Meanwhile, the voices on the streets kept shouting:
"Prospero!"
"Pro-o-s-pe-e-ro-o!"
There was a smell of gunpowder in the air.
And, finally, a terrible thing happened.
Ten Guards blocked the road when three of their fellow Guards galloped up with One-Two-Three.
These ten Guards were on foot.
"Halt!" one of the ten commanded.
His blue eyes burned with rage.
"Who are you?" "Can't you see?!" the Guard who had One-Two-Three backwards on his horse said just as angrily.
The horses, which had been reined in at a full gallop, were prancing up and down.
Their bridles jingled.
One-Two-Three was quaking with fear.
It was difficult to decide what was shaking more, he or the bridles.
"We're the Palace Guards of the Three Fat Men!"
"And we're hurrying to the Palace.
Let us pass!"
The blue-eyed Guard pulled a pistol from his belt and said:
"If that's the case, hand over your pistols and swords!
A soldier's weapons should serve the people, not the Three Fat Men!"
The nine other Guards surrounded the riders and pulled out their pistols, too.
The riders grabbed their guns.
One-Two-Three fainted and toppled off the horse.
It is difficult to say when he finally came to again, but, at any rate, it was after the battle between the riders and the rebel Guards was over.
The rebels must have won, for One-Two-Three saw the Guard with whom he had been riding backwards.
The Guard was dead.
"Oh, dear! Blood!" One-Two-Three babbled, closing his eyes.
But what he saw a moment later made him really sick.
His large cardboard box was smashed.
And all his precious belongings had tumbled out.
His lovely suits, his notes and wigs were scattered over the dusty road.
"Oh dear!"
In the heat of battle, the Guard who was supposed to have taken care of the box, had dropped it. It had been squashed on the large paving stones.
"Oh me, oh my!"
One-Two-Three rushed towards his belongings.
He frantically went through the vests, frock-coats, stockings, and shoes with the cheap, glittering buckles.
His grief knew no bounds.
All his things, all his clothes were there, but the most important thing was gone.
While One-Two-Three stood in the middle of the road, raising his little fists to the sky, three riders were galloping towards the Palace of the Three Fat Men.
Before the battle, their horses had belonged to the three Guards who were escorting One-Two-Three the dancing master.
After the battle, when one of them had been killed, and the other two had surrendered and gone over to the side of the people, the victors had found something pink wrapped up in gauze in the dancing master's smashed cardboard box.
Then the three of them had hopped on the captured horses and galloped off.
The blue-eyed Guard who rode on ahead was pressing a pink bundle wrapped in gauze to his breast.
Everything fled from the road.
The Guard had a red ribbon tied to his hat.
That meant that he had gone over to the side of the people.
The people along the way (if they weren't fat men or gluttons, naturally) applauded him as he rode by.
But those who looked closely were soon staring in amazement: for there, from the bundle the Guard was pressing to his chest, hung a little girl's legs with pink shoes and gold rosebud buckles.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VICTORY