As soon as the door was closed, Pitou's followers had a keen desire to keep on parleying.
Some were hoisted upon their comrades' shoulders, so that they could bestride the wall, where they began to chat with the National Guardsmen inside. These shook hands with them, and they were merry together as the quarter of an hour passed.
Then a man came from the palace with the word that they were to be let in.
The invaders believed that they had their request granted, and they flocked in as soon as the doors were opened, like men who had been kept waiting—all in a heap. They stuck their caps on their pikes and whooped "Hurrah for the nation!"—"Long live the National Guard!"—"The Swiss forever!"
The National Guard echoed the shout of the nation, but the Swiss kept a gloomy and sinister muteness.
The inrush only ceased when the intruders were up to the cannon muzzles, where they stopped to look around.
The main vestibule was crammed with Swiss, three deep; on each step was a rank, so that six could fire at once.
Some of the invaders, including Pitou, began to consider, although it was rather late to reflect.
But though seeing the danger, the mob did not think of running away; it tried to turn it by jesting with the soldiers. The Guards took the joking as it was made, but the Swiss looked glum, for something had happened five minutes before the insurrectionary column marched up.
In the quarrel between the Guards and the grenadiers over the insult to Mandat, the former had parted from the Royalist guards, and as they went off they said good-bye to the Swiss, whom they wanted to go away with them.