‘Very well, arrest me. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. ’ ‘Not dead, miss. We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. Rattles were sprung; lanterns lighted, and hoisted at the end of poles; windows thrown open; doors unbarred; and, as if by magic, the street was instantaneously filled with a crowd of persons of both sexes, armed with such weapons as came most readily to hand, and dressed in such garments as could be most easily slipped on. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin.
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