every side-street, every passage, men were running; and not men only, but
women, children, furious creatures without age or sex. And all the time
the bell tolled overhead, tolled faster and faster, and louder and
louder; and shots and screams, and the clash of arms, and the fall of
strong doors began to swell the maelstrom of sound.

He was in the Rue St. Honore now, and speeding westward. But the flood
still rose with him, and roared abreast of him. Nay, it outstripped him.
When he came, panting, within sight of his goal, and lacked but a hundred
paces of it, he found his passage barred by a dense mass of people moving
slowly to meet him. In the heart of the press the light of a dozen
torches shone on half as many riders mailed and armed; whose eyes, as
they moved on, and the furious gleaming eyes of the rabble about them,
never left the gabled roofs on their right. On these from time to time a
white-clad figure showed itself, and passed from chimney-stack to chimney-
stack, or, stooping low, ran along the parapet. Every time that this
happened, the men on horseback pointed upwards and the mob foamed with
rage.

Tignonville groaned, but he could not help. Unable to go forward, he
turned, and with others hurrying, shouting, and brandishing weapons, he
pressed into the Rue du Roule, passed through it, and gained the Bethizy.
But here, as he might have foreseen, all passage was barred at the Hotel
Ponthieu by a horde of savages, who danced and yelled and sang songs
round the Admiral's body, which lay in the middle of the way; while to
right and left men were bursting into houses and forcing new victims into
the street. The worst had happened there, and he turned panting,
regained the Rue St. Honore, and, crossing it and turning left-handed,
darted through side streets until he came again into the main
thoroughfare a little beyond the Croix du Tiroir, that marked the corner