"I rejoice," he said, gruffly, "that you should save yourself from the stigma of slaying women. We take your word that your mob will remain without and that the ladies shall pass unharmed. But I suppose you are not such a fool as to expect that I shall give up the marquis and his brothers?"
"This man who stands beside me, alas, is right," Jean replied, sternly. "Your vulture class is infatuated and doomed to ruin, and calls down its own destruction. The besotted arrogant nobles must indeed be crushed--trodden down wholesale."
"Sir, you forget yourself," stiffly remarked the baron.
"A last warning! You are playing with both property and life."
"Advice from you? Merci! A peasant Jack in office!"
"I would save you if I could, but you are as vapouring and saucy as the rest."
The gentlemen within disapproved highly of the conduct of old De Vaux. What he deemed heroic--worthy of a Bayard or a Conde--they considered stupid and imprudent. What was to be gained by angering this man with so vast a concourse at his back? Some of the country squires, audibly expostulating, pulled at his legs and coat tails, to end a foolish colloquy.
The baron, therefore, brought his ill-timed taunts to an undignified conclusion, and declared that if the mob would make a way the ladies were ready to come forth.
Boulot removed his hat and bowed, and the baron, not to be outdone in the outward forms of courtesy, removed his own with a flourish and performed a low obeisance.
Meanwhile those at the back of the far-spreading throng who, unable to hear, considered that there was too much parleying, waxed savage. Was an hour to be wasted over a simple negociation which should not occupy six minutes? The deputy from Blois was being cozened, was not displaying sufficient firmness, was reprehensively lacking in decision. The women backed up the men, and, convinced by their own cackle, were garrulous. They were unanimous as to storming the place, displaying to the world by a signal example that the people were the real masters whose will was to be obeyed. Then there was a sway, and a scuffle, and a hubbub, as those in front were pushed back as those behind, and the wooden gates revolved upon their hinges. The miscreants at last! Ah! Now for it! Every hand was eager to take part in the coming vengeance--the trio should be torn into such tiny shreds that they should seem to have vanished into air. There was a forward rush which recoiled upon itself. Those who pushed behind could not comprehend what was passing. Some twenty trembling women of the superior class, judging by their flaunting garments, were being marshalled two and two, and Jean Boulot at their head on horseback was exhorting the people to make way. A long, low, growl of angry disappointment swept like a wind over the concourse, which might have swelled into a menacing roar, followed by the mischief of a hurricane, if a diversion had not been caused by the forlorn appearance of the White Chatelaine of Lorge, moving with obvious effort supported by her faithful foster-sister. How changed she was--how sadly wrecked her beauty. Her big long-lashed blue eyes wore the startled look of one who has seen a horror--the pupils were prominent and fixed--her motion was that of an old old woman partly paralysed. Her haggard features bore an eloquent impress of what she had undergone, and there was a pathos in her wandering groping movement that drew sobs from many a breast.