"You are cowards!" he repeated; "rebels, villains!"
A thousand knives gleamed in the air, and stones began to fall at the gallows foot.
"Good!" muttered Canolles. "The king hanged Richon," he added aloud, "and he did well; when he takes Bordeaux, he will hang many another—"
At these words the crowd rushed like a torrent toward the gallows, broke through the guards, overturned the palisades, and threw themselves, roaring like wild beasts, upon the prisoner.
At a gesture from the duke, one of the executioners raised Canolles by taking him under the arms, while the other adjusted a noose around his neck.
Canolles felt the cord and redoubled his taunts and insults; if he wished to be killed in time he had not a moment to lose.
At that supreme moment he looked around for the last time; he could see naught but naming eyes and threatening arms. One man, however, a mounted soldier, pointed to his musket.
"Cauvignac! 'tis Cauvignac!" cried Canolles, clinging to the ladder with both his hands, which were not bound.
Cauvignac made a motion indicating that he had been unable to save him, and levelled his weapon at him. Canolles understood him.
"Yes, yes!" he cried, emphasizing his words with his head.