t a deed
of which you will repent."

Notwithstanding what I said, the ruffians still pressed upon us, and
attempted to drag Monsieur Planterre away, shouting, "_A la lanterne_!"
but I held him fast.

"My friends," I cried,--"for I will not call you enemies,--if you hang
this man you must hang me, for alive I will not be separated from him,
and you will be guilty of the murder of two honest men instead of one."

As I spoke a reaction suddenly took place; my words had even more effect
than I expected on the volatile crowd. One of them rushed forward and
removed the rope from Monsieur Planterre's neck.

"You have saved his life!" cried another.

"You are a brave fellow!" shouted a third. "Long live the noble
Englishman! he is worthy of our regard."

These and similar cries burst from the throats of numbers standing
round, and were echoed by the would-be executioners. Before I knew what
was about to happen, a number of them, rushing forward, lifted me on
their shoulders, and carried me along in triumph, shouting and singing,
while Monsieur Planterre's friends, who had been watching the
opportunity, pressing forward, hurried him away in another direction.
To my infinite satisfaction, I saw him carried off, while I was borne
along by the crowd, who shouted and sang in my praise until their voices
were hoarse.

I thought it wise to submit to the honours paid me; at the same time I
could not tell at what moment the feelings of the fickle mob might
change, and perhaps they might carry me to the _lanterne_ instead of the
man I had rescued. I made the best of my position, and kept bowing to
the mob right and left, expressing my admiration for France and
Frenchmen in the most glowing terms I could command.

This seemed to please them mightily; but I was curious to know what they
were going to do with me. They appeared highly delighted at having an
object on which to bestow their admiration. First they carried me round
and round the Place, shouting and cheering, while they told all who came
up what I had done. Perhaps they found it quite as amusing as hanging
their townsman.

At last some one proposed that they should carry me to the Hotel de
Ville. The proposal was received with acclamations by the crowd, and my
bearers set off, several of them going before cheering and
gesticulating, while, as we passed through the narrow, crooked streets,
the people looked out from the windows, waving coloured handkerchiefs
an