e horses, maddened by the din,
kicked and plunged; men shouted and women screamed; while Marie's aunt
stood laughing defiantly at the monster her words had conjured up. She
had thrown one arm around her niece as if to protect her, and
confronted the mob with flashing eyes and scornful brow.

At the first sign of danger we had drawn our swords; now, flinging
ourselves headlong into the press, we struck out fiercely to right and
left, trying to force a passage to the carriage. Raoul cut and thrust
in gallant style, and all the time he shouted with the full power of
his lungs, "Orleans! Orleans! To me, friends of Orleans." I, taking
my cue, yelled for Conde; the Englishman shouted, "Way for the Queen's
Guards," while the mob endeavoured to drown our appeals by the ugly
menace of "Death to the Nobles!"

There was scant leisure in which to look at the ladies, but Madame
Coutance did not once alter her position, nor try to hide the sneering
smile on her face.

Meanwhile our lusty shouts had brought assistance. Several Black
Mantles, fearful lest the riot should spread, fought with us; a couple
of gentlemen, responding to the cry of "Conde!" had dashed in behind
me, and presently from the street corner came a shout of "Beauchamp!
Beauchamp!"

"Bravo, D'Arcy!" cried Raoul in answer, and we continued the fight with
greater zest. After all, the nobles of France were not quite dead to
honour; their lives were still at the service of their friends.

Taking the shortest cut through the crowd, John Humphreys and I had
reached the carriage door, and now stood with our backs to it, striving
desperately to keep the ruffians off; Raoul, aided by several Black
Mantles, was working round to the other side.

At first we fought with a certain amount of skill and method, only
endeavouring to parry our opponents' strokes, but presently the
struggle became grim and deadly. Then the fading daylight rapidly gave
place to darkness, which was hardly lessened by the lanterns swung from
the windows or by the fitful glow of the glaring pitch in the _falot_
at the corner of the street. The figures of the combatants, now
momentarily lost in the black shadows, again springing forward into
full relief, were horribly grotesque.

Like ourselves, the people of the gutters were growing desperate,
holding their own lives of no account, if only they could seize their
prey. Yelling and screaming, they struck out wildly with the oddest of
odd w