At the sight of all these objects Marie de Clairvaut naturally clung closer to the arm of her lover, and both paused for a moment in order to judge what was best to do. An instant's consideration however sufficed, and Charles of Montsoreau led her on to that part of the barricade where the chain was the only obstacle to their further progress, passing as he did so along the whole face of the French and Swiss soldiers, not one of whom moved or uttered a word to stop them as they proceeded. At the chain, however, they met with a more serious obstacle. The officer whom they had seen in command at that point had now turned away, and was speaking to some people behind, and a rough-looking citizen, armed with a steel cap and breastplate, dropped the point of his spear to the young Count's breast saying, "Give the word, or you do not pass!" "I do not know the word," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "But I pray you let me pass, for I am one of the friends and officers of the Duke of Guise." "If you were you would know the word," replied the man. "Keep back, or I will run the pike into you." "I could not know the word," answered the young Count, "if I had been long absent from the Duke, as I have been, and were hastening to join him, as I now am." "Keep back, I say," cried the man who was no way fond of argument. "You will repent if you do not keep back." Charles of Montsoreau was about to call to the officer he saw before him, but at that moment the other walked on amidst the people, and was seen no more. "Let us try another street," cried Marie de Clairvaut; "let us try another street, Charles." And following this suggestion they hurried back, and took another street farther to the left. They now found themselves in a new scene; no soldiers were there, but dense masses of people were beheld in every direction, and barricades formed or forming at every quarter. Where they were not complete the lady and her lover passed without difficulty, and almost without notice. One of the young citizens, indeed, as he helped her over a large pile of stones, remarked that her small feet ran no risk of knocking down the barricade; and an old man who was rolling up a tun to fill a vacant space, paused to let her pass, and gazing with a sort of fatherly look upon her and her lover, exclaimed, "Get ye gone home, pretty one; get ye gone home. Take her home quick, young gentleman; this is no place for such as she is."