to make up their minds to do, their fists clenched, certain that "it was not going to go on this way," but not knowing how "it was going on."
In anticipation of trouble, the burgomaster had called out the civic guard, posts had been doubled; the gendarmerie was under arms.
Bergmans, while crossing the square, had been recognized, cheered, and borne off in triumph. He freed himself as best he could from these ovations; since early in the morning he had exhorted all those who came in contact with him to calm and resignation. "We shall be victorious next time!" he said.
The orange flag floating from the balcony of the Association bearded and exasperated his friends. In the first moments after the news of defeat the consternation of the vanquished had given the victors an opportunity to hoist their flag with impunity.
Suddenly a pushing this way and that began in the crowd. Paridael and his young comrades of the "Jeune Garde des Gueux" jostled their way through until they reached the club.
Carried upon the shoulders of Jean Vingerhout, Laurent, as nimble as a monkey, using both hands and feet, clinging to whatever slight ledges he could, climbed to the balcony, clutched the flagstaff, tried to loosen it, and ending by hanging from it, pulling on the material. A cracking was heard; the wood snapped …
The crowd yelled with anxiety.
The flag was conquered, but the daring conqueror tumbled into empty space with his trophy. He would have broken his neck upon the pavement had the vigilant and solidly built Vingerhout not been there. Vingerhout caught Laurent in his arms without flinching
