the court-yard, " what brings you here this
morning, business, or pleasure?"

"Pleasure, this time, citizen. I have an
idle hour or two to spare for a walk. I
find myself passing the prison, and I can't
resist calling in to see how my friend
the head-gaoler is getting on." Lomaque
spoke in a surprisingly brisk and airy
manner. His eyes were suffering under a
violent lit of weakness and winking; but he
smiled, notwithstanding, with an air of the
most inveterate cheerfulness. Those old
enemies of his, who always distrusted him most
when his eyes were most affected, would
have certainly disbelieved every word of
the friendly speech he had just made, and
would have assumed it as a matter of fact
that his visit to the head-gaoler had some
specially underhand business at the bottom
of it.

"How am I getting on? " said the gaoler,
shaking his head. " Overworked, friend—
overworked. No idle hours in our department.
Even the guillotine is getting too slow
for us!"

"Sent off your batch of prisoners for trial
this morning? " asked Lomaque, with an
appearance of perfect unconcern.

"No; they're just going," answered the
other. " Come and have a look at them."
He spoke as if the prisoners were a collection
of pictures on view, or a set of dresses just
made up. Lomaque nodded his head, still
with his air of happy holiday carelessness.
The gaoler led the way to an inner hall; and,
pointing lazily with his pipe-stem, said: " Our
morning batch, citizen, just ready for the
baking."

In one corner of the hall were huddled
together more than thirty men and women,
of all ranks and ages; some staring round
them, with looks of blank despair; some
laughing and gossiping, recklessly. Near
them lounged a guard of " Patriots,"
smoking, spitting, and swearing. Between
the patriots and the prisoners sat, on
a ricketty stool, the second gaoler—a hump-
backed man, with an immense red
moustachio—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 the 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-
gaoler, 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-gaoler, 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-
gaoler, 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 Lomaque's joke.

Surrounded by the guard of "patriots," the
procession of prisoners moved slowly into the
outer court-yard, on its way to the
revolutionary tribunal, the hump-backed gaoler
bringing up the rear. Lomaque was about
to follow at some little distance; but the
head-gaoler hospitably expostulated. " What
a hurry you're in! " said he. " Now that
incorrigible drinker, my second in command,
has gone off with his batch, I don't mind
asking you to step in, and have a drop of
wine."

"Thank you," answered Lomaque; " but I
have rather a fancy for hearing the trial this
morning. Suppose I come back afterwards?
What time do you go to your section? At
two o'clock, eh? Good! I shall try if I
can't get here soon after one." With these
words he nodded and went out. The brilliant
sunlight in the court-yard made him wink
faster than ever. Had any of his old enemies
been with him, they would have whispered
within themselves—" If you mean to come
back at all, citizen Lomaque, it will not be
soon after one!"

On his way through the streets, the chief-
agent met one or two police-office friends, who
delayed his progress; so that when he arrived
at the revolutionary tribunal, the trials of
the day were just about to begin. The