I do not wonder now that I quailed, though sometimes I have heard that sound since.
For there is nothing in the world so dreadful as that brute beast we call the CANAILLE, when the chain is off and its cowardly soul is roused.
Near our end of the street a group of horsemen rising island-like from the sea of heads, sat motionless in their saddles about a gateway.
They were silent, taking no notice of the rioting fiends shouting at their girths, but watching in grim quiet what was passing within the gates.

They were handsomely dressed, although some wore corslets over their satin coats or lace above buff jerkins.

I could even at that distance see the jewels gleam in the bonnet of one who seemed to be their leader.

He was in the centre of the band, a very young man, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, of most splendid presence, sitting his horse superbly.

He wore a grey riding-coat, and was a head taller than any of his companions.