The fear of a rescue necessitated the escort being very heavy, and this step left the troops round him comparatively weak in numbers. When the crowd began to return, some one was quick to perceive this weakness, and called on the rest, who came surging back in great strength. A very ugly rush followed almost immediately, which the troops found great difficulty in resisting, as the crowd had now armed themselves with staves and bars and such crude weapons as they had been able to snatch up in the hurry. Some very hot fighting ensued, in which fierce blows were given and taken on both sides, and the soldiers seemed likely to be overpowered. It was at this juncture, just as messengers had been sent to bring up more troops, that Gerard’s little party reached the market place close to the point near the statue, where the Governor stood watching the fray with very anxious eyes as he saw his soldiers being beaten down one by one. The crowd seemed to grow in numbers and fierceness every moment, until after a last desperate rush the soldiers turned and scattered in all directions to be hustled, struck down and lost in the surging mass of the people, whose leaders had possessed themselves of the soldiers’ weapons, and now threatened the Governor himself and the handful of men who were clustered round him. “Long live Malincourt! Long live Malincourt! Down with the Tyrant! Remember our wrongs!” were the cries in hundreds of strenuous voices on all sides; and after a hot exchange of words between the leaders and the Governor, one of those near him was struck, and the blow was the signal for an attack on the rest, who were beaten back helpless against the resistless anger of the populace. It appeared certain that the next moment would see the Governor himself in the hands of the crowd, whose passions, nurtured on their long endured wrongs and whetted now by their victory, were roused to such a pitch of fury that they would have torn him to pieces. The Governor, now fear-filled and terror-cowed, stood shrinking against the statue from the sea of angry menacing faces which glared round him when Gerard, who had forced his way through the throng, sprang between the cowering figure and the mob, and with uplifted hand cried in a commanding voice that rose above the din-- “Mademoiselle de Malincourt is safe. She is here.” He pointed to where, on the fringe of the crowd, Gabrielle stood with Dubois; and for a moment there was a lull in the storm as the crowd craned their necks for a glimpse of her. But the sense of wrong, the thirst for vengeance, the hate of the Tyrant and the sight of him now almost within touch of the hands outstretched to seize him, soon re-kindled the flame, and the clamour broke out again, and now was directed also against this daring monk who stood between them and their prey. “Down with the monk! Death to the Tyrant!”