'Sacrebleu! Sacrebleu!' roared Groguillioche infuriated; 'hands off, ruffian! Vive la France! St. Denis et St. George!' His sword was out, and prompt to be thrust into the tinman's back, but Mascarello, Gorgoglio, Maso, and the rest intervening, tied his hands. Now was utter confusion; tables overset, benches smashed, casks rolling, shards of smashed pitchers under the feet, everywhere pools of wine. Seeing blood, naked swords, and brandished knives, Tibaldo rushed into the street, and, in a voice fit to fill the square, yelled:—
'Assassination! Homicide! The French are sacking the town!'
At once the market bell rang forth and was answered by its brother of the Broletto. The dealers closed their shops. Fruit-sellers and rag-wives ran hither and thither packing their goods.
'San Gervaso and San Protaso! our protecting saints; lend us aid!' cried the fat vegetable-woman with the tremendous voice.
'What is on foot? What is happening? Is it a conflagration?'
'Down! Down with the Frenchmen!'
Farfannichio, the naughty boy, danced with delight, whistling and yelling.
'Down with the Frenchmen! Down with the Frenchmen!'
Guards and soldiers now appeared on the scene, mighty with arquebuses and pikes. They were just in time to rescue Groguillioche and Bonnivart from death at the hands of the mob. Laying hands right and left, they arrested amongst others Corbolo the shoemaker.
His wife, who had run up on sound of the tumult, now wrung her hands piteously, and wailed:—