"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.
"What ails them?" he cried, as the maddened animal reared upright, its
iron hoofs striking fire from the slippery pavement.
"They are rearing like thy Bayard!" Count Hannibal answered. "Whip them,
whip them for me! Tavannes! Tavannes!"
"What? This canaille?"
"Ay, that canaille!"
"Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes!" the Marshal replied, and
spurred his horse among the rabble, who had fled to the sides of the
street and now strove hard to efface themselves against the walls.
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