The street--this side street was ablaze with light. From end to
end every gable, every hatchment was glowing, every window was
flickering in the glare of torches. It was paved too with faces
--human faces, yet scarcely human--all looking one way, all
looking upward; and the noise, as from time to time this immense
crowd groaned or howled in unison, like a wild beast in its fury,
was so appalling, that I clutched Pavannes' arm and clung to him
in momentary terror. I do not wonder now that I quailed, though
sometimes I have heard that sound since. For there is nothing in
the world so dreadful as that brute beast we call the CANAILLE,
when the chain is off and its cowardly soul is roused.
Near our end of the street a group of horsemen rising island-like
from the sea of heads, sat motionless in their saddles about a
gateway. They were silent, taking no notice of the rioting
fiends shouting at their girths, but watching in grim quiet what
was passing within the gates. They were handsomely dressed,
although some wore corslets over their satin coats or lace above
buff jerkins.
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