Dangeau turned a little, beckoning with his hand, and there was a momentary lull in the chorus of shouts, oaths, and obscene songs.
"What do you want?" he shouted.
The mob renewed its wild-beast howl.
Dangeau beckoned again.
"Let your leader speak," he called; and as the ruffian with the head was pleased to second his suggestion, he obtained a second interval in the storm.
"What do you want?" he asked again, and received this time an answer, couched in language too explicit to be transcribed, but the substance of which was that the Capet woman was to kiss her precious friend.
"And then?" Dangeau's speech fell cold and clear as ice upon the heated words of the demagogue.
"And then, aha! then—" She was to be taught what the people's vengeance meant. For how many years had they toiled that she might have her sport? Now she should make sport for them, and then they would tear her limb from limb, show her traitorous heart to Paris, where she had lived so wantonly; burn her vile body to ashes.
Again that high, cool voice——
"And then?"