"I have got a bite," said the fisher for men.
"Then, haul him in, but go gently," said his mate.
The man with the hook drew softly indeed, and the guardsman was drawn out of the entrance into the yard, like a fish from the pond onto the bank. Up rose loud whoops and roars of laughter.
"Try for another," said the crowd.
The fisherman hooked another, and jerked him out like the first. And so it went on to the fourth and the fifth, and the whole regiment might have melted away but for the order, "Make ready—take aim!"
On seeing the muskets leveled with the regular sound and precise movement marking evolutions of regular troops, one of the assailants—there is always some crazy-head to give the signal for slaughter under such circumstances—fired a pistol at the palace windows.
During the short space separating "Make ready" and "Fire" in the command, Pitou guessed what was going to happen.
"Flat on your faces!" he shouted to his men; "down flat, or you are all dead men!"
Suiting the action to the word, he flung himself on the ground.
Before there was time for his advice to be generally followed, the word "Fire!" rang in the entrance-way, which was filled with a crashing noise and smoke, while a hail of lead was spit forth as from one huge blunderbuss.