"

The only way out of the old market was through a muddy alley shut in by
omnibus stables and coal sheds. There was no moon and a cold drizzle was
coming down. The police, who were assembled in great numbers, blocked
the alley and compelled the Dracophils to disperse in little groups.
These were the instructions they had received from their chief, who was
anxious to check the enthusiasm of the excited crowd.

The Dracophils who were detained in the alley kept marking time and
singing, "It is Chatillon we want." Soon, becoming impatient of the
delay, the cause of which they did not know, they began to push those in
front of them. This movement, propagated along the alley, threw those in
front against the broad chests of the police. The latter had no hatred
for the Dracophils. In the bottom of their hearts they liked Chatillon.
But it is natural to resist aggression and strong men are inclined to
make use of their strength. For these reasons the police kicked the
Dracophils with their hob-nailed boots. As a result there were sudden
rushes backwards and forwards. Threats and cries mingled with the songs.

"Murder! Murder! . . . It is Chatillon we want! Murder! Murder!"

And in the gloomy alley the more prudent kept saying, "Don't push."
Among these latter, in the darkness, his lofty figure rising above the
moving crowd, his broad shoulders and robust body noticeable among
the trampled limbs and crushed sides of the rest, stood the Prince
des Boscenos, calm, immovable, and placid. Serenely and indulgently he
waited. In the mean time, as the exit was opened at regular intervals
between the ranks of the police, the pressure of elbows against the
chests of those around the prince diminished and people began to breathe
again.

"You see we shall soon be able to go out," said that kindly giant, with
a pleasant smile. "Time and patience . . ."

He took a cigar from his case, raised it to his lips and struck a match.
Suddenly, in the light of the match, he saw Princess Anne, his wife,
clasped in Count Clena's arms. At this sight he rushed towards them,
striking both them and those around with his cane. He was disarmed,
though not without difficulty, but he could not be separated from his
opponent. And whilst the fainting princess was lifted from arm to arm
to her carriage over the excited and curious crowd, the two men still
fought furiously. Prince des Boscenos lost his hat, his eye-glass,
his cigar, his necktie, and his po