A clamour of voices that had come distantly wafted to them as they passed through the gate took volume with every step they advanced. Suddenly, breaking from a little park of trees into one of the long, snow-covered walks that enfiladed the gardens east and west, the cause of the tumult was revealed to them in the vision of a dozen or so infuriate tricoteuses, priestesses of St Antoine, who were hurrying in their direction, driving a single woman, like a scapegoat, in their front. At first Ned, distinguishing nothing definitely, saw only exemplified in this throng of vicious wives, with its rabble of inhuman brats hooting and pervading it, one of those exacerbated paroxysms of the mania of Fraternity that were of such frequent occurrence nowadays as to confound the very heart of autonomy. But, as the horde came into focus, and he paused to gather the import of its vehemence--all in a moment the truth leapt upon him, and he uttered a cry and sprang into the road. For he had recognised, in the subject of all this raging ferment, no less a person than the erst-Amazon, Théroigne herself. Her black hair floated loose; her eyes were alight with shame and terror; her bodice hung in strips from her waist. She hurried towards him, maddening and moaning, and, as she ran, the harpies scourged her bare shoulders with the leathern belts they had torn from their waists. He rushed to intercept her flight. She saw--tried to evade him; then instantly she leapt to recognition, clutched, and fell prone at his feet. He stood over her, while she shrieked and wailed incoherently; he warded off the rain of lashes, receiving much of it on his own arms and body. “Beasts!” he yelled; “how has she deserved this infernal treatment?” The air blattered with their imprecations. “The traitress! the reactionary! the _putain_ of Brissot!” The thongs whistled; the mob circumgyrated; the uproar waxed murderous. In the heat and menace of it a sudden new ally appeared in the midst. “Courage, master!” he cried; and seizing off his ragged jacket, he flung it over the victim’s bleeding shoulders, and turned upon the rabble. “See here!” he shouted, and struck his left breast with his hand. Upon the echo the nearest of the pack fell away, shouldering into the throng behind them. “The duck’s foot!” went up a shriek: “it is a Cagot--a Cagot!” Ned, in his fury, could actually laugh. “It is a brother, sisters of the confraternity!” he cried. They were baffled only for the moment. If they dared not touch, they could fling. There were heavy stones in plenty under the snow. They were already stooping to gather them, when a fresh diversion occurred. A patrol of the national guard broke into the rabble and disintegrated it. At once arose a clamour of demands, retorts and counter-retorts, shrieking denunciations. Ned awaited the issue in perfect coolness. Suddenly a couple of _gens-d’armes_ approached and collared him. “You arrest me, messieurs?” “Certainly, citizen.”