What noise is that? It sounds like the distant and muffled tread and cries of a large multitude. Aye, large indeed is the multitude that is advancing towards the village of Ryonne, where the army of Clotaire II is encamped. Whence does that multitude proceed? Oh, it comes from far. It started as far away as the slopes of the Jura; it was swelled on the road by large numbers of the people who inhabited the cities, hamlets and villages that it crossed; slaves and colonists, young and old men, women and children, poured from their homes, their fields, their huts; at the risk of imprisonment, the lash and even mutilation at their return, slaves and colonists joined the swelling multitude; at the risk of the fatigue of the rapid march, that for some, lasted two days, for others, one day, half a day, two hours, or one hour, according to where they fell in line, city people left their pursuits and eagerly turned into the surging human stream. But what was it that attracted so eagerly the frantic, swelling crowd? It was these words, that flew from mouth to mouth: "Queen Brunhild is passing--she is taken prisoner to be delivered to Fredegonde's son!" Aye, such was the hatred, the disgust, the horror, the dread inspired in Gaul by those two names--Fredegonde and Brunhild--that large numbers of people found it impossible to resist the curiosity of knowing and seeing what was to be the issue of the capture of Brunhild by Fredegonde's son. The multitude, accordingly, moved in the direction of the village of Ryonne. Fifty horsemen in arms headed the march and cleared the way. Behind them rode Constable Herpon armed cap-a-pie, and closely after him, riding between two other warriors on horseback who held her palfrey by the bridle appeared Brunhild. The old Queen's arms were pinioned behind her back and she was bound upon her saddle. Her long, gold-embroidered purple robe was dusty and mud-bespattered, and hung in tatters from her body. The indomitable woman had offered a desperate resistance when she was finally overtaken by the constable and his men. One of her sleeves, together with half her corsage, was torn off, and left bare her neck and shoulders and one of her arms, all of which were covered with livid, bluish bruises, partly hidden under her long, grey, tangled and tumbled hair to which fragments of dung and ordure, that the people had flung at her while whelming her with insults, were still seen to cling. From time to time, the fettered lioness gave her head a convulsive shake in the effort to disengage her face from the disheveled locks before it--at such times, glimpses were obtained of her hideous, horrible visage. Before being finally caught, the woman had defended herself like a wild animal at bay. The desire of her captors was to take her alive to the son of her mortal enemy. In the brutal hand to hand struggle of Constable Herpon and his armed men with Brunhild she was smitten with their fists in the face and kicked in the body. Her arms,