the rabble before the window, cowed by the fall of two of their number,
were still pushing backward instead of forward, there rose behind them
strange sounds--yells, and the clatter of hoofs, mingled with screams of
alarm. A second, and into the loose skirts of the crowd came charging
helter-skelter, pell-mell, a score of galloping, shrieking, cursing
horsemen, attended by twice as many footmen, who clung to their stirrups
or to the tails of the horses, and yelled and whooped, and struck in
unison with the maddened riders.

"On! on!" the foremost shrieked, rolling in his saddle, and foaming at
the mouth. "Bleed in August, bleed in May! Kill!" And he fired a
pistol among the rabble, who fled every way to escape his rearing,
plunging charger.

"Kill! Kill!" cried his followers, cutting the air with their swords, and
rolling to and fro on their horses in drunken emulation. "Bleed in
August, bleed in May!"

"On! On!" cried the leader, as the crowd which beset the house fled
every way before his reckless onset. "Bleed in August, bleed in May!"

The rabble fled, but not so quickly but that one or two were ridden down,
and this for an instant checked the riders. Before they could pass on--

"Ohe!" cried Count Hannibal from his window. "Ohe!" with a shout of
laughter, "ride over them, dear brother! Make me a clean street for my
wedding!"

Marshal Tavannes--for he, the hero of Jarnac, was the leader of this wild
orgy--turned that way, and strove to rein in his horse.