But the flood still rose with him, and roared abreast of him.

Nay, it outstripped him.
When he came, panting, within sight of his goal, and lacked but a hundred paces of it, he found his passage barred by a dense mass of people moving slowly to meet him.

In the heart of the press the light of a dozen torches shone on half as many riders mailed and armed; whose eyes, as they moved on, and the furious gleaming eyes of the rabble about them, never left the gabled roofs on their right.

On these from time to time a white-clad figure showed itself, and passed from chimney-stack to chimney- stack, or, stooping low, ran along the parapet.

Every time that this happened, the men on horseback pointed upwards and the mob foamed with rage.
Tignonville groaned, but he could not help.