"You, a Commissary of Police, you, who are a magistrate, and know what you are doing, you outrage the National Assembly, you violate the law, you are a criminal!" A hand-to-hand struggle ensued--four against one.

Madame Baze and her two little girls giving vent to screams, the servant being thrust back with blows by the _sergents de ville_.

"You are ruffians," cried out Monsieur Baze.

They carried him away by main force in their arms, still struggling, naked, his dressing-gown being torn to shreds, his body being covered with blows, his wrist torn and bleeding.
The stairs, the landing, the courtyard, were full of soldiers with fixed bayonets and grounded arms.

The Questor spoke to them.