Pitou followed him, without asking him what the idea was.
Billot advanced towards the timber, and seizing the end of a large block, said to Pitou, ” Help me to carry this.”
Pitou, for his part, without questioning him as to his intentions, caught hold of the other end of the piece of timber. He had such implicit confidence in the farmer, that he would have gone down to the infernal regions with him, without even making any observation as to the length of the descent or the depth of the abyss.
They were soon upon the quay again, bearing a load which five or six men of ordinary strength would have found difficult to raise.
Strength is always a subject of admiration to the mob, and although so compactly huddled together, they made way for Billot and Pitou.
Then, as they felt convinced that the manœuvre which was being accomplished was one of general interest, some men walked before Billot, crying, “Make way! make way!”
“Tell me now, Father Billot,” inquired Pitou, after having carried the timber some thirty yards, “are we going far?”
“As far as the gate of the Tuileries.”
“Ho! ho!” cried the crowd, who at once divined his intention.
And it made way for them more eagerly even than before.
Pitou looked about him, and saw that the gate was not more than thirty paces distant.
“I can reach it,” said he, with the brevity of a Pythagorean.
The labor was so much the easier to Pitou from five or six of the strongest of the crowd taking their share in the burden.
The result of this was a very notable acceleration in their progress.
In five minutes they had reached the iron gate.
“Come, now,” cried Billot, “clap your shoulders to it, and all push together.”
“Good!” said Pitou. “I understand it now. We have just made a warlike engine; the Romans used to call it a ram.”
“Now, my boys,” cried Billot, “once, twice, thrice!” And the joist, directed with a furious impetus, struck the lock of the gate with resounding violence.
The soldiers who were on guard in the interior of the garden hastened to resist this invasion. But at the third stroke the gate gave way, turning violently on its hinges, and through that gaping and gloomy mouth the crowd rushed impetuously.
From the movement that was then made, the Prince de Lambesq perceived at once that an opening had been effected which allowed the escape of those whom he had considered as his prisoners. He was furious with disappointment. He urged his horse forward in order the better to judge of the position of affairs. The dragoons who were drawn up behind him imagined that the order had been given to charge, and they followed him. The horses, going off at full speed, could not be suddenly pulled up. The men, who wished to be revenged for the check they had received on the square before the Palais Royal, scarcely endeavored to restrain them.
The prince saw that it would be impossible to moderate their advance, and allowed himself to be borne away by it. A sudden shriek uttered by the women and children ascended to heaven crying for vengeance against the brutal soldiers.
A frightful scene then occurred, rendered still more terrific by the darkness. Those who were charged upon became mad with pain; those who charged them were mad with anger.
Then a species of defence was organized from the top of a terrace. Chairs were hurled down on the dragoons. The Prince de Lambesq, who had been struck on the head, replied by giving a sabre—cut to the person nearest to him, without considering that he was punishing an innocent man instead of a guilty one, and an old man more than seventy years of age fell beneath his sword.
Billot saw this man fall, and uttered a loud cry. In a moment his carbine was at his shoulder. A furrow of light for a moment illuminated the darkness, and the prince had then died, had not his horse, by chance, reared at the same instant.
The horse received the ball in his neck, and fell.
It was thought that the prince was killed; the dragoons then rushed into the Tuileries, pursuing the fugitives, and firing their pistols at them.