ildered, mounted behind a trooper. A man sprang up before each of
us too, greeting our appearance merely by a grunt of surprise. For it
was no time to ask or answer. The mob was recovering itself, and each
moment brought it reinforcements, while its fury was augmented by the
trick we had played it, and the prospect of our escape.

We were under forty, all told; and some men were riding double. Bezers'
eye glanced hastily over his array, and lit on us three. He turned and
gave some order to his lieutenant. The fellow spurred his horse, a
splendid grey, as powerful as his master's, alongside of Croisette,
threw his arm round the lad, and dragged him dexterously on to his own
crupper. I did not understand the action, but I saw Croisette settle
himself behind Blaise Bure--for he it was--and supposed no harm was
intended. The next moment we had surged forward, and were swaying to
and fro in the midst of the crowd.

What ensued I cannot tell. The outlook, so far as I was concerned, was
limited to wildly plunging horses--we were in the centre of the band
and riders swaying in the saddle--with a glimpse here and there of a
fringe of white scowling faces and tossing arms. Once, a lane opening,
I saw the Vidame's charger--he was in the van--stumble and fall among
the crowd and heard a great shout go up. But Bezers by a mighty effort
lifted it to its legs again. And once too, a minute later, those
riding on my right, swerved outwards, and I saw something I never
afterwards forgot.

It was the body of the Coadjutor, lying face upwards, the eyes open and
the teeth bared in a last spasm. Prostrate on it lay a woman, a young
woman, with hair like red gold falling about her neck, and skin like
milk. I did not know whether she was alive or dead; but I noticed that
one arm stuck out stiffly and the crowd flying before the sudden impact
of the horses must have passed over her, even if she had escaped the
iron hoofs which followed. Still in the fleeting glance I had of her
as my horse bounded aside, I saw no wound or disfigurement. Her one
arm was cast about the priest's breast; her face was hidden on it. But
for all that, I knew her--knew her, shuddering for the woman whose
badges I was even now wearing, whose gift I bore at my side; and I
remembered the priest's vaunt of a few hours before, made in her
presence, "There is no man in Paris shall thwart me to-night!"

It had been a vain boast indeed! No hand in all that h