He turned toward the door of the passage.

"Half a moment!" cried Mazeroux.

"Half a moment?… What do you mean?"

The detective sergeant had flung himself between him and the door and was blocking his way.

"Yes, half a moment … I am not of your opinion. It's far better that you should wait until the Prefect comes."

"But I don't care a hang about your opinion!"

"May be; but you shan't pass."

"What! Why, Alexandre, you must be ill!"

"Look here, Chief," said Mazeroux feebly. "What can it matter to you?

It's only natural that the Prefect should wish to speak to you."

"Ah, it's the Prefect who wishes, is it?… Well, my lad, you can tell him that I am not at his orders, that I am at nobody's orders, and that, if the President of the Republic, if Napoleon I himself were to bar my way … Besides, rats! Enough said. Get out of the road!"

"You shall not pass!" declared Mazeroux, in a resolute tone, extending his arms.

"Well, I like that!"

"You shall not pass."

"Alexandre, just count ten."

"A hundred, if you like, but you shall not…."

"Oh, blow your catchwords! Get out of this."