"Go inside!" said the provost sharply, taking her by the arm, and leading her to the door; "'t is your folly that reduces us to this extremity."
Colombe passed through the door, followed by Dame Perrine, to whom fear had lent, if not wings, as to her lovely ward, at least legs, which she thought she had lost ten years before.
The provost closed the door behind them.
"The key! the key!" cried Cellini.
True to his promise, the provost took the key from the lock and threw it over the wall, so that it fell into the courtyard.
"And now," cried Benvenuto, rushing upon the provost and his troop, "every man for himself, and God for us all!"
A terrible struggle ensued, for before the provost's people had time to lower their weapons and fire, Benvenuto with his seven workmen was in their midst, slashing to right and left with the terrible sword which he handled in such masterly fashion, and which, forged by his own hand, met few coats of mail or breastplates able to resist it. The soldiers thereupon cast aside their useless arquebuses, drew their swords, and began to cut and thrust in return. But, despite their numbers and their gallantry, in less time than it takes to write the words, they were scattered all about the square, and two or three of the bravest, wounded so severely that they could tight no longer, were forced to fall back.
The provost saw the danger, and being a brave man, who in his time had achieved some fame as a fighting man, he rushed forward to confront this redoubtable Benvenuto Cellini, whom nobody seemed able to withstand.
"To me!" he cried; "to me, infamous robber! and let us decide the affair! What say you?"
"Oh! I could ask nothing better," replied Benvenuto. "If you will bid your people not to interfere with us, I am your man."