At the foot there was a door, which he opened, and then, at the end of a short passage--in which the drone of voices sounded very loud and in particular one, cracked voice that was raised in song--they gained the door of the common-room.

As La Boulaye pushed it open they came upon a scene of Bacchanalian revelry.
On a chair that had been set upon the table they beheld Mother Capoulade enthroned like a Goddess of Liberty, and wearing a Phrygian cap on her dishevelled locks.

Her yellow cheeks were flushed and her eyes watery, whilst hers was the crazy voice that sang.
Around the table, in every conceivable attitude of abandonment, sat Captain Charlot's guard--every man of the ten--and with them the six men and the corporal of La Boulaye's escort, all more or less in a condition of drunkenness.
"Le jour de gloire est arrive ?" sang the croaking voice of Dame Capoulade, and there it stopped abruptly upon catching sight of La Boulaye and his companion in the doorway.

Mademoiselle shivered out of loathing; but La Boulaye felt his pulses quickened with hope, for surely all this was calculated to assist him in his purpose.
At the abrupt interruption of the landlady's version of the "Marseillaise" the men swung round, and upon seeing the Deputy they sought in ludicrous haste to repair the disorder of their appearance.
"So!" thundered Caron.

"This is the watch you keep?
This is how you are to be trusted?
And you, Guyot," he continued, pointing his finger at the man.