his or her turn at the
books.

It was a curious crowd that stood there, in single file, as if waiting
at the door of the cheaper part of a theatre; men in substantial cloth
clothes, and others in ragged blouse and breeches; there were a few
women, too, with black shawls on their shoulders and kerchiefs round
their wan, tear-stained faces.

They were all silent and absorbed, submissive under the rough handling
of the soldiery, humble and deferential when anon the clerk of the
registers entered his box, and prepared to place those fateful books at
the disposal of those who had lost a loved one--father, brother, mother,
or wife--and had come to search through those cruel pages.

From inside his box the clerk disputed every inquirer's right to consult
the books; he made as many difficulties as he could, demanding the
production of certificates of safety, or permits from the section. He
was as insolent as he dared, and Armand from where he stood could see
that a continuous if somewhat thin stream of coppers flowed from the
hands of the inquirers into those of the official.

It was quite dark in the passage where the long queue continued to swell
with amazing rapidity. Only on the ledge in front of the guichet there
was a guttering tallow candle at the disposal of the inquirers.

Now it was Armand's turn at last. By this time his heart was beating so
strongly and so rapidly that he could not have trusted himself to speak.
He fumbled in his pocket, and without unnecessary preliminaries he
produced a small piece of silver, and pushed it towards the clerk, then
he seized on the register marked "Femmes" with voracious avidity.

The clerk had with stolid indifference pocketed the half-livre; he
looked on Armand over a pair of large bone-rimmed spectacles, with the
air of an old hawk that sees a helpless bird and yet is too satiated to
eat. He was apparently vastly amused at Armand's trembling hands, and
the clumsy, aimless way with which he fingered the book and held up the
tallow candle.

"What date?" he asked curtly in a piping voice.

"What date?" reiterated Armand vaguely.

"What day and hour was she arrested?" said the man, thrusting his
beak-like nose closer to Armand's face. Evidently the piece of silver
had done its work well; he meant to be helpful to this country lout.

"On Friday evening," murmured the young man.

The clerk's hands did not in character gainsay the rest of his
appearance; they were long and