Friquet sprang from the entresol on to the top of the
carriage.
“They want to arrest Master Broussel!” he cried; “the guards
are in the carriage and the officer is upstairs!”
The crowd began to murmur and approached the house. The two
guards who had remained in the lane mounted to the aid of
Comminges; those who were in the chariot opened the doors
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and presented arms.
“Don’t you see them?” cried Friquet, “don’t you see? there
they are!”
The coachman turning around, gave Friquet a slash with his
whip which made him scream with pain.
“Ah! devil’s coachman!” cried Friquet, “you’re meddling too!
Wait!”
And regaining his entresol he overwhelmed the coachman with
every projectile he could lay hands on.
The tumult now began to increase; the street was not able to
contain the spectators who assembled from every direction;
the crowd invaded the space which the dreaded pikes of the
guards had till then kept clear between them and the
carriage. The soldiers, pushed back by these living walls,
were in danger of being crushed against the spokes of the
wheels and the panels of the carriages. The cries which the
police officer repeated twenty times: “In the king’s name,”
were powerless against this formidable multitude — seemed,
on the contrary, to exasperate it still more; when, at the
shout, “In the name of the king,” an officer ran up, and
seeing the uniforms ill-treated, he sprang into the scuffle
sword in hand, and brought unexpected help to the guards.
This gentleman was a young man, scarcely sixteen years of
age, now white with anger. He leaped from his charger,
placed his back against the shaft of the carriage, making a
rampart of his horse, drew his pistols from their holsters
and fastened them to his belt, and began to fight with the
back sword, like a man accustomed to the handling of his
weapon.
During ten minutes he alone kept the crowd at bay; at last
Comminges appeared, pushing Broussel before him.
“Let us break the carriage!” cried the people.
“In the king’s name!” cried Comminges.
“The first who advances is a dead man!” cried Raoul, for it
was in fact he, who, feeling himself pressed and almost
crushed by a gigantic citizen, pricked him with the point of
his sword and sent him howling back.
Comminges, so to speak, threw Broussel into the carriage and
sprang in after him. At this moment a shot was fired and a
ball passed through the hat of Comminges and broke the arm
of one of the guards. Comminges looked up and saw amidst the
smoke the threatening face of Louvieres appearing at the
window of the second floor.
“Very well, sir,” said Comminges, “you shall hear of this
anon.”
“And you of me, sir,” said Louvieres; “and we shall see then
who can speak the loudest.”
Friquet and Nanette continued to shout; the cries, the noise
of the shot and the intoxicating smell of powder produced
their usual maddening effects.
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“Down with the officer! down with him!” was the cry.
“One step nearer,” said Comminges, putting down the sashes,
that the interior of the carriage might be well seen, and
placing his sword on his prisoner’s breast, “one step
nearer, and I kill the prisoner; my orders were to carry him
off alive or dead. I will take him dead, that’s all.”
A terrible cry was heard, and the wife and daughters of
Broussel held up their hands in supplication to the people;
the latter knew that this officer, who was so pale, but who
appeared so determined, would keep his word; they continued
to threaten, but they began to disperse.
“Drive to the palace,” said Comminges to the coachman, who
was by then more dead than alive.
The man whipped his animals, which cleared a way through the
crowd; but on arriving on the Quai they were obliged to
stop; the carriage was upset, the horses carried off,
stifled, mangled by the crowd. Raoul, on foot, for he had
not time to mount his horse again, tired, like the guards,
of distributing blows with the flat of his sword, had