"Yes, yes, that's Billet, right here!" shouted the crowd; "we are here, in the Bastile, for we have taken it. You are free!"
"The Bastile is taken and I am free?" repeated the doctor.
Running both hands through the bars of the door he shook it so forcibly that the hinges and lock-bolt seemed likely to shoot out of the pockets. One of the split panels, shattered by Billet, fell clean out and was left in the prisoner's hands.
"Wait, wait," said the rescuer, seeing that such another exertion would exhaust the man's powers, too much excited; "wait."
He redoubled his blows. Through the gap the prisoner could be seen, fallen on his stool, pale as a sceptre and incapable of moving the broken beam again with which he had tried like a Samson to shake the Bastile down.
"Billet," he kept on saying.
"And me with him, doctor, poor Pitou, whom you must remember from having placed me for board and lodging at Aunt Angelique's—I came along to get you out."
"But I cannot get through that crack," objected the prisoner.
"We will widen it," cried the bystanders.