"Down with Condé!"
The shout was appalling, and even Marie's aunt, for all her bravado, shrank at it. The sound of the savage voices urged us on, through the servants' quarters, down a narrow staircase, into the kitchen, and so to the yard beyond. The door was already wide open, and we pushed through to a side street. Just in time! A portion of the mob had swept round to the back of the house, and almost directly we found ourselves in the midst of the crowd, fighting, pushing, struggling, with all our might to force a way through.
Marie, poor girl, clung to me nervously in an almost fainting state, but her aunt walked boldly with head erect and her eyes flashing like stars. In spite of the terrible danger I could hardly repress a smile at sight of this high-born dame in her servant's dress, compelled to struggle with the canaille like a woman of the markets. To make matters worse, we were forced to cry aloud, "Down with Condé!" which I did lustily, but madame made many wry faces, and, but for her niece, would have refused outright. It was quite painful enough for her to hear others insulting the great hero.
Twice we were swung back to the door of the house, which was now completely wrecked; then, still surrounded by the mob, we were tossed, like floating straws, clear of the street. Since that night I have taken part in more than one fierce battle, but have never experienced the same feeling of horror as during that eventful struggle in the Rue Crillon.
The danger was not yet over; we had still some distance to walk, and every few yards we met groups of rioters hurrying to the work of destruction. Some cried, "Down with the Queen!" or "Down with the Parliament!" but most of them yelled "Down with Condé!" because for the moment that was the popular cry.
Just at first we walked rather briskly, but very soon Marie's pace became slower, she hung with greater weight on my arm, and I feared every moment she would faint; It was evident that unless she got better we should not reach St. Denis that night.
We were in a fairly quiet street when Madame Coutance suddenly exclaimed, "Let us rest a few minutes in this doorway. Marie, look up, child; there is nothing to fear now; we are safe here."
For answer, the girl, whose nerves were completely overwrought, shuddered and sobbed.
"Take me away," she cried, "oh, take me away. Back to Aunay; anywhere out of this horrible place."
"That is what we are going to do," I said soothingly. "I have a special permit which will pass us through the gate of St. Denis. But you must be strong and brave, or we shall not get there."