CHAPTER XXX
THE TROOPS MARCH
THE week that followed was a wild one indeed for Morvaix, and the citizens, freed suddenly from the blighting curse of the Tiger's rule, gave themselves up, all classes alike, to a carnival of revelry and rejoicing.
The news of the strange occurrences which had culminated in the Governor's death was carried far and wide through the city the same night by the liberated prisoners, who streamed out of the Castle in a gay throng, laughing and jesting, straining their throats with shouts and cheers for Gerard and Gabrielle, Bourbon and Malincourt, and jostling and shouldering one another in the mad race to be first to tell the glad tidings.
A garbled and distorted tale it was they told in describing the scene, the true meaning of which, although they had witnessed it, they could but imperfectly understand. But the main fact spoke for itself. The Tyrant was dead—had died by his own hand, rather than face the anger of the Great Bourbon who had brought an army to punish him and save the city.
They had seen this with their own eyes, and with their own ears had heard the words with which Gerard had afterwards dismissed them, promising solemnly good government for the future, relief from the grinding taxation and redress for their long suffered wrongs. And the whole livelong night was spent in rejoicing.
The morrow found the great news confirmed. A proclamation was issued from the Castle announcing
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