ecipitately within the Chateau. He heard the clang of the doors
that were swung to just as the foremost of the rabble reached the
threshold--With all this clearly stamped upon his mind, he turned, and
springing into the salon he drew his sword.

"To the stairs, Messieurs!" he cried "To the stairs!"

And to the stairs they went. The extremity was now too great for
argument. They dared not so much as look at their women-folk, lest they
should be unmanned by the sight of those huddled creatures--their finery
but serving to render them the more pitiable in their sickly affright.
In a body the whole thirty of them swept from the room, and with
Bellecour at their head and Ombreval somewhere in the rearmost rank,
they made their way to the great staircase.

Here, armed with their swords and a brace of pistols to each man, whilst
for a few the Marquis had even found carbines, they waited, with faces
set and lips tight pressed for the end that they knew approached.

Nor was their waiting long. As the peasants had blown down the gates so
now did they blow down the doors of the Chateau, and in the explosion
three of Bellecour's servants--who had stood too near--were killed. Over
the threshold they swarmed into the dark gulf of the great hall to the
foot of the staircase. But here they were at a disadvantage. The light
of the burning stables, shining through the open doorway, revealed them
to the defenders, whilst they themselves looked up into the dark. There
was a sudden cracking of pistols and a few louder reports from the guns,
and the mob fled, screaming, back into the yard, leaving a score of dead
and wounded on the polished floor of the hall.

Old M. des Cadoux laughed in the dark, as with his sword hanging from
his wrist he tapped his snuff-box.

"Ma foi," said he to his neighbour, "they are discovering that it is
not to be the triumphal march they had expected. A pinch of rappee,
Stanislas?"

But the respite was brief. In a moment they saw the glare increase at
the door, and presently a half-dozen of the rabble entered with torches,
followed by some scores of their comrades. They paused at sight of
that company ranged upon the stairs, as well they might, for a more
incongruous sight could scarcely be imagined. Across the bodies of the
slain, and revealed by the lifting powder smoke, stood that little band
of thirty men, a blaze of gay colours, a sheen of silken hose, their
wigs curled and powdered, their costly ruff