wife opposite to him, his two daughters by his side, and his
son, Louvieres, whom we have already seen when the accident
happened to the councillor — an accident from which he had
quite recovered — at the bottom of the table. The worthy
man, restored to perfect health, was tasting the fine fruit
which Madame de Longueville had sent to him.
At sight of the officer Broussel was somewhat moved, but
seeing him bow politely he rose and bowed also. Still, in
spite of this reciprocal politeness, the countenances of the
women betrayed a certain amount of uneasiness; Louvieres
became very pale and waited impatiently for the officer to
explain himself.
“Sir,” said Comminges, “I am the bearer of an order from the
king.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Broussel, “what is this order?”
And he held out his hand.
“I am commissioned to seize your person, sir,” said
Comminges, in the same tone and with the same politeness;
“and if you will believe me you had better spare yourself
the trouble of reading that long letter and follow me.”
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. Louvieres 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 Louvieres; “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.
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“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.
Many curious faces had already appeared at the windows and
the people attracted to the end of the street began to run,
first men, then groups, and then a crowd of people; hearing
cries and seeing a chariot they could not understand it; but