This scruple was still annoying him when, from the midst of a crowd of National Guards, who were following the carriage, he heard the following conversation, though carried on in a half-whisper by men who were curiously stretching out their necks to look at him.
“Oh! that one,—that is the Prince de Beauvau.”
“Why,” cried a comrade, “you are mistaken.”
“I tell you it must be so, since the carriage has the prince’s arms upon it.”
“The arms! the arms! I say that means nothing.”
“Zounds!” said another, “what do the arms prove?”
“They prove that if the arms of Monsieur de Beauvau are upon the coach, it must be Monsieur de Beauvau who is inside of it.”
“Monsieur de Beauveau,—is he a patriot?” asked a woman.
“Pooh!” exclaimed the National Guard. Gilbert again smiled.
“But I tell you,” said the first contradictor, “that it is not the prince. The prince is stout; that one is thin. The prince wears the uniform of a commandant of the guards; that one wears a black coat,—it is his intendant.”
A murmur, which was by no means favorable to Gilbert, arose among the crowd, who had degraded him by giving him this title, which was not at all flattering.
“Why, no, by the devil’s horns!” cried a loud voice, the sound of which made Gilbert start. It was the voice of a man who with his elbows and his fists was clearing his way to get near the carriage. “No,” said he, “it is neither Monsieur de Beauvau nor his intendant. It is that brave and famous patriot, and even the most famous of all the patriots. Why, Monsieur Gilbert, what the devil are you doing in the carriage of a prince?”
“Ha! it is you, Father Billot!” exclaimed the doctor.
“By Heaven,” replied the farmer, “I took good care not to lose the opportunity!”
“And Pitou?” asked Gilbert.
“Oh, he is not far off. Hilloa, Pitou! where are you? Come this way; come quickly!”
And Pitou, on hearing this invitation, managed by a dexterous use of his shoulders to slip through the crowd till he reached Billot’s side, and then with admiration bowed to Gilbert.
“Good-day, Monsieur Gilbert,” said he.
“Good-day, Pitou; good-day, my friend.”
“Gilbert! Gilbert who is he?” inquired the crowd of one another.
“Such is fame,” thought the doctor,—”well known at Villers-Cotterets; yes; but at Paris popularity is everything.”
He alighted from the carriage, which continued its onward progress at a walk, while Gilbert moved on with the crowd, on foot, leaning on Billot’s arm.
He in a few words related to the farmer his visit to Versailles, the good disposition of the king and the royal family; he in a few minutes preached such a propaganda of royalism to the group by which he was surrounded that, simple and delighted, these worthy people, who were yet easily induced to receive good impressions, uttered loud and continued shouts of “Long live the king!” which, taken up by those who preceded them, soon reached the head of the line, and deafened Louis XVI. in his carriage.
“I will see the king!” cried Billot, electrified. “I must get close to him, and see him well; I came all this way on purpose. I will judge him by his face; the eye of an honest man can always speak for itself. Let us get nearer to his carriage, Monsieur Gilbert, shall we not?”
“Wait a little, and it will be easy for us to do so,” replied Gilbert; “for I see one of Monsieur de Beauvau’s aides-de-camp, who is seeking for some one, coming this way.”
And, in fact, a cavalier, who, managing his horse with every sort of precaution, amid the groups of fatigued but joyous pedestrians, was endeavoring to get near the carriage which Gilbert had just left.
Gilbert called to him.
“Are you not looking, sir, for Doctor Gilbert” he inquired.
“Himself,” replied the aide-de-camp.
“In that case, I am he.”
“Monsieur de Beauvau sends for you, at the king’s request.”
These high-sounding words made Billot’s eyes open widely; and on the crowd they had the effect of making them open their ranks to allow Gilbert to pass. Gilbert glided through them, followed by Billot and Pitou, the aide-de-camp going before them, who kept on repeating: