One evening, he was returning after supper to his lodging, when
Stanislas met him.
"I observed three or four evil-looking rascals casting glances at
the house today, and there are several rough-looking fellows
hanging about the house this evening. I do not know if it means
anything, but I thought I would let you know."
"I think it must be only your fancy, Stanislas. I might be arrested
by the troops, were I denounced, but I apprehend no danger from men
of the class you speak of. However, if we should be interfered
with, I fancy we could deal with several rascals of that sort."
At the corner of his street, three or four men were standing. One
of them moved, as he passed, and pushed rudely against him, sending
his hat into the gutter. Then, as his face was exposed, the fellow
exclaimed:
"It is he, death to the Swedish spy!"
They were the last words he uttered. Charlie's sword flew from its
scabbard, and, with a rapid pass, he ran the man through the body.
The others drew instantly, and fell upon Charlie with fury, keeping
up the shout of, "Death to the Swedish spy!" It was evidently a
signal--for men darted out of doorways, and came running down the
street, repeating the cry.
"Go, Stanislas!" Charlie shouted, as he defended himself against a
dozen assailants.
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