At the Arcade St. Jean, Hullin himself lost sight of De Launay, but by a superhuman effort he separated the crowd, and regained him. He dragged him to some adjacent steps, but in the effort fell. Twice did he again raise himself, only to fall again. At the third time, De Launay had disappeared. He looked for him on all sides, and at last recognised his head fixed on the extremity of a pike, and borne above the crowd.
That head Hullin would have saved, had it been possible, at the risk of his own.
During this time, the mob had released the prisoners in the Bastille.
There were nine.
Two or three, on seeing the door open, cried out that the people had come to slay them, and prepared to defend themselves with chairs, but the intruders cried out in a loud voice, “Free! Free!”
One could not understand it, and fell suffocating, pressing his heart with his two hands.
Another stood speechless, with his eyes fixed on space; a venerable man was he, with a white beard descending to his breast. They took him for a spectre.
The conquerors told him that he was free.
He understood them not.
“How is Louis the Fifteenth?” asked he.