"They want twenty," said Stephen. "Ah! now for it!"
At the farther end of the bridge the National Guards and the University Legion were drawn up in battle array, waiting to oppose the passage of the troops.
The mob pressed to and fro like the unquiet waves of the sea; now we were thrown almost bodily into the ranks of the soldiers, again carried back many yards.
The windows of all the houses anywhere near were filled by groups of rioters, who levelled their guns ostentatiously at the loyal troops, while the sans-culottes in the streets roared approval.
At the moment my brother spoke we had a full view of the situation.
The Grenadiers, with their escort, had reached the bridge-head. Behind them were a body of infantry and the artillerymen with a couple of guns. An officer in general's uniform commanded the whole.
Suddenly the Grenadiers broke loose, and, with triumphant cries of "Long live Hungary!" crossed the bridge at the pas de charge.
The students and Nationals received them with open arms; the general sat on horseback, immovable as a bronze statue. Then a smile, half of pity, half of scorn, appeared on his face. He opened his mouth to give an order, when, from the farther side of the bridge, rang out a sharp report, and the Austrian fell dead.
Stephen tore himself from me, his eyes flashing, his handsome face crimson with anger.
"You cowards!" he cried, and would have run to the bridge had not Rakoczy dragged him back by main force. Only just in time!