There was a struggle among the men.  Whoever it was who had spoken (I did not wish to know), I had no need to condemn the mocker; they themselves silenced him; then Jacques Richard (still less worthy of credit) cried out again with a voice that was husky.  What are men made of?  Notwithstanding everything, it was from the cabaret, from the wine-shop, that he had come.  He said, ’Though M. le Maire will not take my opinion, yet it is this.  Let them reopen the chapel in the hospital.  The ladies of St. Jean—­’

‘Hold thy peace,’ I said, ‘miserable!’ But a murmur rose.  ’Though it is not his part to speak, I agree,’ said one.  ‘And I.’  ‘And I.’  There was well-nigh a tumult of consent; and this made me angry.  Words were on my lips which it might have been foolish to utter, when M. de Bois-Sombre, who is a man of judgment, interfered.

‘M. le Maire,’ he said, ’as there are none of us here who would show disrespect to the Church and holy things—­that is understood—­it is not necessary to enter into details.  Every restriction that would wound the most susceptible is withdrawn; not one more than another, but all.  We have been indifferent in the past, but for the future you will agree with me that everything shall be changed.  The ambassador—­whoever he may be—­’ he added with a catching of his breath, ’must be empowered to promise—­everything—­submission to all that may be required.’

Here the women could not restrain themselves; they all rose up with a cry, and many of them began to weep.  ‘Ah!’ said one with a hysterical sound of laughter in her tears. ’Sainte Mere! it will be heaven upon earth.’

M. le Cure said nothing; a keen glance of wonder, yet of subdued triumph, shot from under his eyelids.  As for me, I wrung my hands:  ’What you say will be superstition; it will be hypocrisy,’ I cried.

But at that moment a further incident occurred.  Suddenly, while we deliberated, a long loud peal of a trumpet sounded into the air.  I have already said that many sounds had been heard before; but this was different; there was not one of us that did not feel that this was addressed to himself.  The agitation was extreme; it was a summons, the beginning of some distinct communication.  The crowd scattered; but for myself, after a momentary struggle, I went forward resolutely.  I did not even look back at my wife.  I was no longer Martin Dupin, but the Maire of Semur, the saviour of the community.  Even Bois-Sombre quailed:  but I felt that it was in me to hold head against death itself; and before I had gone two steps I felt rather than saw that M. le Cure had come to my side.  We went on without a word; gradually the others collected behind us, following yet straggling here and there upon the inequalities of the ground.