brilliant with indignation, on the bright
hair that shone like a queenly crown. Wrath, and scorn, and defiance
were expressed by the beautiful face, the tense figure; but never a
trace of fear.

They were all looking at her, as I was, in silence,--a curious hush that
lasted but a few seconds, but in which I could hear the beating of my
own heart; it sounded as loud as a sledge hammer.

The spell was broken by a cry from the man with the pointed beard next
me who sprang forward towards her, shouting in English: "Anne! Anne! It
is I, your father!"

I was only just less quick; we reached her almost together, and faced
about, shielding her with our bodies, and covering those nearest us with
our revolvers.

"Father! Maurice!" I heard her sob. "Oh, I knew, I knew you would come!"

"What is this devilry?" shouted Anthony Pendennis in French. "How comes
my daughter here? She is a British subject, and you--you shall pay
dearly--"

He got no further. Our action had been so swift, so unexpected, that the
whole crowd stood still, as if paralyzed by sheer astonishment, for a
few breathless seconds.

"Spies! Traitors! Kill them all!" shouted the president, springing
forward, revolver in hand.

Those words were his last, for he threw up his arms and fell as my first
shot got him. The rest came at us all together, like a mob of furious
wild beasts. They were all armed, some with revolvers, others with the
horrible little bludgeons they call "killers,"--a short heavy bar of
lead set on a strong copper spring, no bigger than an ordinary round
office ruler, but more deadly at close quarters than a revolver.

I flung up my left hand, tore down the lamp that hung just above us,
and hurled it among them. It was extinguished as it fell, and that gave
us a small advantage, for the other lamp was at the far end, and its
faint light did not reach us, but only served to dimly show us our
antagonists. I felt Anne sink down to the floor behind me, though
whether a shot had reached her or she had fainted I did not know.

When I had emptied my revolver I dropped it, grabbed a "killer" from the
hand of a fellow I had shot pointblank, and laid about me with that. I
suppose Pendennis did the same. As Loris had warned me, when it came to
shooting, there was no time for reloading; but the "killer" was all
right. I wonder he hadn't given me one!

We were holding our own well, in spite of the tremendous odds, and after
a while--though whether