Nicole, shrinking from the horror of the Marseillais, was yet fascinated by his scornful courage. For a moment the individual dominated the mass, as yet divided, awaiting the moment that should produce its leader. From somewhere in the back came the answer: "And La Correction? Is the blood of children also on your arms?" At this solemn denunciation, Javogues, for the first time realizing his danger, drew back a step, seeking the speaker in the craning of the crowd. "Butcher! look this way! It is I--the Citoyen Goursac--who challenge you." With a sweep of his arms, Goursac freed himself and began a zigzag descent down the benches toward his enemy, pausing at every step to cry: "Butcher! Assassin! Cutthroat!" Javogues, watching his approach, was at first too astounded to gather his senses; but when Goursac, piercing the last rows, emerged with accusing finger, Javogues advanced a step and closed a hand over his knife. The mass, watching every motion of these two men, with one movement of its hundred arms loosened its weapons. The action unified it. It became an organism, hostile, menacing, and alert for the first outburst. Goursac, gathering anger as he advanced, cried: "Assassin of children! butcher of women! murderer! cutthroat! do you dare to show yourself in this assembly?" Javogues's answer was lost in the clamor. From all quarters arrived the accusing question: "La Correction? La Correction?" "I was not at La Correction!" Javogues thundered above the tumult. "There is no blood of children on these arms." "And of women?" Goursac caught up. "If you say those arms have not been stained with the blood of women, I tell you, you lie!" Javogues snatched up his cutlass, but, changing his tactics, appealed to the assembly: "Hear me!" From all sides they cried angrily: "No! no!" "I demand the right of speech." "No! no!" "Hear him!" Barabant cried from the tribune. "Condemn no man without hearing him." Nicole, with a swift premonition of an overhanging vengeance, started to cry: "No, Barabant, no!" But Geneviève, entwining her arms about her, besought her, crying: "Mercy, Nicole, mercy! I love him!" At points in the crowd others caught up Barabant's cry, until, after five minutes of fury and storm, the noise dwindled and went out. Javogues, facing his accusers, returned his weapon to his belt, spread his legs as though to withstand the impending shock, folded his arms, and ran his eye over the banks of his enemies. "Citoyens, I have answered that I was not at La Correction. You ask me if on these arms there is the blood of women. This is my answer: I do not know!" "He mocks us!" "Insolent!" "Liar!" "Impostor!"