The crack of a pistol sounded above, and the officer standing close to him fell dead. Four or five shots were fired, by the soldiers, at the window above. Another two or three blows, and the door gave way.
Philip went aside as the soldiers, followed by a crowd, rushed in; and returned to Claire, who was standing by the side of Pierre, a few paces away.
"Let us go on," he said.
A few yards further they were at the entrance of a lane running north. As Philip turned into it, a man caught him by the arm.
"Where are you going, comrade?" he said. "There is plenty of work for your hammer, yet."
"I have a job elsewhere," Philip said.
"It is rare work, comrade. I have killed five of them with my own hand, and I have got their purses, too," he chuckled.
"Hallo! Who is this girl you have with you?"
And he roughly caught hold of Claire.
Philip's pent-up rage found a vent. He sprang upon the man, seized him by the throat, and hurled him with tremendous force against the wall; whence he fell, a senseless mass, on to the ground.