the Galley!"

The two other prisoners now raised their heads, still dazed and in a
stupor.

Immediately a third voice, loud and shrill, but instinct with the thrill
of command, took up the words. It was the Admiral, and his third "Vive
the Galley!" was a signal.

Nine soldiers of the line of troops at the point nearest the prisoners
were simultaneously thrown on the street, and a score of desperate men
had broken into the centre and made a rush for the small guard around
the carts. A cry, rising into a multitudinous commotion of shouts, went
up from the gazing mob, ever on the verge of a tumult. At the same time
there was a resistless swaying on all sides--the two lines of soldiers
gave way for a few minutes, and people far and near rushed into the
middle of the street. The vortex of St. Marcellese, at the Pont Notre
Dame, already filled with winey purpose, pushed forward with a sudden
bound towards their leaders and the death-cart, triumphing over their
old enemies, the gendarmes, and preparing for every excess.

Femme Gougeon, as leader of a horde of viragoes, was rushing among them
shrieking more fiendishly than ever. While some held down the guard or
wrested away their arms, the prisoners were lifted out of the cart and
began to be hurried along towards the bridge, Bec and Caron struggling
like maniacs with their fetters. The mob had at this moment complete
mastery.

It lasted only a few seconds. Drums began to beat towards the Place de
Greve. The tocsin bell of the Hotel de Ville sounded. There was a
shock--a check of the crowd's volitions. A heavy rolling-back movement
took place, and a public roar of fear was heard. People on the edges ran
to shelter, and in a few moments more a volley of musketry sounded down
the street. The crowd broke in all directions. It scattered away as
suddenly as it had risen, and through the clearing smoke the soldiers
could be seen closing up and again preparing to fire in volley. The
prisoners were left in the hands only of the Admiral and Hache.

"Come, come," cried the latter, urging them to run.

"Brave men, save yourselves; as for us we are lost," was the reply of la
Tour.

So Hache and the Admiral disappeared.

Bec and Caron lay prostrate on the deserted pavement. Hugues stood up
proudly until a musket-ball broke his arm and knocked him over.

Then the dead and wounded could be counted, scattered over the scene of
the _melee_.

Sickening it would be to tell in full