Many curious faces had already appeared at the windows and the people attracted to the end of the street began to run, first men, then groups, and then a crowd of people; hearing cries and seeing a chariot they could not understand it; but Friquet sprang from the _entresol_ on to the top of the carriage. “They want to arrest Master Broussel!” he cried; “the guards are in the carriage and the officer is upstairs!” The crowd began to murmur and approached the house. The two guards who had remained in the lane mounted to the aid of Comminges; those who were in the chariot opened the doors and presented arms. “Don’t you see them?” cried Friquet, “don’t you see? there they are!” The coachman turning around, gave Friquet a slash with his whip which made him scream with pain. “Ah! devil’s coachman!” cried Friquet, “you’re meddling too! Wait!” And regaining his _entresol_ he overwhelmed the coachman with every projectile he could lay hands on. The tumult now began to increase; the street was not able to contain the spectators who assembled from every direction; the crowd invaded the space which the dreaded pikes of the guards had till then kept clear between them and the carriage. The soldiers, pushed back by these living walls, were in danger of being crushed against the spokes of the wheels and the panels of the carriages. The cries which the police officer repeated twenty times: “In the king’s name,” were powerless against this formidable multitude—seemed, on the contrary, to exasperate it still more; when, at the shout, “In the name of the king,” an officer ran up, and seeing the uniforms ill-treated, he sprang into the scuffle sword in hand, and brought unexpected help to the guards. This gentleman was a young man, scarcely sixteen years of age, now white with anger. He leaped from his charger, placed his back against the shaft of the carriage, making a rampart of his horse, drew his pistols from their holsters and fastened them to his belt, and began to fight with the back sword, like a man accustomed to the handling of his weapon. During ten minutes he alone kept the crowd at bay; at last Comminges appeared, pushing Broussel before him. “Let us break the carriage!” cried the people. “In the king’s name!” cried Comminges. “The first who advances is a dead man!” cried Raoul, for it was in fact he, who, feeling himself pressed and almost crushed by a gigantic citizen, pricked him with the point of his sword and sent him howling back. Comminges, so to speak, threw Broussel into the carriage and sprang in after him. At this moment a shot was fired and a ball passed through the hat of Comminges and broke the arm of one of the guards. Comminges looked up and saw amidst the smoke the threatening face of Louvières appearing at the window of the second floor. “Very well, sir,” said Comminges, “you shall hear of this anon.” “And you of me, sir,” said Louvières; “and we shall see then who can speak the loudest.”