‘Down with the Italian!’ shouted another man, who was leaning from one of the windows.
The entire mass of people swayed towards the point where Exili was standing at the last speaker’s words, forcing the guards against the houses.
‘Down with the Italian!’ said the fellow who had first cried out.
‘Hang him to Maître Cluet’s sign!’ said another. ‘Who knows but he and La Voison together may bewitch M. de la Reynie, and get clear from the Chambre Ardente.’
‘Throw him into the river!’ shouted a third; ‘tied neck to neck with Madame la Marquise there.’
There was a movement towards the tumbrel. Marie started, and clung to Pirot as well as her pinioned arms allowed; whilst Desgrais, forcing himself in front of her, presented a heavy snaphaunce at the ruffian who had just spoken.
‘Down with the exempt!’ cried several voices. ‘He would murder the people.’
‘Let him be!’ exclaimed the man at the window. ‘He is only keeping her to make better sport on the Place de Grêve. Settle the Italian, if you please.’
There was a fresh rush, against which the guards could make no opposition, fixed as their arms were to their sides by the pressure of the mob; and this was increased by the plunging of some of the horses on which the archers were mounted, causing additional confusion and crushing. Determined to say a few words to the rabble, Exili contrived to get upon a round block of stone at the base of one of the houses, placed, in common with many others, to afford a protection to foot-passengers from the wheels of vehicles. But he had scarcely mounted, even before his guards were aware of his intention, when one of the mob hurled a wooden sabot with great force at his head. It struck him in the face, and he was in an instant covered with blood. Stunned by the blow, he fell forwards, and the multitude, excited like brutes at the sight of gore, rushed on through the ring which the Guet Royal in vain endeavoured to form, and seized him. A furious contest now commenced between the people and the archers; but the disparity of numbers was too great for them. They were borne down by the mere pressure of the mass, the ringleaders of whom hurried Exili, almost insensible—his limbs torn and bleeding from their rough handling, in addition to the blow he had received—towards the parapet of the bridge.
‘Into the river! into the river!’ cried a hundred voices. ‘Away with the poisoner! Death to the sorcerer!’