"Respect the Tricolour!" Father Benôit cried, raising his hand aloft; and he made the sign of the cross. On that in an instant a hundred voices took it up; and almost before I could apprehend the change, those who a moment earlier had been gaping for our blood were thrusting one another back, and shouting as with one voice, "Way, way for the Tricolour!" There was something unutterably new, strange, formidable in this reverence; this respect paid by these savages to a word, a ribbon, an idea. It made an impression on me that was never quite effaced. But at the moment I was scarcely conscious of this. I heard and saw things dully. Like a man in a dream, I walked through the crowd, and, stumbling under my burden, passed down the lane of brutish faces, down the avenue, down to the gate. There Father Benôit would have taken Mademoiselle from me, but I would not let him. "To Saux! To Saux!" I said feverishly; and then, I scarcely knew how, I found myself on a horse holding her before me. And we were on the road to Saux, lighted on our way by the flames of the burning Château. CHAPTER X. THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM. Father Benôit had the forethought, when we reached the cross-roads, to leave a man there to await the party from Cahors, and warn them of Mademoiselle's safety; and we had not ridden more than half a mile before the clatter of hoofs behind us announced that they were following. I was beginning to recover from the stupor into which the excitement of the night had thrown me, and I reined up to deliver over my charge, should M. de St. Alais desire to take her. But he was not of the party. The leader was Louis, and his company consisted, to my surprise, of no more than six or seven servants, old M. de Gontaut, one of the Harincourts, and a strange gentleman. Their horses were panting and smoking with the speed at which they had come, and the men's eyes glittered with excitement. No one seemed to think it strange that I carried Mademoiselle; but all, after hurriedly thanking God that she was safe, hastened to ask the number of the rioters. "Nearly a hundred," I said. "As far as I could judge. But where is M. le Marquis?" "He had not returned when the alarm came." "You are a small party?" Louis swore with vexation. "I could get no more," he said. "News came at the same time that Marignac's house was on fire, and he carried off a dozen. A score of others took fright, and thought it might be the same with them; and they saddled up in haste, and went to see. In fact," he continued bitterly, "it seemed to me to be every one for himself. Always excepting my good friends here." M. de Gontaut began to chuckle, but choked for want of breath. "Beauty in distress!" he gasped. Poor fellow, he could scarcely sit his horse. "But you will come on to Saux?" I said. They were turning their horses in a cloud of steam that mistily lit up the night.