He could not hope to cross the river by the bridge, for there, where the goldsmiths lived, the mob were like to be most busy.

But if he could reach the bank he might procure a boat at some deserted point, or, at the worst, he might swim across.
From the Louvre at his back came the sound of gunshots; from every quarter the murmur of distant crowds, or the faint lamentable cries of victims.

But the empty street before him promised an easy passage, and he ventured into it and passed quickly through it.

He met no one, and no one molested him; but as he went he had glimpses of pale faces that from behind the casements watched him come and turned to watch him go; and so heavy on his nerves was the pressure of this silent ominous attention, that he blundered at the end of the street.

He should have taken the southerly turning; instead he held on, found himself in the Rue Ferronerie, and a moment later was all but in the arms of a band of city guards, who were making a house-to-house visitation.
He owed his safety rather to the condition of the street than to his presence of mind.