The crowd had become very dense, when a troop of gentlemen rode at
full speed into the Rue Buade, and after trying recklessly to force
their way through, came to a sudden halt in the midst of the surging
mass.
The Intendant, Cadet, and Varin had ridden from Beaumanoir, followed
by a train of still flushed guests, who, after a hasty purification,
had returned with their host to the city--a noisy troop, loquacious,
laughing, shouting, as is the wont of men reckless at all times, and
still more defiant when under the influence of wine.
"What is the meaning of this rabble, Cadet?" asked Bigot; "they seem
to be no friends of yours. That fellow is wishing you in a hot
place!" added Bigot, laughing, as he pointed out a habitan who was
shouting "A bas Cadet!"
"Nor friends of yours, either," replied Cadet. "They have not
recognized you yet, Bigot. When they do, they will wish you in the
hottest place of all!"
The Intendant was not known personally to the habitans as were
Cadet, Varin, and the rest. Loud shouts and execrations were freely
vented against these as soon as they were recognized.
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