All was blur, hurry, confusion, tumult. Yet I remember, as we
pressed onwards with the stream and part of it, certain sharp
outlines. I caught here and there a glimpse of a pale scared
face at a window, a half-clad form at a door, of the big,
wondering eyes of a child held up to see us pass, of a Christ at
a corner ruddy in the smoky glare of a link, of a woman armed,
and in man's clothes, who walked some distance side by side with
us, and led off a ribald song. I retain a memory of these
things: of brief bursts of light and long intervals of darkness,
and always, as we tramped forwards, my hand on Pavannes' sleeve,
of an ever-growing tumult in front--an ever-rising flood of
noise.

At last we came to a standstill where a side street ran out of
ours. Into this the hurrying throng tried to wheel, and, unable
to do so, halted, and pressed about the head of the street, which
was already full to overflowing; and so sought with hungry eyes
for places whence they might look down it. Pavannes and I
struggled only to get through the crowd--to get on; but the
efforts of those behind partly aiding and partly thwarting our
own, presently forced us to a position whence we could not avoid
seeing what was afoot.

The street--this side street was ablaze with light. From end to
end every gable, every hatchment was glowing, every window was
flickering in the glare of torches. It was paved too with faces
--human faces, yet scarcely human--all looking one way, all
looking upward; and the noise, as from time to time this immense
crowd groaned or howled in unison, like a wild beast in its fury,