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CHAPTER XXXI.
THE FLIGHT FROM ANGERS.
But that only the more roused the devil in the man; that, and the knowledge that he had his own headstrong act to thank for the position. He looked on the panic-stricken people who, scared by the turmoil without, had come together in the courtyard, wringing their hands and chattering; and his face was so dark and forbidding that fear of him took the place of all other fear, and the nearest shrank from contact with him. On any other entering as he had entered, they would have hailed questions; they would have asked what was amiss, and if the city were rising, and where were Bigot and his men. But Count Hannibal’s eye struck curiosity dumb. When he cried from his saddle, “Bring me the landlord!” the trembling man was found, and brought, and thrust forward almost without a word.
“You have a back gate?” Tavannes said, while the crowd leaned forward to catch his words.
“Yes, my lord,” the man faltered.
“Into the street which leads to the ramparts?”
“Ye-yes, my lord.”
“Then”—to Badelon—“saddle! You have five minutes. Saddle as you never saddled before,” he continued in a low tone, “or” His tongue did not finish the threat, but his hand waved the man away. “For you”—he held
