ng, spitting, and swearing. Between the
patriots and the prisoners sat, on a rickety stool, the second jailer--a
humpbacked man, with an immense red mustache--finishing his breakfast of
broad beans, which he scooped out of a basin with his knife, and washed
down with copious draughts of wine from a bottle. Carelessly as Lomaque
looked at the shocking scene before him, his quick eyes contrived to
take note of every prisoner's face, and to descry in a few minutes
Trudaine and his sister standing together at the back of the group.

"Now then, Apollo!" cried the head jailer, addressing his subordinate
by a facetious prison nickname, "don't be all day starting that
trumpery batch of yours. And harkye, friend, I have leave of absence, on
business, at my Section this afternoon. So it will be your duty to read
the list for the guillotine, and chalk the prisoners' doors before the
cart comes to-morrow morning. 'Ware the bottle, Apollo, to-day; 'ware
the bottle, for fear of accidents with the death-list to-morrow."

"Thirsty July weather, this--eh, citizen?" said Lomaque, leaving the
head jailer, and patting the hunchback in the friendliest manner on the
shoulder. "Why, how you have got your batch huddled up together this
morning! Shall I help you to shove them into marching order? My time is
quite at your disposal. This is a holiday morning with me!"

"Ha, ha, ha! what a jolly dog he is on his holiday morning!" exclaimed
the head jailer, as Lomaque--apparently taking leave of his natural
character altogether in the exhilaration of an hour's unexpected
leisure--began pushing and pulling the prisoners into rank, with
humorous mock apologies, at which not the officials only, but many of
the victims themselves--reckless victims of a reckless tyranny--laughed
heartily. Persevering to the last in his practical jest, Lomaque
contrived to get close to Trudaine for a minute, and to give him one
significant look before he seized him by the shoulders, like the rest.
"Now, then, rear-guard," cried Lomaque, pushing Trudaine on, "close the
line of march, and mind you keep step with your young woman there. Pluck
up your spirits, citoyenne! one gets used to everything in this world,
even to the guillotine!"

While he was speaking and pushing at the same time, Trudaine felt a
piece of paper slip quickly between his neck and his cravat. "Courage!"
he whispered, pressing his sister's hand, as he saw her shuddering under
the assumed brutality of