I looked over the shoulders of the outermost of the group. What horrible cantrip of Fortune had consigned this old barren weed of a man, this white exotic of a girl, to a merciless handling by these demons? The two were in walking dress, and not in the _déshabille_ of prisoners. There was a lull in the systematic progress of the butchery. Here, it would seem, was an _entr’acte_ designed only to relieve the tedium of waiting. A half-dozen harpies held the girl. There was a stain of red on her ripe young lip, for I think one of the beasts had struck her; but her face was stubborn with pride. In front of all the old wizened man, who had been released, ran to and fro in an agony of obsequious terror. “Yes, yes,” he quavered, “’tis a luminous sight--an admirable show! They lie like the fallen sticks of rockets, glimmering a dying spark. Is it not so, Carinne? Little cabbage, is it not so?” He implored her with his feverish eyes. “They are martyrs!” cried the girl; “and you are a coward!” “No, no!” he wailed, and wrung his hands; and “My God! she will murder me!” he shrieked. Suddenly he saw, darted through the ring of ruffians, and caught the breast of my coat with both his hands. “Monsieur! you have nobility in your face! Tell these good souls that I am a furious patriot and a good citizen. Monsieur, Monsieur! We walk abroad--we are involved, unwitting, in the _mêlée_. The girl denounces all for pigs and murderers, and, naturally, those who hear take umbrage and force us hither.” His dry lips vibrated; he danced up and down like a gnat on a window-pane. All the time the women were volubly chattering and the men cursing and pulling. They desired, it seemed, a prologue to the second act of the tragedy; and that was bad art. But then they were as drunk as one could wish. “Thou art nice and dainty, _citoyenne_!” they shrieked. “See here--thou shalt be _vivandière_ to the brave army of avengers! Tap her an aristocrat heart and fill her a canteen that all may drink!” The beastly proposal was not too gross for the occasion. A man lurched forward with a jeering oath, and I--I sprang to the front too, and took the hound by his gulping throat. There came a great noise about me; I did not relax my hold, and some one rushed into our midst. “What do you here!” he cried, harshly (Casimir’s voice). “Death of God! have you orders to insult and threaten peaceable citizens who walk abroad to see the illuminations?” With a fierce sweep of his arms he cleared all away in front of him. The act--the gesture, brought him to my side. “Go--escape!” he whispered, frantically. “This, here, I will attend to.” “You knew, then?” I gasped out; and he fell back from me.