knocked down by the horses and trampled on, and some others pressed
against the sides of the horses and nearly suffocated, took the wiser
course of retreating to their homes.

"Make room for the king's justice!" cried Tristan. "What are you doing
here? Do you want to be hanged too? Go home, my friends, go home; your
dinner is getting burnt. Hey! my good woman, go and darn your
husband's stockings; get back to your needles."

Though such speeches showed that the grand provost was in good humor,
they made the most obstreperous fly as if he were flinging the plague
upon them.

At the moment when the first movement of the crowd took place, Georges
d'Estouteville was stupefied at seeing, at one of the windows of the
hotel de Poitiers, his dear Marie de Saint-Vallier, laughing with the
count. She was mocking at _him_, poor devoted lover, who was going to
his death for her. But perhaps she was only amused at seeing the caps
of the populace carried off on the spears of the archers. We must be
twenty-three years old, rich in illusions, able to believe in a
woman's love, loving ourselves with all the forces of our being,
risking our life with delight on the faith of a kiss, and then
betrayed, to understand the fury of hatred and despair which took
possession of Georges d'Estouteville's heart at the sight of his
laughing mistress, from whom he received a cold and indifferent
glance. No doubt she had been there some time; she was leaning from
the window with her arms on a cushion; she was at her ease, and her
old man seemed content. He, too, was laughing, the cursed hunchback!
A few tears escaped the eyes of the young man; but when Marie de
Saint-Vallier saw them she turned hastily away. Those tears were