“Dogs!” he shouted, “must I call out my riders and scatter you?  Must I flog you through the streets with stirrup-leathers?  I am Tavannes; beware of me!  I have claws and teeth and I bite!” he continued, the scorn in his words exceeding even the rage of the crowd, at which he flung them.  “Kill where you please, rob where you please, but not where I am!  Or I will hang you by the heels on Montfaucon, man by man!  I will flay your backs.  Go!  Go!  I am Tavannes!”

But the mob, cowed for a moment by the thunder of his voice, by his arrogance and recklessness, showed at this that their patience was exhausted.  With a yell which drowned his tones they swayed forward; a dozen thundered on the door, crying, “In the King’s name!” As many more tore out the remainder of the casement, seized the bars of the window, and strove to pull them out or to climb between them.  Jehan, the cripple, with whom Tignonville had rubbed elbows at the rendezvous, led the way.

Count Hannibal watched them a moment, his harsh face bent down to them, his features plain in the glare of the torches.  But when the cripple, raised on the others’ shoulders, and emboldened by his adversary’s inactivity, began to squeeze himself through the bars, Tavannes raised a pistol, which he had held unseen behind him, cocked it at leisure, and levelled it at the foul face which leered close to his.  The dwarf saw the weapon and tried to retreat; but it was too late.  A flash, a scream, and the wretch, shot through the throat, flung up his hands, and fell back into the arms of a lean man in black who had lent him his shoulder to ascend.

For a few seconds the smoke of the pistol filled the window and the room.  There was a cry that the Huguenots were escaping, that the Huguenots were resisting, that it was a plot; and some shouted to guard the back and some to watch the roof, and some to be gone.  But when the fumes cleared away, the mob saw, with stupor, that all was as it had been.  Count Hannibal stood where he had stood before, a grim smile on his lips.

“Who comes next?” he cried in a tone of mockery.  “I have more pistols!” And then with a sudden change to ferocity, “You dogs!” he went on.  “You scum of a filthy city, sweepings of the Halles!  Do you think to beard me?  Do you think to frighten me or murder me?  I am Tavannes, and this is my house, and were there a score of Huguenots in it, you should not touch one, nor harm a hair of his head!  Begone, I say again, while you may!  Seek women and children, and kill them.  But not here!”

For an instant the mingled scorn and brutality of his words silenced them.  Then from the rear of the crowd came an answer—­the roar of an arquebuse.  The ball whizzed past Count Hannibal’s head, and, splashing the plaster from the wall within a pace of Tignonville, dropped to the ground.