He caught them as they came
and threw them about. One knocked down the Surveillant. The women cried
'_Vive Jean_,' and clapped their hands. The Surveillant called to the
_plantons_ to take Jean, but they wouldn't go near Jean, they said he was
a black devil. The women kidded them. They were so sore. And they could
do nothing. Jean was laughing. His shirt was almost off him. He asked the
planton to come and take him, please. He asked the Surveillant, too. The
women had set down their pails and were dancing up and down and yelling.
The Directeur came down and sent them flying. The Surveillant and his
_plantons_ were as helpless as if they had been children. Monsieur
Jean--_quelque chose_."
I gave him another match. "_Merci, Monsieur Jean._" He struck it, drew on
his pipe, lowered it, and went on:
"They were helpless, and men. I am little. I have only one arm, _tu
sais_. I walked up to Jean and said, Jean, you know me, I am your friend.
He said, Yes. I said to the _plantons_, Give me that rope. They gave me
the rope that they would have bound him with. He put out his wrists for
me. I tied his hands behind his back. He was like a lamb. The _plantons_
rushed up and tied his feet together. Then they tied his hands and feet
together.
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