“No, no!” he wailed, and wrung his hands; and “My God! she will murder me!” he shrieked.
Suddenly he saw, darted through the ring of ruffians, and caught the breast of my coat with both his hands.
“Monsieur! you have nobility in your face! Tell these good souls that I am a furious patriot and a good citizen. Monsieur, Monsieur! We walk abroad—we are involved, unwitting, in the mêlée. The girl denounces all for pigs and murderers, and, naturally, those who hear take umbrage and force us hither.”
His dry lips vibrated; he danced up and down like a gnat on a window-pane. All the time the women were volubly chattering and the men cursing and pulling. They desired, it seemed, a prologue to the second act of the tragedy; and that was bad art. But then they were as drunk as one could wish.
“Thou art nice and dainty, citoyenne!” they shrieked. “See here—thou shalt be vivandière to the brave army of avengers! Tap her an aristocrat heart and fill her a canteen that all may drink!”
The beastly proposal was not too gross for the occasion. A man lurched forward with a jeering oath, and I—I sprang to the front too, and took the hound by his gulping throat. There came a great noise about me; I did not relax my hold, and some one rushed into our midst.
“What do you here!” he cried, harshly (Casimir’s voice). “Death of God! have you orders to insult and threaten peaceable citizens who walk abroad to see the illuminations?”
With a fierce sweep of his arms he cleared all away in front of him. The act—the gesture, brought him to my side.
“Go—escape!” he whispered, frantically. “This, here, I will attend to.”
“You knew, then?” I gasped out; and he fell back from me.