All at once the pressure on every side became less, the rioters had moved out of the narrow street into an open space. The girl looked up. Before her rose dark massive towers,--she could see five at a glance; one stood at an angle towards the street, drums of towers crenelated at top, and capped with pepper-boxes for the sentinels. The walls were pierced at rare intervals with narrow slits. One window only, of moderate dimensions, was visible, and that was high up in the angle-tower, oblong, narrow, cut across with a huge stone transom, and netted over with iron stanchions. The walls were black with age and smoke. The sunlight that fell upon them did not relieve their tint, but marked them with shadows black as night. Adjoining the street was a high wall, against which were built shops and taverns. These, however, ceased to encumber the wall near the gate, which was in the Italian style, low pedimented, and adorned with the arms of France in a shield. Through slits on either side moved the great beams of the drawbridge. As Gabrielle looked, awe-struck, at this formidable building, she heard the clank of chains and the creak of a windlass, and slowly the great arms rose and carried up with them a bridge that shut over the mouth of the gate, as though there were secrets within which might not be uttered in the presence of that crowd. The mob fell into line before the gate and moat that protected it, facing it with threatening looks. All at once, with a roar like that of an advancing tidal wave, there burst from the mob, with one consent, the curse--‘Down with the Bastille!’ Then they faced round again, and rushed upon the factory of Réveillon, situated under the towers of the terrible fortress. ‘Up to the lanthorn!’ The cry was responded to by a general shout. In another moment a rope was flung over the chain stretched across the street from which the lanthorn lighting the street was suspended, and the effigy of Réveillon dangled in the air. This execution was greeted with yells of applause; men and women joined hands and danced under the figure. Some threw sticks and stones at it; these falling on the heads of the spectators, added to the confusion. At last, a young man, catching the legs of the image, mounted it, and seated himself astride on the shoulders. He removed the three-cornered hat and wig and placed them on his own head, amidst laughter and applause. The strain upon the lanthorn-chain was, however, too great, and one of the links yielding at the moment when the youth stood upon Réveillon’s shoulders and began a dance, he, the effigy, and the lanthorn were precipitated into the street. What became of the man nobody knew, and nobody cared; the image was danced upon and trodden into the dirt; the lanthorn was shivered to pieces, and the glass cut the feet of those who trampled on it.