His face was turned towards the street, and was of a deadly whiteness, while his eyes were screwed up as though he dared not open them upon the horror which faced them.

His voice, however, resounded over the whole place until the air was filled with his screams for mercy.
Above him, at the corner of the balcony, there stood a young man who leaned with a bent back over the balustrades, and who held the dangling dragoon by either ankle.

His face, however, was not directed towards his victim, but was half turned over his shoulder to confront a group of soldiers who were clustering at the long, open window which led out into the balcony.

His head, as he glanced at them, was poised with a proud air of defiance, while they surged and oscillated in the opening, uncertain whether to rush on or to retire.
Suddenly the crowd gave a groan of excitement.

The young man had released his grip upon one of the ankles, and the dragoon hung now by one only, his other leg flapping helplessly in the air.