Without uttering a word, Charny put up his sword.
The party was lifted by the press as a skiff is tossed in a gale by the waves, and drawn toward the Assembly. The king was obliged to push away a ruffian who stuck his fist in his face. The little dauphin, almost smothered, screamed and held out his hands for help.
A man dashed forward and snatched him out of his mother's arms.
"My Lord Charny, my son!" she shrieked; "in Heaven's name, save my boy!"
Charny took a couple of steps in chase of the fellow with the prince, but as soon as he unmasked the queen, two or three hands dragged her toward them, and one clutched the neckerchief on her bosom. She sent up a scream.
Charny forgot Roederer's advice, and his sword disappeared its full length in the body of the wretch who had dared to lay hands on the queen.
The gang howled with rage on seeing one of their number slain, and rushed all the more fiercely on the group.
Highest of all the women yelled: "Why don't you kill the Austrian?"—"Give her to us to have her throat slit!"—"Death to her—death!"
Twenty naked arms were stretched out to seize her. Maddened by grief, thinking nothing of her own danger, she never ceased to cry: