"Well, why not make it here? the spot is good."
"That is true, Eagle," Courfeyrac remarked.
And at a sign from Courfeyrac the mob rushed into the Rue de la Chanvrerie.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE NIGHT BEGINS TO FALL ON GRANTAIRE.
The ground was, in fact, admirably suited; the entrance of the street was wide, the end narrowed, and, like a blind alley, Corinth formed a contraction in it, the Rue de Mondétour could be easily barred right and left, and no attack was possible save by the Rue St. Denis; that is to say, from the front and in the open. Bossuet drunk had had the inspiration of Hannibal sober. At the sound of the band rushing on, terror seized on the whole street, and not a passer-by but disappeared. More quickly than a flash of lightning, shops, stalls, gates, doors, Venetian blinds, and shutters of every size were shut from the ground-floor to the roofs, at the end, on the right, and on the left. An old terrified woman fixed up a mattress before her window with clothes-props, in order to deaden the musketry, and the public-house alone remained open,—and for an excellent reason, because the insurgents had rushed into it.
"Oh Lord! oh Lord!" Mame Hucheloup sighed.
Bossuet ran down to meet Courfeyrac, and Joly, who had gone to the window, shouted,—
"Courfeyrac, you ought to have brought an umbrella. You will catch cold."