The President wildly rang his bell, and his voice, quivering with excitement, was heard once or twice above the din. "Clear the court! Clear the court!" But the people refused to be cleared out of court. "_A la lanterne les traîtres! Mort à Déroulède. A la lanterne! l'aristo!_" And in the thickest of the crowd, the broad shoulders and massive head of Citizen Lenoir towered above the others. At first it seemed as if he had been urging on the mob in its fury. His strident voice, with its broad provincial accent, was heard distinctly shouting loud vituperations against the accused. Then at a given moment, when the tumult was at its height, when the National Guard felt their bayonets giving way before this onrushing tide of human jackals, Lenoir changed his tactics. "_Tiens! c'est bête!_" he shouted loudly, "we shall do far better with the traitors when we get them outside. What say you, citizens? Shall we leave the judges here to conclude the farce, and arrange for its sequel ourselves outside the 'Tigre Jaune'?" At first but little heed was paid to his suggestion, and he repeated it once or twice, adding some interesting details: "One is freer in the streets, where these apes of the National Guard can't get between the people of France and their just revenge. _Ma foi!_" he added, squaring his broad shoulders, and pushing his way through the crowd towards the door, "I for one am going to see where hangs the most suitable _lanterne._" Like a flock of sheep the crowd now followed him. "The nearest _lanterne!_" they shouted. "In the streets--in the streets! _A la lanterne!_ The traitors!" And with many a jeer, many a loathsome curse, and still more loathsome jests, some of the crowd began to file out. A few only remained to see the conclusion of the farce. CHAPTER XXVI Sentence of death. The "Bulletin du Tribunal Révolutionnaire" tells us that both the accused had remained perfectly calm during the turmoil which raged within the bare walls of the Hall of Justice. Citizen-Deputy Déroulède, however, so the chroniclers aver, though outwardly impassive, was evidently deeply moved. He had very expressive eyes, clear mirrors of the fine, upright soul within, and in them there was a look of intense emotion as he watched the crowd, which he had so often dominated and controlled, now turning in hatred against him. He seemed actually to be seeing with a spiritual vision, his own popularity wane and die. But when the thick of the crowd had pushed and jostled itself out of the hall, that transient emotion seemed to disappear, and he allowed himself quietly to be led from the front bench, where he had sat as a privileged member of the National Convention, to a place immediately behind the dock, and between two men of the National Guard.