"Can you fight a thousand?
Look! Look!" and seizing the other's wrist he pointed to the window.
The street glowed like a furnace in the red light of torches, raised on poles above a sea of heads; an endless sea of heads, and gaping faces, and tossing arms which swept on and on, and on and by.

For a while it seemed that the torrent would flow past them and would leave them safe.
Then came a check, a confused outcry, a surging this way and that; the torches reeled to and fro, and finally, with a dull roar of "Open! Open!" the mob faced about to the house and the lighted window.
For a second it seemed that even Count Hannibal's iron nerves shook a little.

He stood between the sullen group that surrounded the disordered table and the maddened rabble, that gloated on the victims before they tore them to pieces.

"Open! Open!" the mob howled: and a man dashed in the window with his pike.
In that crisis Mademoiselle's eyes met Tavannes' for the fraction of a second.

She did not speak; nor, had she retained the power to frame the words, would they have been audible.