ociferated.
belonged to an idle, vagabond, and depraved populace--the dregs of the
Paris mob; and (terrible spectacle!) the unfortunate beings who were
forcibly carried through the midst of these hideous groups entered the
Hospital, whilst the air resounded with hoarse clamors, and cries of
"Death." Every moment, fresh victims were brought along in litters,
and on stretchers; the litters were frequently furnished with coarse
curtains, and thus the sick occupants were concealed from the public
gaze; but the stretchers, having no covering, the convulsive movements
of the dying patients often thrust aside the sheet, and exposed to
view their faces, livid as corpses. Far from inspiring with terror the
wretches assembled round the Hospital, such spectacles became to them
the signal for savage jests, and atrocious predictions upon the fate of
these poor creatures, when once in the power of the doctors.

The big blaster and Ciboule, with a good many of their adherents, were
among the mob. After the destruction of Hardy's factory, the quarryman
was formally expelled from the union of the Wolves, who would have
nothing more to do with this wretch; since then, he had plunged into
the grossest debauchery, and speculating on his herculean strength, had
hired himself as the officious champion of Ciboule and her compeers.
With the exception therefore of some chance passengers, the square of
Notre-Dame was filled with a ragged crowd, composed of the refuse of
the Parisian populace--wretches who call for pity as well as blame;
for misery, ignorance, and destitution, beget but too fatally vice and
crime. These savages of civilization felt neither pity, improvement, nor
terror, at the shocking sights with which they were surrounded; careless
of a life which was a daily struggle against hunger, or the allurements
of guilt, they braved the pestilence with infernal audacity, or sank
under it with blasphemy on their lips.

The tall form of the quarryman was conspicuous amongst the rest; with
inflamed eyes and swollen features, he yelled at the top of his voice:
"Death to the body-snatchers! they poison the people."

"That is easier than to feed them," added Ciboule. Then, addressing
herself to an old man, who was being carried with great difficulty
through the dense crowd, upon a chair, by two men, the hag continued:
"Hey? don't go in there, old croaker; die here in the open air instead
of dying in that den, where you'll be doctored like a