The majority, however, knew nothing at all about the matter; they lived at the further end of the town, and listened with gaping mouths, like children to a nursery tale, to the stories of how several thousand bandits had invaded the streets during the night and vanished before daybreak like an army of phantoms.

A few of the most sceptical said: "Nonsense!" Yet some of the details were very precise; and Plassans at last felt convinced that some frightful danger had passed over it while it slept.

The darkness which had shrouded this danger, the various contradictory reports that spread, all invested the matter with mystery and vague horror, which made the bravest shudder.
Whose hand had diverted the thunderbolt from them?
There seemed to be something quite miraculous about it.

There were rumours of unknown deliverers, of a handful of brave men who had cut off the hydra's head; but no one seemed acquainted with the exact particulars, and the whole story appeared scarcely credible, until the company from the yellow drawing-room spread through the streets, scattering tidings, ever repeating the same narrative at each door they came to.
It was like a train of powder.

In a few minutes the story had spread from one end of the town to the other.