turn however would bring them out in front of the gateway, and
seeing this we hurried down the ramp to meet them. I stayed a moment to
tell Gil to collect the servants, and, this keeping me, Croisette
reached the narrow street outside before me. As I followed him I was
nearly knocked down by the rider, whose face was covered with, dirt and
blood, while fright had rendered his horse unmanageable. Darting aside
I let him pass--he was blinded and could not see me--and then found
that Croisette--brave lad! had collared the foremost of the ruffians,
and was beating him with his sheathed sword, while the rest of the
rabble stood back, ashamed, yet sullen, and with anger in their eyes.
A dangerous crew, I thought; not townsmen, most of them.

"Down with the Huguenots!" cried one, as I appeared, one bolder than
the rest.

"Down with the CANAILLE!" I retorted, sternly eyeing the ill-looking
ring. "Will you set yourselves above the king's peace, dirt that you
are? Go back to your kennels!"

The words were scarcely out of my mouth, before I saw that the fellow
whom Croisette was punishing had got hold of a dagger. I shouted a
warning, but it came too late. The blade fell, and--thanks to
God--striking the buckle of the lad's belt, glanced off harmless. I
saw the steel flash up again--saw the spite in the man's eyes: but
this time I was a step nearer, and before the weapon fell, I passed my
sword clean through the wretch's body. He went down like a log,
Croisette falling with him, held fast by his stiffening fingers.

I had never killed a man before, nor seen a man die; and if I had
stayed to think about it, I should have fallen sick perhaps. But it
was no time for thought; no time for sickness. The crowd were close
upon us, a line of flushed threatening faces from wall to wall. A
single glance downwards told me that the man was dead, and I set my
foot upon his neck. "Hounds! Beasts!" I cried, not loudly this time,
for though I was like one possessed with rage, it was inward rage, "go
to your kennels! Will you dare to raise a hand against a Caylus?
Go--or when the Vicomte returns, a dozen of you shall hang in the
market-place!"

I suppose I looked fierce enough--I know I felt no fear, only a strange
exaltation--for they slunk away. Unwillingly, but with little delay
the group melted, Bezers' following--of whom I knew the dead man was
one--the last to go. While I still glared at them, lo! the street was
em