"Go, go!" they cried, showing him the way, "go! and, perhaps you may yet arrive in time."
And they themselves dispersed in all directions. Gaston pursued his way; he traversed a corridor, then some empty rooms, then the great chamber, and then another corridor.
Far off, through the bars, by the torchlight, he perceived the great crowd of which he had caught a glimpse before.
He had passed right through the castle, and issued on a terrace; thence he perceived the esplanade, a scaffold, men, and all around the crowd.
Gaston tried to cry, but no one heard him, he waved his handkerchief, but no one saw him; another man mounts on the scaffold, and Gaston uttered a cry and threw himself down below.
He had leaped from the top of the rampart to the bottom. A sentinel tried to stop him, but he threw him down, and descended a sort of staircase which led down to the square, and at the bottom was a sort of barricade of wagons. Gaston bent down and glided between the wheels.
Beyond the barricade were all St. Simon's grenadiers—a living hedge; Gaston, with a desperate effort, broke through the line, and found himself inside the ring.
The soldiers, seeing a man, pale and breathless, with a paper in his hand, allowed him to pass.
All of a sudden he stopped, as if struck by lightning. Talhouet!—he saw him!—Talhouet kneeling on the scaffold!
"Stop! stop!" cried Gaston, with all the energy of despair.