From the cry of terror which escaped the poor prisoner, the chief of the enrolled Volunteers understood how much the unfortunate woman dreaded this interview.
"Oh, oh!" said he, "I am quite certain we hold distinguished game. Forward, forward—to the route, my little ci-devant."
And the chief seizing the arm of the captive, placed it within his own, and dragged her, notwithstanding her cries and tears, toward the post of the Palais Egalité.
They were already at the top of the barrier of Sergents, when suddenly a tall young man, closely wrapped in a mantle, turned the corner of the Rue des Petits-Champs at the very moment when the prisoner was endeavoring, by renewing her supplications, to regain her liberty. But without listening the chief dragged her brutally forward. The woman uttered a cry of grief mingled with terror. The young man saw the struggle, heard the cry, and bounding from the opposite side of the street, found himself facing the little troop.
"What is all this? What are you doing to this woman?" demanded he of the person who appeared to be the chief.
"Before you question me, you had better attend to your own business."
"Who is this woman; and what do you want with her?" repeated the young man, in a still more imperative tone than at first.
"But who are you, that you interrogate us?"
The young man opened his cloak, when an epaulet was visible, glistening on his military costume.