Crash! And a storm of grape whizzed through the air as the gunners discharged their two pieces.
The insurgents who were advancing to the charge wavered; another dose of iron hail, and they fell back in disorder.
But the loyalists were few, their enemy legion.
Their brave leader, too, was dead; and, though they fought valiantly for a time, the end was certain.
The students especially behaved like madmen. Shot and shell tore through their ranks, making long, narrow gaps, but the survivors pressed on; the mob picked off the loyalists; the men at the windows shot them down; the Nationals eagerly backed up their comrades; the bridge was gained; there was a desperate, confused, hand-to-hand struggle round the guns, and then a loud shout of victory echoed and re-echoed through the exultant multitude.
"To the gates! Seize the gates!" they yelled; and presently another cry rose--one which we had been expecting every moment to hear.
"Death to Latour!" bawled a huge, hairy-throated fellow; and we recognized our acquaintance of the morning, whose butcher's axe was wet with blood.
"That's the word!" cried another. "Death to Latour, and no more ministers!"
"Forward! Forward! Long live the republic! Up with the tricolour!"
"To the hôtel!" said Stephen feverishly. "We may yet help to save him."