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A faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who were

left there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding away.

There was spurring and splashing through the darkness, and bridle

was drawn in the space by the village fountain, and the horse in

a foam stood at Monsieur Gabelle's door. "Help, Gabelle! Help,

every one!" The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that

were any) there was none. The mender of roads, and two hundred

and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms at the

fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. "It must be

forty feet high," said they, grimly; and never moved.