"Sire!" answered the provost with patronizing commiseration, "you are young, my hairs are grey.... Your age is impetuous, mine is calm.... I therefore have the right and the duty to lecture to you. I beseech you in the name of the country, in the name of your crown, to loyally fulfill your promises, and, however painful it may seem to you, to grant the reparation that I demand in the name of justice. Prove in that manner that, when the law is audaciously violated, you punish the guilty, whatever his rank.... Sire! It is still time for you to listen to the voice of equity!--" "And I tell you, Master Marcel," yelled the Regent furiously, "that it is time, high time, to put an end to your insolent requests! Be gone, instantly!" "Away with this varlet in rebellion against his King," cried the courtiers, like the Regent re-assured and deceived by the attitude of Marcel's armed escort, that remained mute and motionless, and turning to them the marshal of Normandy called out: "As to you, good people of Paris, who now regret the criminal errand on which this bedeviled rebel has brought you despite yourselves, join us, the true friends of your King, in punishing the treason of this miserable Marcel.... Let his blood fall upon himself!" The provost smothered a sigh of regret, stepped back a few paces so as to place himself beyond the reach of the marshal's sword, turned to his people and said: "Carry out the orders that brought you here." These words were hardly uttered when Marcel's armed men, anxious to make amends for the silence and prolonged restraint imposed upon them by his orders, burst loose in an explosion of cries of indignation and of threats that struck the Regent and his courtiers with stupor and consternation. Rufin the Tankard-smasher bolted upon the marshal of Normandy, seized him by the collar and cried: "You had Perrin Macé mutilated and hanged; now you shall be hanged! The gibbet is ready!" "And this for you, caitiff," responded the marshal, quick as lightning transfixing the student's left arm with a thrust of his sword. "The cord that is to hang me is not yet twisted." "No, but the iron that will smash you to death is forged, my noble gentleman," answered the student dealing with his mace a furious blow upon the marshal's head. "I have been Rufin the Tankard-smasher; now I am Rufin the Head-smasher!" The student spoke true. The marshal's skull was crushed; he fell and expired at the Regent's feet bestaining with his blood the latter's robe. During the tumult that ensued, the marshal of Champagne rushed at Marcel dagger in hand. But William Caillet, who had all the while been seeking with burning eyes for the Sire of Nointel from among the brilliant bevy of courtiers, threw himself in front of the provost ahead of Jocelyn, who had darted forward with the same intention, and the old peasant thrust his pike into the bowels of the marshal. The corpse of the courtier rolled upon the floor. Popular vengeance was taken.