The mob below was already drunk with blood, and found waiting intolerable; but it had no leader and foamed aimlessly about the causeway.

There were women in it with flying hair like Maenads, who shrilled obscenities, and drunken butchers and watermen and grooms who had started out for loot and ended in sheer lust of slaying, and dozens of broken desperadoes and led-captains who looked on the day as their carnival.

But to the mob had come one of those moments of indecision when it halted and eddied like a whirlpool.
Suddenly in its midst appeared two tall horsemen.
"Men of Paris," cried Gaspard with that masterful voice which is born of the deep seas.

"You see this jewel.

It was given me an hour back by Henry of Guise." A ruffian examined it.