The extremity was now too great for argument.

They dared not so much as look at their women-folk, lest they should be unmanned by the sight of those huddled creatures--their finery but serving to render them the more pitiable in their sickly affright.
In a body the whole thirty of them swept from the room, and with Bellecour at their head and Ombreval somewhere in the rearmost rank, they made their way to the great staircase.
Here, armed with their swords and a brace of pistols to each man, whilst for a few the Marquis had even found carbines, they waited, with faces set and lips tight pressed for the end that they knew approached.
Nor was their waiting long.

As the peasants had blown down the gates so now did they blow down the doors of the Chateau, and in the explosion three of Bellecour's servants--who had stood too near--were killed.

Over the threshold they swarmed into the dark gulf of the great hall to the foot of the staircase.

But here they were at a disadvantage.