Many ladies of quality had taken refuge in the convent, and Peterborough at once placed a guard over this.
Dashing from street to street, unattended even by his dragoons, Peterborough came upon a lady and gentleman struggling with the mob, who were about to ill treat them.

He charged into the thick of the tumult.
His hat had been lost in the fray, and the mob, not recognizing the strange figure as the redoubted English general, resisted, and one discharged a musket at him at a distance of a few feet, but the ball passed through his periwig without touching the head under it.
Fortunately two or three of his dragoons now rode up, and he was able to carry the lady and gentleman to their house hard by, when, to his satisfaction, he found that the gentleman he had saved was the Duke of Popoli, and the lady his wife, celebrated as one of the most beautiful women in Europe.
Jack Stilwell had soon after they entered the town become separated from his general.

Seeing a mob gathered before a house in a side street, and hearing screams, he turned off and rode into the middle of the crowd.
Spurring his horse and making him rear, he made his way through them to the door, and then leaping off, drawing as he did so a pistol from his holster, he ran upstairs.
It was a large and handsomely furnished house.

On the first floor was a great corridor.

A number of men were gathered round a doorway.