"To the guillotine, of course, always the guillotine," answered Henriot. "About, face! Citizens, disperse!"
The crowd had closed up and were muttering their disapproval, many even going so far as to flourish weapons.
"Citizens," cried Tournay fearlessly, "this man Henriot has been indicted by the convention. He should now be a prisoner with Robespierre."
"Charge the crowd!" yelled Henriot to his lieutenant. "I will deal with this fellow; I know him. His name is Tournay." And he rode his horse at the colonel.
The latter sprang to one side, and seizing a sword from a gendarme, parried the trust of Henriot's weapon. Catching the horse by the bridle, he struck an upward blow at the commandant. The animal plunged forward and Tournay was thrown to the pavement, while the crowd fled before the charge of the mounted troops.
Before Henriot could wheel his charger, Tournay was on his feet, and realizing the impossibility of rallying any forces to contend with Henriot's, he took the first corner and made the best of his way up a narrow and deserted street.
He was somewhat shaken and bruised from his encounter, and stopping to recover breath for the first time, he noticed that the blood was flowing freely from a cut over the forehead which he had received during the short mêlée.
As he stanched the wound with his handkerchief, he heard footsteps behind him, and turning, saw a man dressed in the uniform of his own regiment running toward him. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he recognized Captain Dessarts who had served with him for the past year.
"You are wounded, colonel!" exclaimed Dessarts, taking the hand which Tournay stretched out to him. "Can I assist you?"
"It is only a scalp wound, but it bleeds villainously. You can tie this handkerchief about my head if you will."