Then, having regained her equilibrium, she staggered forward in renewed pursuit. The broad-bladed, double-edged knife of the Paris assassin gleamed in her right hand.
"Bah! she will never catch her," said a man whose attention had been called to this.
"Let them fight it out," assented his companion.
"Hold! She is down again."
Madeleine had reached the Rue Soufflot, and, in turning the corner sharply, had fallen against the irregular curb.
The stragglers from the wine-shops hooted. The drunken women fairly screamed with delight. It was so amusing.
But Madeleine did not get up this time.
This was more amusing still; for the crowd, now considerably augmented by the refuse from the neighboring tenements, launched all sorts of humorous suggestions at the prostrate figure, laughing uproariously at individual wit.
A few ran to where the dark figure lay, and a merry ruffian playfully kicked the prostrate woman.
Still the woman stirred not.