"Down with the CANAILLE!" I retorted, sternly eyeing the ill-
looking ring. "Will you set yourselves above the king's peace,
dirt that you are? Go back to your kennels!"

The words were scarcely out of my mouth, before I saw that the
fellow whom Croisette was punishing had got hold of a dagger. I
shouted a warning, but it came too late. The blade fell, and--
thanks to God--striking the buckle of the lad's belt, glanced off
harmless. I saw the steel flash up again--saw the spite in the
man's eyes: but this time I was a step nearer, and before the
weapon fell, I passed my sword clean through the wretch's body.
He went down like a log, Croisette falling with him, held fast by
his stiffening fingers.

I had never killed a man before, nor seen a man die; and if I had
stayed to think about it, I should have fallen sick perhaps. But
it was no time for thought; no time for sickness. The crowd were
close upon us, a line of flushed threatening faces from wall to
wall. A single glance downwards told me that the man was dead,
and I set my foot upon his neck. "Hounds! Beasts!" I cried,
not loudly this time, for though I was like one possessed with
rage, it was inward rage, "go to your kennels! Will you dare to
raise a hand against a Caylus? Go--or when the Vicomte returns,
a dozen of you shall hang in the market-place!"

I suppose I looked fierce enough--I know I felt no fear, only a
strange exaltation--for they slunk away. Unwillingly, but with
little delay the group melted, Bezers' following--of whom I knew
the dead man was one--the last to go. While I still glared at
them, lo! the street was empty; the last had disappeared round