Count Hannibal

There is not a city of France which has not seen it; which has not known

the moment when the mass impended, and it lay with one man to start it or

stay its course. Angers within its houses heard the clamour, and from

the child, clinging to its mother's skirt, and wondering why she wept, to

the Provost, trembled, believing that the hour had come. The Countess

heard it too, and understood it. She caught the savage note in the voice

of the mob--that note which means danger--and, her heart beating wildly,

she looked to her husband. Then, fortunately for her, fortunately for

Angers, it was given to all to see that in Count Hannibal's saddle sat a

man.

He raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or two--not at once, for

the square was dusky--it was obtained. He rose in his stirrups, and

bared his head.

"I am from the King!" he cried, throwing his voice to all parts of the

crowd. "And this is his Majesty's pleasure and good will! That every

man hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or worse! And at

noon his further pleasure will be known! Vive le Roi!"

And he covered his head again.

"Vive le Roi!" cried a number of the foremost. But their shouts were

feeble and half-hearted, and were quickly drowned in a rising murmur of

discontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "Is that all? Is

there no more? Down with the Huguenots!" rose from all parts. Presently

these cries became merged in a persistent call, which had its origin, as

far as could be discovered, in the darkest corner of the square. A call

for "Montsoreau! Montsoreau! Give us Montsoreau!"

With another man, or had Tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed the

least anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that in the

twinkling of an eye. But Count Hannibal, sitting his horse, with his

handful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little moved by it as

the Armed Knight of Notre Dame. Only once did he say a word. Then,

raising his hand as before to gain a hearing-"You ask for Montsoreau?" he thundered. "You will have Montfaucon if you

do not quickly go to your homes!"

At which, and at the glare of his eye, the more timid took fright.

Feeling his gaze upon them, seeing that he had no intention of

withdrawing, they began to sneak away by ones and twos. Soon others

missed them and took the alarm, and followed. A moment and scores were

streaming away through lanes and alleys and along the main street. At

last the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a remnant. They

glanced uneasily at one another and at Tavannes, took fright in their

turn, and plunging into the current hastened away, raising now and then

as they passed through the streets a cry of "Vive Montsoreau!

Montsoreau!"--which was not without its menace for the morrow.