ed determined to dispute authority.

"In that case," commanded Comminges, "silence that old woman."

"Ah! old woman!" screamed Nanette.

And she began to shriek more loudly, clinging to the bars of the window:

"Help! help! for Master Broussel, who is arrested because he has
defended the people! Help!"

Comminges seized the servant around the waist and would have dragged
her from her post; but at that instant a treble voice, proceeding from a
kind of entresol, was heard screeching:

"Murder! fire! assassins! Master Broussel is being killed! Master
Broussel is being strangled."

It was Friquet's voice; and Dame Nanette, feeling herself supported,
recommenced with all her strength to sound her shrilly squawk.

Many curious faces had already appeared at the windows and the people
attracted to the end of the street began to run, first men, then groups,
and then a crowd of people; hearing cries and seeing a chariot they
could not understand it; but Friquet sprang from the entresol on to the
top of the carriage.

"They want to arrest Master Broussel!" he cried; "the guards are in the
carriage and the officer is upstairs!"

The crowd began to murmur and approached the house. The two guards who
had remained in the lane mounted to the aid of Comminges; those who were
in the chariot opened the doors and presented arms.

"Don't you see them?" cried Friquet, "don't you see? there they are!"

The coachman turning around, gave Friquet a slash with his whip which
made him scream with pain.

"Ah! devil's coachman!" cried Friquet, "you're meddling too! Wait!"

And regaining his entresol he overwhelmed the coachman with every
projectile he could lay hands on.

The tumult now began to increase; the street was not able to contain
the spectators who assembled from every direction; the crowd invaded
the space which the dreaded pikes of the guards had till then kept clear
between them and the carriage. The soldiers, pushed back by these living
walls, were in danger of being crushed against the spokes of the wheels
and the panels of the carriages. The cries which the police officer
repeated twenty times: "In the king's name," were powerless against this
formidable multitude--seemed, on the contrary, to exasperate it still
more; when, at the shout, "In the name of the king," an officer ran up,
and seeing the uniforms ill-treated, he sprang into the scuffle sword
in hand, and brought unexpected help to the guards. This gentleman