'My good friends,' said I, 'you have a cold post to-night. The weather has changed in the most extraordinary way. I have no doubt the scientific gentlemen at the Musée will be able to tell us all about it--M. de Clairon--'
'Not to interrupt M. le Maire,' said Riou, of the _octroi_, 'I think there is more in it than any scientific gentleman can explain.'
'Ah! You think so. But they explain everything,' I said, with a smile. 'They tell us how the wind is going to blow.'
As I said this, there seemed to pass us, from the direction of the closed gates, a breath of air so cold that I could not restrain a shiver. They looked at each other. It was not a smile that passed between them--they were too pale, too cold, to smile but a look of intelligence. 'M. le Maire,' said one of them, 'perceives it too;' but they did not shiver as I did. They were like men turned into ice who could feel no more.
'It is, without doubt, the most extraordinary weather,' I said. My teeth chattered like Barbou's. It was all I could do to keep myself steady. No one made any reply; but Lecamus said, 'Have the goodness to open the little postern for foot-passengers: M. le Maire wishes to make an inspection outside.'
Upon these words, Riou, who knew me well, caught me by the arm. 'A thousand pardons,' he said, 'M. le Maire; but I entreat you, do not go. Who can tell what is outside? Since this morning there is something very strange on the other side of the gates. If M. le Maire would listen to me, he would keep them shut night and day till _that_ is gone, he would not go out into the midst of it. _Mon Dieu!_ a man may be brave. I know the courage of M. le Maire; but to march without necessity into the jaws of hell: _mon Dieu!_' cried the poor man again. He crossed himself, and none of us smiled. Now a man may sign himself at the church door--one does so out of respect; but to use that ceremony for one's own advantage, before other men, is rare--except in the case of members of a very decided party. Riou was not one of these. He signed himself in sight of us all, and not one of us smiled.
The other was less familiar--he knew me only in my public capacity--he was one Gallais of the Quartier St. Médon. He said, taking off his hat: 'If I were M. le Maire, saving your respect, I would not go out into an unknown danger with this man here, a man who is known as a pietist, as a clerical, as one who sees visions--'