"What is it?" cried half a dozen men, rushing up.
"A Huguenot in disguise," Philip said. "You will find his pockets are full of gold."
They threw themselves upon the fallen man, fighting and cursing to be the first to ransack his pockets; while Philip, with his two companions, moved up the lane unnoticed.
Fifty yards farther Claire stumbled, and would have fallen had not Philip caught her. Her head had fallen forward, and he felt at once that she was insensible. He placed her on a doorstep, and supported her in a sitting position, Pierre standing by. A minute later a group of men came hurrying down the street.
"What is it?" one of the group asked, as he stopped for a moment.
"It is only a woman, squeamish," Pierre said in a rough voice. "She would come with us, thinking she could pick up a trinket or two; but, ma foi, it is hot down there, and she turned sick. So we are taking her home."
Satisfied with the explanation, the men hurried on.
"Shall I carry her, Pierre? Her weight would be nothing."
"Better wait a few minutes, Monsieur Philip, and see if she comes round. Our story is right enough, as long as we stop here; but people might want to know more, if they were to meet you carrying a woman."
Some minutes passed, and then, finding that Claire remained unconscious, Philip lifted her on to his shoulder.