"Let the guillotine go on!" "Let the executioner finish his work!" were the cries from all sides.
"Citizens," yelled Sanson, who had risen to his feet and was now rubbing his bruised sides, "you are a thousand. They are only a few soldiers. Take back the prisoners and I will execute them."
"Make ready—aim," was Colonel Tournay's quick command. The muskets clicked; the crowd fell back. "Fix bayonets, forward march." And through the press Colonel Tournay bore those whom he had saved from the guillotine.
No organized attempt was made to attack them, and the party proceeded to the Rue d'Arcis unmolested. Here Tournay turned to his captain.
"Dessarts, leave a file of men here and take the others back to their barracks for repose, but hold them subject to immediate orders."
"Very good, my colonel," and the soldiers were marched away.
Madame d'Arlincourt showed signs of succumbing to the effects of the terrible strain to which she had been subjected, and St. Hilaire, supporting her gently, hastened to the door of his former servant.
In another instant they were all inside.
They passed through the corridor and entered the wainscoted salon. As they did so the bookcase above moved gently. Edmé entered through the secret door and stood for an instant surrounded by a frame of dusty books, looking down upon them.
In her plain gown of homespun, with her skin browned by exposure to the air, and cheeks which had the glow of health in them despite the hardship she had undergone, Edmé de Rochefort was a different picture from that of the girl of five years before. Yet it was not the present Edmé that suffered by comparison.