The Dark Star

Behind them crept Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl: dust and smoke

obscured the place where the mob raged from floor to floor in a frenzy

of destruction, tearing out fixtures, telephones, window-sashes,

smashing tables, bar fixtures, mirrors, ripping the curtains from the

windows and the very carpets from the floor in their overwhelming rage

against this German café.

That apaches had entered with them the mob cared nothing; the red lust

of destruction blinded them to everything except their terrible

necessity for the annihilation of this place.

If they saw murder done, and robbery--if they heard shots in the

tumult and saw pistol flashes through the dust and grey light of

daybreak, they never turned from their raging work.

Out of the frightful turmoil stormed Neeland and Sengoun, their

pistols spitting flame, the two women clinging to their ragged

sleeves. Twice the apaches barred their way with bared knives,

crouching for a rush; but Sengoun fired into them and Neeland's

bullets dropped the ruffian in the striped jersey where he stood over

Stull's twitching body; and the sinister creatures leaped back from

the levelled weapons, turned, and ran.

Through the gaping doorway sprang Sengoun, his empty pistol menacing

the crowd that choked the shadowy street; Neeland flung away his

pistol and turned his revolver on those in the café behind him, as

Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl crept through and out into the

street.

The crowd was cheering and shouting: "Down with the Germans! To the Brasserie Schwarz!"

An immense wave of people surged suddenly across the rue Vilna, headed

toward the German cafés on the Boulevard; and then, for the first

time, Neeland caught sight of policemen standing in little groups,

coolly watching the destruction of the Café des Bulgars.

Either they were too few to cope with the mob, or they were

indifferent as to what was being done to a German café, but one thing

was plain; the police had not the faintest idea that murder had been

rampant in the place. For, when suddenly a dead body was thrown from

the door out on the sidewalk, their police whistles shrilled through

the street, and they started for the mob, resolutely, pushing,

striking with white-gloved fists, shouting for right of way.

Other police came running, showing that they had been perfectly aware

that German cafés were being attacked and wrecked. A mounted inspector

forced his horse along the swarming sidewalk, crying: "Allons! Circulez! C'est défendu de s'attrouper dans la rue! Mais

fichez-moi le camp, nom de Dieu! Les Allemands ne sont pas encore dans

la place!"

Along the street and on the Boulevard mobs were forming and already

storming three other German cafés; a squadron of Republican Guard

cavalry arrived at a trot, their helmets glittering in the increasing

daylight, driving before them a mob which had begun to attack a café

on the corner.