The women," he almost sobbed, "mon Dieu, the women!" Des Cadoux felt his old eyes grow moist, and the odd, fierce mirth that seemed to have hitherto infected him went out like a candle that is snuffed.

But suddenly before he could make any answer, a new and unexpected sound, which dominated the din of combat, and seemed to cause all--assailants and defenders alike--to pause that they might listen, was wafted to their ears.
It was the roll of the drum.

Not the mere thudding that had beaten the step for the mob, but the steady and vigorous tattoo of many sticks upon many skins.
"What is it?
Who comes ?" were the questions that men asked one another, as both aristocrats and sansculottes paused in their bloody labours.

It was close at hand.

So close at hand that they could discern the tramp of marching feet.