Before they gained it, four men, of whom, Badelon, his grey locks flying, was first, dashed out in pursuit, and the street rang with cries of "Stop him! Seize him! Seize him!" Some one--one of the pursuers or another--to add to the alarm let off a musket, and in a moment, as if the report had been a signal, the Place was in a hubbub, people flocked into it with mysterious quickness, and from a neighbouring roof--whence, precisely, it was impossible to say--the crackling fire of a dozen arquebuses alarmed the city far and wide.
Unfortunately, the fugitives had been baulked at the first turning.
Making for a second, they found it choked, and, swerving, darted across the Place towards St.-Maurice, seeking to lose themselves in the gathering crowd.

But the pursuers clung desperately to their skirts, overturning here a man and there a child; and then in a twinkling, Tignonville, as he ran round a booth, tripped over a peg and fell, and La Tribe stumbled over him and fell also.

The four riders flung themselves fiercely on their prey, secured them, and began to drag them with oaths and curses towards the door of the inn.
The Countess had seen all from her window; had held her breath while they ran, had drawn it sharply when they fell.

Now, "They have them!" she muttered, a sob choking her, "they have them!" And she clasped her hands.

If he had followed her advice! If he had only followed her advice! But the issue proved less certain than she deemed it.