Lafayette, pale, his drawn sword in his hand, with disgust repulsed the guards who had surrounded him, to excuse themselves for not having been the strongest.
Billot, stamping his feet with rage, and kicking right and left, like one of own fiery Perche horses, returned into the Hôtel de Ville, that he might see no more of what was passing on that ensanguined square.
As to Pitou, his fieriness of popular vengeance was changed into a convulsive movement; and he had fled to the river’s bank, where he closed his eyes and stopped his ears, that he might neither see nor hear.
Consternation reigned in the Hôtel de Ville; the electors began to comprehend that they would never be able to direct the movements of the people, save in the manner which should suit the people.
All at once, while the furious mob were amusing themselves with dragging the mutilated remains of Foulon through the gutters, a new cry, a new shout, rolling like distant thunder, was heard, proceeding from the opposite side of the river.
A courier was seen galloping over the bridge. The news he was bringing was already known to the crowd. They had guessed it from the signs of their most skilful leaders, as a pack of hounds take up the scent from the inspiration of their finest-nosed and best-practised bloodhounds.
The crowd rush to meet this courier, whom they surround; they scent that he has touched their new prey; they feel that he is going to speak of Monsieur Berthier.
And it was true.
Interrogated by ten thousand voices, all howling at once, the courier is compelled to reply to them.
“Monsieur Berthier de Savigny has been arrested at Compiègne.”
Then he proceeds into the Hôtel de Ville, where he announces the same tidings to Lafayette and to Bailly.
“Good; good! I knew it,” said Lafayette.
“We knew it,” said Bailly, “and orders have been given that he should be kept there.”
“Kept there?” repeated the courier.
“Undoubtedly; I have sent two commissaries with an escort.”
“An escort of two hundred and fifty men, was it not?” said an elector; “it is more than sufficient.”
“Gentlemen,” replied the courier, “this is precisely what I was sent to tell you. The escort has been dispersed and the prisoner carried off by the multitude.”
“Carried off!” exclaimed Lafayette. “Has the escort allowed the prisoner to be carried off?”
“Do not blame them, General; all that it was possible to do, they did.”
“But Monsieur Berthier?” anxiously inquired Bailly.
“They are bringing him to Paris; and he is at Bourget by this time.”
“But should they bring him here,” cried Billot, “he is lost.”
“Quick! quick!” cried Lafayette, “five hundred men to Bourget. Let the commissioners and Monsieur Berthier stop there; let them sleep there! During the night we will consider what is to be done.”
“But who would venture to undertake such a commission?” said the courier, who was looking with terror at that waving sea of heads, every wave of which sent forth its threatening roar.
“I will!” cried Billot; “at least, I will save him.”
“But you would perish in the attempt,” cried the courier; “the road is black with people.”
“I will go, nevertheless,” said the farmer.
“It is useless now,” murmured Bailly, who had been listening to the noises from without. “Hush! Do you not hear that?”
They then heard, from the direction of the Porte St. Martin, a rushing noise like that of the sea when beating over the shingles on a beach.
This frenzied howl came to them over the roofs like steam over the sides of a boiling caldron.
“It is too late,” said Lafayette.
“They are coming! they are coming!” murmured the courier. “Do you not hear them?”
“A regiment! a regiment!” cried Lafayette, with that generous ebullition of humanity which was the most brilliant feature of his character.
“What! By God’s death!” exclaimed Bailly, who swore perhaps for the first time in his life, “you seem to forget that our army—ours!—is precisely that crowd whom you wish to fight.”
And he hid his face in his hands.
The shouts which had been heard in the distance were re-echoed by the people in the streets, and thus communicated to the crowd upon the square with the rapidity of a train of gunpowder.