It is the law needs altering, my friend, and then the men will alter.
Meanwhile, behold them--lords of life and death." "Lords of hell are they!" blazed the young revolutionist.

"That is where they belong, whence they are come, and whither they shall return.
Poltroons!" he cried, shaking his fist at the group of cowed peasants that surrounded the prostrate Charlot "Sheep! Worthless clods! The nobles do well to despise you, for, by my faith, you invite nothing but contempt, you that will suffer rape and murder to be done under your eyes, and never do more than look scared encouragement upon your ravishers!" "Blame not these poor wretches, Caron," sighed the old man.

"They dare not raise a hand." "Then, pardieu! here, at least, is one who does dare," he cried furiously, as from the breast pocket of his coat he drew a pistol.
Blaise, with the girl across the withers of his horse, was approaching them, followed by Jean.
"What would you do ?" cried the old man fearfully, setting a restraining hand upon La Boulaye's sleeve.

But Caron shook himself free.
"This," was all he answered, and simultaneously, he levelled his pistol and fired at Blaise.
Shot through the head, the servant collapsed forward; then, as the horse reared and started off at a gallop, he toppled sideways and fell.

The girl went down with him and lay in the road whilst he was dragged along, his head bumping horribly on the stones as faster and faster went the frightened horse.
With a shout that may have been either anger or dismay Jean reined in his horse, and sat for a second hesitating whether to begin by recovering the girl, or avenging his comrade.