assination at Aix, indeed he owed his safety to the fleetness of his
horses. Pointu, Forges, and Roquefort swore that they would manage things
better at Avignon.

By the route which the marshal had chosen there were only two ways open
by which he could reach Lyons: he must either pass through Avignon, or
avoid it by taking a cross-road, which branched off the Pointet highway,
two leagues outside the town. The assassins thought he would take the
latter course, and on the 2nd of August, the day on which the marshal was
expected, Pointu, Magnan, and Naudaud, with four of their creatures, took
a carriage at six o'clock in the morning, and, setting out from the Rhone
bridge, hid themselves by the side of the high road to Pointet.

When the marshal reached the point where the road divided, having been
warned of the hostile feelings so rife in Avignon, he decided to take the
cross-road upon which Pointu and his men were awaiting him; but the
postillion obstinately refused to drive in this direction, saying that he
always changed horses at Avignon, and not at Pointet. One of the
marshal's aides-de-camp tried, pistol in hand, to force him to obey; but
the marshal would permit no violence to be offered him, and gave him
orders to go on to Avignon.

The marshal reached the town at nine o'clock in the morning, and alighted
at the Hotel du Palais Royal, which was also the post-house. While fresh
horses were being put to and the passports and safe-conduct examined at
the Loulle gate, the marshal entered the hotel to take a plate of soup.
In less than five minutes a crowd gathered round the door, and M. Moulin
the proprietor noticing the sinister and threatening expression many of
the faces bore, went to the marshal's room and urged him to leave
instantly without waiting for his papers, pledging his word that he would
send a man on horseback after him, who would overtake him two or three
leagues beyond the town, and bring him his own safe-conduct and the
passports of his aides-de-camp. The marshal came downstairs, and finding
the horses ready, got into the carriage, on which loud murmurs arose from
the populace, amongst which could be distinguished the terrible word
'zaou!' that excited cry of the Provencal, which according to the tone
in which it is uttered expresses every shade of threat, and which means
at once in a single syllable, "Bite, rend, kill, murder!"

The marshal set out at a gallop, and passed the town gates unmoles