How I prayed—­amid a scene of the wildest uproar and excitement—­ that the mob might be first!  Let there be only a short conflict between Bezers’ men and the people, and in the confusion Pavannes might yet escape.  Hope awoke in the turmoil.  Above the yells of the crowd a score of deep voices about me thundered “a Wolf! a Wolf!” And I too, lost my head, and drew my sword, and screamed at the top of my voice, “a Caylus! a Caylus!” with the maddest.

Thousands of eyes besides mine were strained on the foremost figures on either side.  They met as it chanced precisely at the door of the house.  The mob leader was a slender man, I saw; a priest apparently, though now he was girt with unpriestly weapons, his skirts were tucked up, and his head was bare.  So much my first glance showed me.  It was at the second look it was when I saw the blood forsake his pale lowering face and leave it whiter than ever, when horror sprang along with recognition to his eyes, when borne along by the crowd behind he saw his position and who was before him—­it was only then when his mean figure shrank, and he quailed and would have turned but could not, that I recognized the Coadjutor.

I was silent now, my mouth agape.  There are seconds which are minutes; ay, and many minutes.  A man may die, a man may come into life in such a second.  In one of these, it seemed to me, those two men paused, face to face; though in fact a pause was for one of them impossible.  He was between—­and I think he knew it—­the devil and the deep sea.  Yet he seemed to pause, while all, even that yelling crowd below, held their breath.  The next moment, glaring askance at one another like two dogs unevenly coupled, he and Bezers shot shoulder to shoulder into the doorway, and in another jot of time would have been out of sight.  But then, in that instant, I saw something happen.  The Vidame’s hand flashed up above the priest’s head, and the cross-hilt of his sheathed sword crashed down with awful force, and still more awful passion, on the other’s tonsure!  The wretch went down like a log, without a word, without a cry!  Amid a roar of rage from a thousand throats, a roar that might have shaken the stoutest heart, and blanched the swarthiest cheek, Bezers disappeared within!

It was then I saw the power of discipline and custom.  Few as were the troopers who had followed him—­a mere handful—­they fell without hesitation on the foremost of the crowd, who were already in confusion, stumbling and falling over their leader’s body; and hurled them back pell-mell along the gallery.  The throng below had no firearms, and could give no aid at the moment; the stage was narrow; in two minutes the Vidame’s people had swept it clear of the crowd and were in possession of it.  A tall fellow took up the priest’s body, dead or alive, I do not know which, and flung it as if it had been a sack of corn over the rail.  It fell with a heavy thud on the ground.  I heard a piercing scream that rose above that babel—­one shrill scream! and the mob closed round and hid the thing.