"Drink away, you brutes," Peter muttered to himself. "I wish I could drop a couple of handfuls of arsenic into each of those barrels—not many of you would get back to Marseilles."
As Peter could speak French as well as English he had no fear of his disguise being suspected, and he sauntered up boldly to the crowd. No one paid any attention to him. It was natural enough that fishermen, seeing the flames which were now pouring out from almost every window in the house, should come up and see what was going on. Very many of the crowd were already showing signs that their draughts had been deep ones. They were shouting out scraps of the revolutionary songs; some were howling, "Death to the aristocrats!" In front of the principal entrance a pike was stuck up with a head upon it. Peter strolled towards it, and, as he had feared, soon recognised the features of the baron. Passing by, he came to the entrance; a dozen dead bodies were lying there. It was evident that the baron had, as he said he would, defended it with his servants, and that all had fallen, but not until they had killed at least an equal number of their assailants. Looking about he saw a small group of men standing apart from the house. He directed his steps in that direction, and saw sitting on the ground in their midst the baroness and her two daughters. One of the men who were guarding them came up to him.
"Have you just come up from the sea, comrade?"
"Yes; we were in our boat and saw the flames, so I landed to see what was the matter."
"You see the tyrant is dead. He has saved the guillotine trouble. As for the women, justice will be done on them."
"No doubt, no doubt," Peter said; "but aristocrats though they are, they were kind to tenants on their estate."
"Bah! when every sou had been wrung from them they flung a few back. What goodness was there in that? The aristocrats must be stamped out root and branch; they have fattened too long on the people."
"Yes, the de Vignerolles have been here a long time—hundreds of years they say."
"Yes; think of that, draining the life-blood of France for hundreds of years. However, it is our turn now. Well, by to-morrow morning they will be lodged in the prison, to-morrow they will be tried, and the next morning the guillotine will have the last word with them—we don't waste time with these people. Go over there and get a drink—they have got wine, the nobles have, while we who tend the vines are obliged to drink water."
"When will you start, comrade?"