He had no longer a way of retreat, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Claude beginning to advance.

What was he to do?
The perspiration burst out on him.

He turned this way and that, now casting wild eyes at the whirling current below, now piteous eyes--the eyes of a calf on its way to the shambles, and as little regarded--on the thin stream of passers.
How could they go on their way and leave him to the mercies of this madman?
He smothered a shriek as Claude, now less than twenty paces away, sped a look at him.

Claude, indeed, was thinking of Anne and her wrongs; and of a certain kiss.

His face told this so plainly, and that passion was his master, that Louis' cheek grew white.