Instinctively she recoiled and backed towards the house immediately on
her left. It was adorned with a porch made of stout oak beams, with a
tiled roof; an iron lantern descended from this, and there was a stone
parapet below, and a few steps, at right angles from the pavement, led
up to the massive door.

On these steps the young girl had taken refuge. Proud, defiant, she
confronted the howling mob, which she had so wilfully provoked.

"Of a truth, Citizeness Margot, that grey dress would become you
well!" suggested a young man, whose red cap hung in tatters over an
evil and dissolute-looking face.

"And all that fine lace would make a splendid jabot round the aristo's
neck when Citizen Samson holds up her head for us to see," added
another, as with mock elegance he stooped and with two very grimy
fingers slightly raised the young girl's grey frock, displaying the
lace-edged petticoat beneath.

A volley of oaths and loud, ironical laughter greeted this sally.

"'Tis mighty fine lace to be thus hidden away," commented an elderly
harridan. "Now, would you believe it, my fine madam, but my legs are
bare underneath my kirtle?"

"And dirty, too, I'll lay a wager," laughed another. "Soap is dear in
Paris just now."

"The lace on the aristo's kerchief would pay the baker's bill of a
whole family for a month!" shouted an excited voice.