In those days the streets of the Black City were narrow and crooked,
overhung by timber houses, and hampered by booths; nor could Tavannes
from the old Town Hall--now abandoned--see the Place Ste.-Croix. But
that he could cure. He struck spurs to his horse, and, followed by his
ten horsemen, he clattered noisily down the paved street. A dozen groups
hurrying the same way sprang panic-stricken to the walls, or saved
themselves in doorways. He was up with them, he was beyond them! Another
hundred yards, and he would see the Place.
And then, with a cry of rage, he drew rein a little, discovering what was
before him. In the narrow gut of the way a great black banner, borne on
two poles, was lurching towards him. It was moving in the van of a dark
procession of priests, who, with their attendants and a crowd of devout,
filled the street from wall to wall. They were chanting one of the
penitential psalms, but not so loudly as to drown the uproar in the Place
beyond them.
They made no way, and Count Hannibal swore furiously, suspecting
treachery. But he was no madman, and at the moment the least reflection
would have sent him about to seek another road. Unfortunately, as he
hesitated a man sprang with a gesture of warning to his horse's head and
seized it; and Tavannes, mistaking the motive of the act, lost his self-
control.
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