Across the bodies of the slain, and revealed by the lifting powder smoke, stood that little band of thirty men, a blaze of gay colours, a sheen of silken hose, their wigs curled and powdered, their costly ruffles scintillant with jewels; calm, and supercilious, mocking to a man.

There was a momentary gasp of awe, and then the spell was broken by the aristocrats themselves.

A pistol spoke, and a volley followed.

In the hall some stumbled forward, some hurtled backward, and some sank down in nerveless heaps.

But those that remained did not again retreat.