“Let us break the carriage!” cried the people.

“In the king’s name!” cried Comminges.

“The first who advances is a dead man!” cried Raoul, for it was in fact he, who, feeling himself pressed and almost crushed by a gigantic citizen, pricked him with the point of his sword and sent him howling back.

Comminges, so to speak, threw Broussel into the carriage and sprang in after him.  At this moment a shot was fired and a ball passed through the hat of Comminges and broke the arm of one of the guards.  Comminges looked up and saw amidst the smoke the threatening face of Louvieres appearing at the window of the second floor.

“Very well, sir,” said Comminges, “you shall hear of this anon.”

“And you of me, sir,” said Louvieres; “and we shall see then who can speak the loudest.”

Friquet and Nanette continued to shout; the cries, the noise of the shot and the intoxicating smell of powder produced their usual maddening effects.

“Down with the officer! down with him!” was the cry.

“One step nearer,” said Comminges, putting down the sashes, that the interior of the carriage might be well seen, and placing his sword on his prisoner’s breast, “one step nearer, and I kill the prisoner; my orders were to carry him off alive or dead.  I will take him dead, that’s all.”

A terrible cry was heard, and the wife and daughters of Broussel held up their hands in supplication to the people; the latter knew that this officer, who was so pale, but who appeared so determined, would keep his word; they continued to threaten, but they began to disperse.

“Drive to the palace,” said Comminges to the coachman, who was by then more dead than alive.

The man whipped his animals, which cleared a way through the crowd; but on arriving on the Quai they were obliged to stop; the carriage was upset, the horses carried off, stifled, mangled by the crowd.  Raoul, on foot, for he had not time to mount his horse again, tired, like the guards, of distributing blows with the flat of his sword, had recourse to its point.  But this last and dreaded resource served only to exasperate the multitude.  From time to time a shot from a musket or the blade of a rapier flashed among the crowd; projectiles continued to hail down from the windows and some shots were heard, the echo of which, though they were probably fired in the air, made all hearts vibrate.  Voices, unheard except on days of revolution, were distinguished; faces were seen that only appeared on days of bloodshed.  Cries of “Death! death to the guards! to the Seine with the officer!” were heard above all the noise, deafening as it was.  Raoul, his hat in ribbons, his face bleeding, felt not only his strength but also his reason going; a red mist covered his sight, and through this mist he saw a hundred threatening arms stretched over him, ready to seize upon him when he fell.  The guards were unable to help any one