The crowd echoed his cry with enthusiasm, and added:
“Long live the second Prim! Long live General Pacheco!”
“Why, the man is crazy,” murmured Quentin. “I wonder if he’s got the money yet?” Then he thought—“Suppose he has it with him? He’s fixed me if he has.”
Quentin continued to advance, digging right and left with his elbows, in order to get near enough to speak with Pacheco. Suddenly he heard the sound of a shot, and immediately after, almost instantaneously, another; a bit of smoke came from one of the screened windows of the Trinidad barracks.
The crowd drew back, terrified; people began to run pell-mell, and in the alleyways the noise made by the heels of those who fled sounded like a squadron of horses at a gallop. Quentin was forced to take refuge in a doorway in order to keep from being trampled. Several other persons also pushed their way into the same place.
“What happened?” they asked one another.
“They are beginning to shoot, and there’s a great rumpus yonder.”
Another who had just arrived, said:
“They’ve killed Pacheco.”
“Did you see it?” asked Quentin.