I do not think I shook; yet it seemed impossible that they could pass me by. There were one or two amongst them I thought I recognised as Carinne’s captors; but they were all hideous, frantic shapes, elf-locked, malodorous, bestial and drunk with blood. They uttered discordant cries as they came scrambling into the room; and by a flickering at the nape of his neck I could see that my fellow-sufferer was unable to control the throaty rising of his agitation. Suddenly a horrible silence befell. One of the intruders, a powerful young ruffian of a malignant jesting humour, put his comrades back and silenced them with an arm. His bloodshot eyes were fascinating poor Mirabeau; slowly he raised a finger and pointed it at the creature. The bubbles seemed to fly up the latter’s neck as if his heart were turned into water. It was a terrible moment—then, all at once, the whole room echoed with demon laughter.
“Mother of Christ! what cunning!”
“But, my God! he is a fine libel on the king of patriots!”
“See! the works have not run down. He twitches yet from his last performance!”
“He makes himself a show to the people. He shall be given a lamp in the yard of the Abbaye.”
The figure fell upon its knees with a choking shriek.
“Messieurs! I acted upon my first instinct of preservation! I had no thought, I swear it, to insult the great or to question the majesty of the people. Messieurs, I detest aristocrats and applaud your method of dealing with them. Merci! merci! I am a poor exhibitor of waxworks; an excellent patriot and a servant of the public.”
“But that is true!” cried a voice from the stairs. “This is little Tic-tac, that helped to decorate the Capet’s chariot on the day of the Hôtel de Ville.”
The mob grunted over this advocate.
“But he helped a prisoner to escape.”