"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Again the guns were cocked and the barrels levelled. But the Vengeurs de Lutèce had not much heart left; their leader had vanished; they were disorganized, they were running away; sobered and stupefied, they knew the game was up. They were quite willing all the same to shoot the bourgeois there at the wall, before bolting for covert, each to hide in his own hole.
Jean tried to say: "Don't make me suffer more than need be!" but his voice stuck in his throat.
One of the Vengeurs cast a look in the direction of the Pont-au-Change and saw that the fédérés were losing ground. Shouldering his musket, he said:
"Let's clear out of the bl—y place, by God!"
The men hesitated; some began to slink away.
At this the cantinière shrieked:
"Bl—sted hounds! Then I'll have to do his business for him!"
She threw herself on Jean Servien and spat in his face; she abandoned herself to a frantic orgy of obscenity in word and gesture and clapped the muzzle of her revolver to his temple.
Then he felt all was over and waited.