“Long live Reason!” he shouted. “I baptise thee!” and he dashed a cup of wine over her glistening skin.
Another snatched a twig from a flowering shrub and bending it into the semblance of a wreath placed it upon her head.
“Long live Reason!” he shouted in his turn. But a woman in the crowd, jealous perhaps of the attentions shown the naked hussy, suddenly caught up a clod of earth and dashed it into her face; whereupon the goddess dismounted from her throne, vomiting forth I know not what vileness, was caught up by the crowd and passed from sight.
Then one of their number mounted the steps and began to harangue them. I could catch only a word here and there, yet it was easy enough to guess, from the frantic shouts which interrupted him, what his subject was. The mob was in a mood for any atrocity. It needed only the application of the spark.
M. le Comte’s face grew grave as he gazed down at them.
“That is serious!” he said. “When they begin to speechify it is time to think of escape. Have you anything to suggest, Tavernay?”
“If we could reach the ground on the side of the tower away from the mob,” I said, “we might escape into the wood, since there seems to be no watch of any kind, nor any one to intercept us.”
“Yes, but to reach the ground—we need a rope.”
“Is there none in the tower? Surely we can find something——”
“At least, we can look,” he said, and led the way to the stair.