The poor old
men crouching in the halls were confessing to the cures, expecting
death every moment; but, happily, even that long July evening had an
end; darkness came down on them, and there were no lights. The mob
went tumbling about, at a greater loss than the deputies and
magistrates, who did at least know the way. Clement, with a poor old
gouty echevin on his arm, struggled out, he knew not how, into one of
the passages, where a fellow rushed at them, crying, 'Down with the
Mazarins!' but Clement knew by his voice that he was no soldier or
bandit, but a foolish artisan, and at haphazard said: 'Come, come, my
good lad, none of this nonsense. This gentleman will give you a
crown if you will help him out.'
The man obeyed directly, muttering that he only did as others did;
and when they had got out into the street, Clement, finding himself
not far from the place where the lights and voices showed him that
some one was in command, managed to get to the mercer's shop with the
poor old echevin, where he found M. de Beaufort, with his hair
shining in the lamplight, his yellow scarf, and his long white
feather, hanging over the features that were meant to be like an
angel's. When Clement, in aftertimes, read the Puritan poet Milton's
PARADISE LOST, he said he was sure that some of the faces of the
fallen spirits in Pandemonium had that look of ruined beauty that he
saw in the King of the Markets on that night.
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