Presently these cries became merged in a persistent call, which had its origin, as far as could be discovered, in the darkest corner of the square.

A call for "Montsoreau! Montsoreau! Give us Montsoreau!" With another man, or had Tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed the least anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that in the twinkling of an eye.

But Count Hannibal, sitting his horse, with his handful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little moved by it as the Armed Knight of Notre Dame.

Only once did he say a word.

Then, raising his hand as before to gain a hearing-- "You ask for Montsoreau ?" he thundered.