IN WHICH MATTERS GO SO FAR THAT THE INHABITANTS OF QUIQUENDONE, THE READER, AND EVEN THE AUTHOR, DEMAND AN IMMEDIATE DENOUEMENT.

The last incident proves to what a pitch of excitement the Quiquendonians had been wrought.  The two oldest friends in the town, and the most gentle ­before the advent of the epidemic, to reach this degree of violence!  And that, too, only a few minutes after their old mutual sympathy, their amiable instincts, their contemplative habit, had been restored at the summit of the tower!

On learning what was going on, Doctor Ox could not contain his joy.  He resisted the arguments which Ygene, who saw what a serious turn affairs were taking, addressed to him.  Besides, both of them were infected by the general fury.  They were not less excited than the rest of the population, and they ended by quarrelling as violently as the burgomaster and the counsellor.

Besides, one question eclipsed all others, and the intended duels were postponed to the issue of the Virgamenian difficulty.  No man had the right to shed his blood uselessly, when it belonged, to the last drop, to his country in danger.  The affair was, in short, a grave one, and there was no withdrawing from it.

The Burgomaster Van Tricasse, despite the warlike ardour with which he was filled, had not thought it best to throw himself upon the enemy without warning him.  He had, therefore, through the medium of the rural policeman, Hottering, sent to demand reparation of the Virgamenians for the offence committed, in 1195, on the Quiquendonian territory.

The authorities of Virgamen could not at first imagine of what the envoy spoke, and the latter, despite his official character, was conducted back to the frontier very cavalierly.

Van Tricasse then sent one of the aides-de-camp of the confectioner-general, citizen Hildevert Shuman, a manufacturer of barley-sugar, a very firm and energetic man, who carried to the authorities of Virgamen the original minute of the indictment drawn up in 1195 by order of the Burgomaster Natalis Van Tricasse.

The authorities of Virgamen burst out laughing, and served the aide-de-camp in the same manner as the rural policeman.

The burgomaster then assembled the dignitaries of the town.

A letter, remarkably and vigorously drawn up, was written as an ultimatum; the cause of quarrel was plainly stated, and a delay of twenty-four hours was accorded to the guilty city in which to repair the outrage done to Quiquendone.

The letter was sent off, and returned a few hours afterwards, torn to bits, which made so many fresh insults.  The Virgamenians knew of old the forbearance and equanimity of the Quiquendonians, and made sport of them and their demand, of their casus belli and their ultimatum.

There was only one thing left to do, ­to have recourse to arms, to invoke the God of battles, and, after the Prussian fashion, to hurl themselves upon the Virgamenians Before the latter could be prepared.

This decision was made by the council in solemn conclave, in which cries, objurgations, and menacing gestures were mingled with unexampled violence.  An assembly of idiots, a congress of madmen, a club of maniacs, would not have been more tumultuous.

As soon as the declaration of war was known, General Jean Orbideck assembled his troops, perhaps two thousand three hundred and ninety-three combatants from a population of two thousand three hundred and ninety-three souls.  The women, the children, the old men, were joined with the able-bodied males.  The guns of the town had been put under requisition.  Five had been found, two of which were without cocks, and these had been distributed to the advance-guard.  The artillery was composed of the old culverin of the chateau, taken in 1339 at the attack on Quesnoy, one of the first occasions of the use of cannon in history, and which had not been fired off for five centuries.  Happily for those who were appointed to take it in charge there were no projectiles with which to load it; but such as it was, this engine might well impose on the enemy.  As for side-arms, they had been taken from the museum of antiquities, ­flint hatchets, helmets, Frankish battle-axes, javelins, halberds, rapiers, and so on; and also in those domestic arsenals commonly known as “cupboards” and “kitchens.”  But courage, the right, hatred of the foreigner, the yearning for vengeance, were to take the place of more perfect engines, and to replace ­at least it was hoped so ­the modern mitrailleuses and breech-loaders.

The troops were passed in review.  Not a citizen failed at the roll-call.  General Orbideck, whose seat on horseback was far from firm, and whose steed was a vicious beast, was thrown three times in front of the army; but he got up again without injury, and this was regarded as a favourable omen.  The burgomaster, the counsellor, the civil commissary, the chief justice, the school-teacher, the banker, the rector, ­in short, all the notabilities of the town, ­marched at the head.  There were no tears shed, either by mothers, sisters, or daughters.  They urged on their husbands, fathers, brothers, to the combat, and even followed them and formed the rear-guard, under the orders of the courageous Madame Van Tricasse.

The crier, Jean Mistrol, blew his trumpet; the army moved off, and directed itself, with ferocious cries, towards the Oudenarde gate.

At the moment when the head of the column was about to pass the walls of the town, a man threw himself before it.

“Stop! stop!  Fools that you are!” he cried.  “Suspend your blows!  Let me shut the valve!  You are not changed in nature!  You are good citizens, quiet and peaceable!  If you are so excited, it is my master, Doctor Ox’s, fault!  It is an experiment!  Under the pretext of lighting your streets with oxyhydric gas, he has saturated ­”

The assistant was beside himself; but he could not finish.  At the instant that the doctor’s secret was about to escape his lips, Doctor Ox himself pounced upon the unhappy Ygene in an indescribable rage, and shut his mouth by blows with his fist.

It was a battle.  The burgomaster, the counsellor, the dignitaries, who had stopped short on Ygene’s sudden appearance, carried away in turn by their exasperation, rushed upon the two strangers, without waiting to hear either the one or the other.

Doctor Ox and his assistant, beaten and lashed, were about to be dragged, by order of Van Tricasse, to the round-house, when, ­