In the meanwhile, Monsieur de Villardin had been pushing his way on towards the door; and I found him held at bay by half a dozen of the rioters, who would have cut his throat within another minute; but, as I approached, I shouted with the full strength of my voice to bring sledge-hammers, and, taking him by the arm, asked if he had found any. He replied, smiling in the midst of the imminent danger which surrounded him, that he could not even seek them, for that the gentry before me would not let him pass. Strong in my reputation as a leader of the tumult, I now set to work to curse them with my whole heart, asking if they were partisans of the Court and friends of Mazarin; and bidding them, if they were followers of the Fronde and the Princes, immediately to seek sledge-hammers, to knock down all the doors. This seemed so laudable an undertaking in their sight, that, shouting, "Des marteaux! des marteaux! vite! des marteaux!" they rushed away in search of hammers, while, seizing Monsieur de Villardin by the arm, I cried, "Come, come; I know a blacksmith's where we shall find plenty." And thus boldly taking upon ourselves the character of chief rioters, we made our way down the stairs and out into the _Place_. Our situation, however, was still more dangerous here than ever; for a number of the more coolly bloodthirsty had suffered the violent and the excited to make their way into the building, while they themselves remained without, in order to watch their victims as they came forth into the Place de Grève, and then massacre them without mercy. The cry for hammers, however, had already spread amongst them, and I found it a sort of watch-word, which, for a time, obtained a passage--though that passage was through the warm blood and amongst the quivering bodies of the unhappy men who had lately tenanted the Town-house. Just as we were passing through the midst of the Place, one fierce and brutal wretch had got down the unhappy Ferrand de Vavari, one of the councillors, and was coolly running a knife into his throat, notwithstanding all his cries and struggles, with the same reckless indifference with which a butcher kills a sheep. Starting up as we passed, the assassin shouted out "More Mazarines! More Mazarines! Why do you let them go?"