And he related to Monsieur Bailly all he had before related to Billot.
They observed that poor Bailly turned very pale; he at once understood the extent of the catastrophe.
“And Monsieur Acloque sends him here?” murmured he.
“Yes, Monsieur Mayor.”
“But how is he sending him?”
“Oh, there is no occasion to be uneasy,” said Pitou, who misunderstood the anxiety of Bailly; “there are plenty of people to guard the prisoner. He will not be carried off.”
“Would to God he might be carried off!” murmured Bailly.
Then turning to Pitou:—
“Plenty of people,—what mean you by that, my friend?”
“I mean plenty of people.”
“People!”
“More than twenty thousand men, without counting the women,” said Pitou, triumphantly.
“Unhappy man!” exclaimed Bailly. “Gentlemen, gentlemen electors!”
And he related to the electors all he had just heard.
While he was speaking, exclamations and cries of anguish burst forth from all present.
The silence of terror pervaded the hall, during which a confused, distant, indescribable noise assailed the ears of those assembled, like that produced by the rushing of blood to the head in attacks upon the brain.
“What is that?” inquired an elector.
“Why, the noise of the crowd, to be sure,” replied another.
Suddenly a carriage was heard rolling rapidly across the square; it contained two armed men, who helped a third to alight from it, who was pale and trembling.
Foulon had at length become so exhausted by the ill usage he had experienced that he could no longer walk; and he had been lifted into a coach.
Behind the carriage, led on by Saint-Jean, who was more out of breath than ever, ran about a hundred young men, from sixteen to eighteen years of age, with haggard countenances and flaming eyes.
They cried, “Foulon! Foulon!” running almost as fast as the horses.
The two armed men were, however, some few steps in advance of them, which gave them the time to push Foulon into the Hôtel de Ville; and its doors were closed against the hoarse barkers from without.
“At last we have him here,” said his guards to the electors, who were waiting at the top of the stairs. “By Heaven! it was not without trouble!”
“Gentlemen! gentlemen” cried Foulon, trembling, “will you save me?”
“Ah, sir,” replied Bailly, with a sigh, “you have been very culpable.”
“And yet, sir,” said Foulon, entreatingly, his agitation increasing, “there will, I hope, be justice to defend me.”
At this moment the exterior tumult was redoubled.
“Hide him quickly!” cried Bailly to those around him, “or—”
He turned to Foulon.
“Listen to me,” said he; “the situation is serious enough for you to be consulted. Will you—perhaps it is not yet too late—will you endeavor to escape from the back part of the Hôtel de Ville?”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed Foulon; “I should be recognized—massacred!”
“Do you prefer to remain here in the midst of us? I will do, and these gentlemen will do, all that is humanly possible to defend you; will you not, gentlemen?”
“We promise it,” cried all the electors, with one voice.
“Oh, I prefer remaining with you, gentlemen. Gentlemen, do not abandon me!”
“I have told you, sir,” replied Bailly, with dignity, “that we will do all that may be humanly possible to save you.”
At that moment a frightful clamor arose from the square, ascended into the air, and invaded the Hôtel de Ville through the open windows.
“Do you hear? Do you hear?” murmured Foulon, perfectly livid with terror.
In fact, the mob had rushed, howling and frightful to behold, from all the streets leading to the Hôtel de Ville, and above all from the Quay Pelletier, and the Rue de la Vannerie.
Bailly went to a window.
Knives, pikes, scythes, and muskets glistened in the sunshine. In less than ten minutes the vast square was filled with people. It was the whole of Foulon’s train, of which Pitou had spoken, and which had been increased by curious idlers, who, hearing a great noise, had run to the Place de Grève as towards a common centre.
All these voices, and there were more than twenty thousand, cried incessantly: “Foulon! Foulon!”
Then it was seen that the hundred young men who had been the precursors of this furious mob, pointed out to this howling mass the gate by which Foulon had entered the building; this gate was instantly threatened, and they began to beat it down with the butt-ends of their muskets, and with crowbars.