That served his purpose better than the finest argument. Heated by passion the people thought no more of the dead charcoal-burner but only of his slayer, and made a movement to surround me. My last hope had failed, but I stood on guard, my one regret being that the cowardly Peleton would not trust himself within reach of my sword. Now, however, another sound mingled with the shouts of the populace, and a swift glance showed that the soldiers were forcing a passage into the crowded room. "Make way there!" exclaimed the leader in a tone of authority. "In the King's name! Drop that pike, you rascal, or I'll run you through. Where is this M. de Lalande?" At first it appeared certain that there would be a terrible conflict between the mob and the soldiers, but the officer, by a lucky hit, not only saved my life--at least for the time--but cajoled the crowd into good humour. "Is this the fellow who slew Conde?" he asked, to which came an answering chorus of "Yes, yes! Down with the murderer!" Until that moment I had no idea what my supposed crime was, and the officer's question filled me with horror. Conde dead! and I charged with murder! It seemed monstrous, impossible. But the officer was speaking, and I must try to understand. "Do you want all who were in the plot punished?" and again there broke out an assenting yell. "Then let me remove this lad, you imbeciles! If you knock him on the head now, it will be all over: while, if he is imprisoned, the authorities will soon discover his accomplices." This suggestion met with a torrent of applause, and the ruffians offered no further resistance to the soldiers, who, forming in a body, marched me downstairs into the court where they had left their horses. I was immediately placed on one and firmly bound; the troopers mounted, the officer issued his orders, and we set off accompanied by the mob. The city was in a state of seething excitement, which increased wherever our procession came in view. The people, pouring from the houses in thousands, blocked the roads until they became almost impassable, and the leader of the horsemen was in despair. Every one wished to see the wretch who had murdered Conde, and numbers shook their fists at me and cried, "Kill the assassin!" Some, however, regarded me as a martyr, and angry cries against the soldiers, mingled with shouts of "Down with Conde!" began to be heard. At one spot in particular a determined rush was made by a number of burly ruffians directed by a little man from the window of a corner house. I recognised my late gaoler, Pillot, and was glad that he had escaped, though much afraid that his attempted rescue would only make the authorities more certain of my guilt.