"The dragoons, here come the dragoons!" yelled many at the same time as the gathering began to retire over the square to get away up Richelieu Street.
At a distance but approaching, they heard the clatter of heavy cavalry.
"To arms, to arms," cried the runaways.
"Plague on you," said Billet, throwing down the dead Savoyard, "Lend us your guns if you will not use them."
"Hold on till you see whether we won't use them," said the soldier whom Billet had addressed, as he snatched back the musket which the farmer had torn from his grip. "Bite your cartridges, boys—and make the Austrians bite the dust if they interfere with these good fellows."
"Ay, they shall see," said the soldiers, carrying their hands from the cartridge-boxes to their mouths.
"Thunder," muttered Billet, stamping his foot: "why did I not bring my old duck-gun along? But one of these pesky Austrians may be laid out and I can get his carbine."
"In the meantime," said a voice, "taking this gun—it is ready loaded."
A stranger slipped a handsome fowling-piece into Billet's hands.
At this very instant, the dragoons rushed into the square, upsetting everybody they ran against.