"_La-bas!_" screamed the pimply _sergeant de plantons_, pointing fiercely
in our direction.
Margherite, at his first command, had let go the jam-pail and sought
shelter in the building. Simultaneously with her flight we all began
pulling on the rope for dear life, making the bucket bound against the
wall.
Upon hearing the dreadful exclamation "_La-bas!_" the _planton_ almost
fell down. The sight which greeted his eyes caused him to excrete a
single mouthful of vivid profanity, made him grip his gun like a hero,
set every nerve in his noble and faithful body tingling. Apparently
however he had forgotten completely his gun, which lay faithfully and
expectingly in his two noble hands.
"Attention!" screamed the sergeant.
The _planton_ did something to his gun very aimlessly and rapidly.
"FIRE!" shrieked the sergeant, scarlet with rage and mortification.
The _planton_, cool as steel, raised his gun.
"_NOM DE DIEU TIREZ!_"
The bucket, in big merry sounding jumps, was approaching the window below
us.
The _planton_ took aim, falling fearlessly on one knee, and closing both
eyes. I confess that my blood stood on tip-toe; but what was death to the
loss of that jam-bucket, let alone everyone's apparel which everyone had
so generously loaned? We kept on hauling silently.
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