The insurgents rushed at us, bore us back, flung themselves into our midst, and, acting like wedges, split us into small groups.
I found myself in front of Latour, where the fighting was fiercest, and emptied my pistol recklessly into the crowd.
The bullets cleared a space, but it was soon reoccupied. Most of the loyalists were overpowered and disarmed, and now their opponents came to help seize Latour.
Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I stood by the side of the veteran, and did my best to save him.
The attempt failed; it was hopeless from the start, and the end came very suddenly.
There were scarcely half a dozen of us all told, standing shoulder to shoulder, to stay the rush, and we toppled over like so many wooden pegs.
I lay on the floor half stunned, with the body of a man right across my chest. He was badly hurt, and kept moaning feebly.
For several minutes I was unable to rise, or even to move, and during that time the noise of the fighting grew less and less distinct, finally dying away altogether.
The shouts of the populace, however, continued to ascend from the courtyard, and could be plainly heard through the open windows.
As soon as I had recovered a little strength, I shifted the wounded man gently, and stood up.