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Updated: June 27, 2025
I used the bayonet only," said the franc-tireur, looking moodily at the dried blood on his hairy fists. "I got a Bavarian sentry, too; there's the proof." Jack looked at the helmet. Tricasse ripped up the mail-sack with his long clasp-knife. "They stole our mail; they will not steal it again," observed Tricasse, sorting the letters and shuffling them like cards.
Van Tricasse and Niklausse, in their official capacity, and some other worthies, thought they ought to allow this modern light to be introduced into their dwellings.
"Have I not been told, though," asked the burgomaster, "that the tower of the Oudenarde gate is likely to tumble down?" "Ah!" replied the counsellor; "really, I should not be astonished if it fell on some passer-by any day." "Oh! before such a misfortune happens I hope we shall have come to a decision on the subject of this tower." "I hope so, Van Tricasse."
About six o'clock the counsellor, who had a habit of speaking in a very summary manner, resumed in these words, "So we decide " "To decide nothing," replied the burgomaster. "I think, on the whole, that you are right, Van Tricasse." "I think so too, Niklausse. We will take steps with reference to the civil commissary when we have more light on the subject later on.
He formed the word with his lips. The franc-tireur nodded with a ghastly smile and glanced down at his dripping gunstock. Lorraine's hand closed on Jack's arm. "Come to the hill," she said; "I cannot stand that." On the crest of the wooded ridge crouched Tricasse, bared sabre stuck in the ground before him, a revolver in either fist.
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.
"We will take revenge at the proper moment," said simply Natalis Van Tricasse, the thirty-second predecessor of the burgomaster of this story, "and the Virgamenians will lose nothing by waiting." The Virgamenians were forewarned.
A mouse would not have made less noise, running over a thick carpet. The door of the room opened, turning on its well-oiled hinges. A young girl, with long blonde tresses, made her appearance. It was Suzel Van Tricasse, the burgomaster's only daughter.
Some one knocked heavily upon this door, hitherto virgin to brutal touch! Redoubled knocks were given with some blunt implement, probably a knotty stick, wielded by a vigorous arm. With the strokes were mingled cries and calls. These words were distinctly heard: "Monsieur Van Tricasse! Monsieur the burgomaster! Open, open quickly!"
Twice Von Steyr tried to pass his sabre through him; an Uhlan struck him with a lance-butt, another buried a lance-point in his back, but he clung like a wild-cat to his man, burying his teeth in the Uhlan's face, deeper, deeper, till the Uhlan reeled back and fell crashing into the road. "Fire!" shrieked Tricasse "the woman's dead!"
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