eet and into another--still pursued by the
din and clangour of the bell--and then a short distance along a third.
We were not stopped or addressed by anyone, though numbers, increasing
each moment as door after door opened, and we drew nearer to the heart
of the commotion, were hurrying in the same direction, side by side
with us; and though in front, where now and again lights gleamed on a
mass of weapons, or on white eager faces, filling some alley from wall
to wall, we heard the roar of voices rising and falling like the murmur
of an angry sea.

All was blur, hurry, confusion, tumult. Yet I remember, as we pressed
onwards with the stream and part of it, certain sharp outlines. I
caught here and there a glimpse of a pale scared face at a window, a
half-clad form at a door, of the big, wondering eyes of a child held up
to see us pass, of a Christ at a corner ruddy in the smoky glare of a
link, of a woman armed, and in man's clothes, who walked some distance
side by side with us, and led off a ribald song. I retain a memory of
these things: of brief bursts of light and long intervals of darkness,
and always, as we tramped forwards, my hand on Pavannes' sleeve, of an
ever-growing tumult in front--an ever-rising flood of noise.

At last we came to a standstill where a side street ran out of ours.
Into this the hurrying throng tried to wheel, and, unable to do so,
halted, and pressed about the head of the street, which was already
full to overflowing; and so sought with hungry eyes for places whence
they might look down it. Pavannes and I struggled only to get through
the crowd--to get on; but the efforts of those behind partly aiding and
partly thwarting our own, presently forced us to a position whence we
could not avoid seeing what was afoot.

The street--this side street was ablaze with light. From end to end
every gable, every hatchment was glowing, every window was flickering
in the glare of torches. It was paved too with faces--human faces, yet
scarcely human--all looking one way, all looking upward; and the noise,
as from time to time this immense crowd groaned or howled in unison,
like a wild beast in its fury, was so appalling, that I clutched
Pavannes' arm and clung to him in momentary terror. I do not wonder
now that I quailed, though sometimes I have heard that sound since.
For there is nothing in the world so dreadful as that brute beast we
call the CANAILLE, when the chain is off and its cowardly s