitou fell in with the column which had left them to proceed to the Invalides, and which had been stopped short in its progress.
“Well!” cried Billot, “what is the matter?”
“The matter is, that we cannot go across the Bridge Louis XV.”
“But you can go along the quays.”
“All passage is stopped that way, too.”
“And across the Champs Élysées?”
“Also.”
“Then let us retrace our steps, and go over the bridge at the Tuileries.”
The proposal was a perfectly natural one, and the crowd, by following Billot, showed that they were eager to accede to it. But they saw sabres gleaming half—way between them and the Tuileries Gardens. The quay was occupied by a squadron of dragoons.
“Why, these cursed dragoons are, then, everywhere,” murmured the farmer.
“I say, my dear Monsieur Billot,” said Pitou, “I believe that we are caught.”
“Pshaw! they cannot catch five or six thousand men; and we are five or six thousand men, at least.”
The dragoons on the quay were advancing slowly, it is true, at a very gentle walk; but they were visibly advancing.
“The Rue Royale still remains open to us. Come this way; come, Pitou.”
Pitou followed the farmer as if he had been his shadow. But a line of soldiers was drawn across the street, near the St. Honoré gate.
“Ah, ah!” muttered Billot; “you may be in the right, friend Pitou.”
“Hum!” was Pitou’s sole reply.
But this word expressed, by the tone in which it had been pronounced, all the regret which Pitou felt at not having been mistaken.
The crowd, by its agitation and its clamors, proved that it was not less sensible than Pitou of the position in which it was then placed.
And, in fact, by a skilful manoeuvre, the Prince de Lambesq had surrounded not only the rebels, but also those who had been drawn there from mere curiosity, and by preventing all egress by the Bridge Louis XV., the quays, the Champs Élysées, the Rue Royale, and Les Feuillants, he had enclosed them in a bow of iron, the string of which was represented by the walls of the Tuileries Gardens, which it would be very difficult to escalade, and the iron gate of the Pont Tournant, which it was almost impossible to force.
Billot reflected on their position; it certainly was not a favorable one; however, as he was a man of calm, cool mind, full of resources when in danger, he cast his eyes around him, and perceiving a pile of timber lying beside the river,—
“I have an idea,” said he to Pitou: “come this way.”