My paleness, my tears, my supplicating accents impressed the crowd; silence was given me, and I continued:
"Citizens, suppose that we all, patriots here present, were incarcerated by our triumphant enemies. Our enemies rush into our prison, surprise us without defense, without means of escape, and massacre us all! Would that not be a cowardly, a horrible deed? Would you commit a like atrocity?"
Outcries, hisses and curses drowned my voice.
"He is a wheedler!"
"A traitor!"
"A royalist in disguise!"
"Death to the traitors!"
I believed my last hour was come. Thrown down from my bench, I was surrounded, seized, mauled back and forth by the crowd in its fury. My uniform was torn to shreds. A sword was already raised over my head when some patriots, interposing between my adversaries and me, tore me from the hands that grasped me, protected me with their own bodies, and pushed me under the arch of a carriage-gate, which they slammed upon me. I fell battered and almost fainting; and soon I heard the throng disperse, crying:
"Long live the Nation!"
"To the prisons, to the prisons!"