Nevertheless, the contingents
of La Palud and Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx had again formed in line in
the middle of the promenade, and stood there erect and fierce. A
wood-cutter, who was a head taller than any of his companions, shouted,
as he waved his red neckerchief: "To arms, Chavanoz, Graille, Poujols,
Saint-Eutrope! To arms, Les Tulettes! To arms, Plassans!"
Crowds streamed across the esplanade. The man with the sabre, surrounded
by the folks from Faverolles, marched off with several of the country
contingents--Vernoux, Corbiere, Marsanne, and Pruinas--to outflank the
enemy and then attack him. Other contingents, from Valqueyras, Nazere,
Castel-le-Vieux, Les Roches-Noires, and Murdaran, dashed to the left,
scattering themselves in skirmishing parties over the Nores plain.
And meantime the men of the towns and villages that the wood-cutter had
called to his aid mustered together under the elms, there forming a dark
irregular mass, grouped without regard to any of the rules of strategy,
simply placed there like a rock, as it were, to bar the way or die. The
men of Plassans stood in the middle of this heroic battalion. Amid the
grey hues of the blouses and jackets, and the bluish glitter of the
weapons, the pelisse worn by Miette, who was holding the banner with
both hands, looked like a large red splotch--a fresh and bleeding wound.
All at once perfect silence fell. Monsieur Peirotte's pale face appeared
at a window of the Hotel de la Mule-Blanche.
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