“Bailiffs, by all that’s holy!” said De Bourmont to himself; and then, remembering Lady Betty’s story, he laid his heels to the ground for Holyrood. A pack of idlers, standing on the street, suddenly sent up a cry: “Bailiffs! and he’s makkin’ for the palace!”
Straightway they all started in full cry after him. Not all of them really wanted to see him caught,—indeed, they rather impeded the bailiffs in the chase; they merely wanted to be in at the dénouement. Windows were flung up as the scurrying, shouting crowd followed after De Bourmont’s flying figure. A friendly voice, evidently belonging to some one who recognized one of the exiles of Holyrood, shouted, “Gang it, Frenchy!”
This still further inclined the crowd toward De Bourmont, as, with swift justice, it was felt to be a peculiarly unhandsome thing to molest exiles and strangers within their gates. De Bourmont began to perceive that the mob was on his side,—always an exhilarating knowledge,—and he ran still faster toward the great gloomy pile that rose before him in the white glow of the moon. Windows in the palace were being raised, and two heads belonging to their two Royal Highnesses were seen at the great windows that face the Cowgate, watching the flight and the pursuit, which became exciting enough, with yells, shrieks, and laughter,—for these were occasions for public mirth. The palace courtyard was full of people, who overflowed beyond the gate, but who were careful to leave a clear space for the fugitive, now rapidly approaching. All the ladies in waiting had got permission to run down the stone stairs to see the sight, which was so excruciatingly humorous from the Edinburgh point of view, and Lady Betty was among them. As the flying figure neared the line of demarcation a great cry went up in English, French, and Scotch: “Hurrah!” “Brava!” “Weel done!” Everybody, clearly, was against the bailiffs, one of whom was almost on De Bourmont’s heels,—for Lady Betty, recognizing him, had shrieked out, “’Tis Monsieur de Bourmont!” The bailiff put out his arm and caught De Bourmont by the shoulder as the two crossed the line together, and then they both tumbled over in a heap, De Bourmont’s head and body well within the line, but his legs outside of it.
A loud groan went up,—the crowd thought De Bourmont had lost,—and some one came running down the palace stairs laughing stridently. It was Bastien. The other bailiff had then fallen upon De Bourmont, and all three were struggling fiercely on the ground. Suddenly Lady Betty Stair advanced a step or two and cried out, in a shrill, sweet voice:—
“Let him go, you wretched bailiffs. Do you not know the law? If the debtor’s head falls over the line, as this gentleman’s did, he is safe, for the head is the noblest part of the body. And let him go, this instant, I say!”
A ringing cheer broke from the crowd, and a brawny Scotchman, taking hold of the uppermost bailiff, threw him aside like a bale of wool, saying gruffly:
“Dinna ye hear the leddy?”
The officers of the law, more out of respect to the temper of the mob than to Lady Betty’s words, let De Bourmont rise, who made her a low bow, and then proceeded to carefully dust his clothes. At this the crowd sent up a great cheer for Lady Betty, who, turning a beautiful rosy red, said to De Bourmont:
“‘Let him go, you wretched bailiffs!’”