There was a howl of laughter.
“Mor’ Dieu! but five at a blow!” cried the executioner. “This is better than the one to fifty yonder!” and he came running to read the names of those he had overturned.
“Necker! it is right that he should be pictured fallen. Pitt—Beaumarchais! ha, ha, little toad! where are those patriot muskets? in your breeches-pocket? but I will cut them out!”
Now I gave up all for lost. He stepped back to get his distance—there came a crash by the stairway, and the room was plunged in darkness. One of the mob had swung up his weapon over a figure, and had knocked out the lantern with a back-handed blow.
It is the little incidents of life that are prolific as insects. The situation resolved itself into clamour and laughter and a boisterous groping of the company down the black stairway. In a minute the place was silent and deserted.
I lay still, as yet awaiting developments. I could not forget that M. Tic-tac, as a pronounced patriot, might not honour my confidence. For my escape, it must have been as I supposed. Another victim, eluding the murderers, had drawn them off my scent, and the showman had effected yet a second cross-current. He was indeed fortunate to have kept a whole skin.
Presently I heard him softly stirring and moaning to himself.
“Misérable! to have dishonoured my rôle! Would he have succumbed thus to an accident? But I am like him—yes, I am like him, for all they may say.”
Their mockery was the wormwood in his cup. He dragged himself to his feet by-and-by, and felt his way across the room to recover his abused idol. Then I would delay no longer. I rose, stepped rapidly to the stair-head, and descended to the street. He heard me—as I knew by the terrified cessation of his breathing,—and thought me, perhaps, a laggard member of his late company. Anyhow he neither moved nor spoke.
The killers were at their work again. The agonised yells of the victims followed and maddened me. But I was secure from further pursuit, save by the dogs of conscious helplessness.