Faces wet with rain and perspiration tried to peep in at the window. Collot gave brief orders to the soldiers to close the shutters at once and to push away the crowd, but the crowd would not be pushed. It would not be gainsaid, and when the soldiers tried to close the window, twenty angry fists broke the panes of glass.
“I can't finish this writing in your lingo, sir, whilst this demmed row is going on,” said Sir Percy placidly.
“You have not much more to write, Sir Percy,” urged Chauvelin with nervous impatience, “I pray you, finish the matter now, and get you gone from out this city.”
“Send that demmed lot away, then,” rejoined Sir Percy calmly.
“They won't go.... They want to see you...”
Sir Percy paused a moment, pen in hand, as if in deep reflection.
“They want to see me,” he said with a laugh. “Why, demn it all... then, why not let em?...”
And with a few rapid strokes of the pen, he quickly finished the letter, adding his signature with a bold flourish, whilst the crowd, pushing, jostling, shouting and cursing the soldiers, still loudly demanded to see the Scarlet Pimpernel.
Chauvelin felt as if his heart would veritably burst with the wildness of its beating.
Then Sir Percy, with one hand lightly pressed on the letter, pushed his chair away and with his pleasant ringing voice, said once again: