His foot catching in a rut, he stumbled; picked himself up again and ran on. Everything swam before his eyes. A roaring as of the sea sounded in his ears. The hounds drew nearer, nearer, nearer, lessening the distance between them at every bound. Then Berthier saw it was in vain for him to fly. He caught at the branch of a tree, and endeavoured to lift himself upon it and scramble beyond their reach. The bough bent with his weight. He threw up his feet, to clasp the branch, clinging with his arms, but could not catch the wood. The hounds were beneath him, leaping at him. His arms had not the strength to lift him. The teeth of Poulet entered his calf. He fell to his feet, and ran on, but Pigeon was before him bounding at his throat. He broke off a portion of a bush, a hazel-branch covered with leaves, and thrashed at the dogs with it, but could not hurt them. He backed to an oak and defended himself with his branch and feet, shrieking for fear. Then Poulet flew at his throat, and he fell; Pigeon danced over and round him, yelping. The charcoal-burner, begrimed with coal-dust, came up, brandishing a cudgel, and beat off the hounds, standing astride over the prostrate man. 'A thousand livres if you save me!' groaned Berthier. 'A thousand devils!' roared the peasant. 'I will but save you from being torn to bits by these brutes, that I may deliver you over to justice.' The hounds were furious; they rushed and snapped at Berthier's limbs, at his hands, his feet, at his head, just as they had been wont to rush and snap at their food whilst he beat them off with his whip. The pain of their bites, the horror of his position, the fear of what was in store for him overcame him, and he lost consciousness. CHAPTER XXXVI. In the afternoon of July 23, Berthier was brought into Paris through the Porte S. Martin, attended by a mob, many of whom had followed for twenty leagues. He was in his own private carriage, with M. de la Rivière at his side. Madame, in one of her fancies, had chosen to sit outside. The mob danced before him and raged behind him. A hideous procession was formed. A brass band led the way, followed by national guards, and soldiers from all corps which they had deserted, marching arm-in-arm, chanting with full lungs:-- 'Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! Les aristocrats à la lanterne! Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! Les aristocrats on les pendra La liberté triomphera Malgré les tyrans, tout réussira.'