The morning came, and the hot summer sunrise. What life was left
in the terrorstruck city awoke for the day faintly; and still the
suspense of the long night remained unlightened. It was drawing
near the hour when the tumbrils were to come for the victims
doomed on the day before. Trudaine's ear could detect even the
faintest sound in the echoing prison region outside his cell.
Soon, listening near the door, he heard voices disputing on the
other side of it. Suddenly, the bolts were drawn back, the key
turned in the lock, and he found himself standing face to face
with the hunchback and one of the subordinate attendants on the
prisoners.
"Look!" muttered this last man sulkily, "there they are, safe in
their cell, just as I said; but I tell you again they are not
down in the list. What do you mean by bullying me about not
chalking their door, last night, along with the rest? Catch me
doing your work for you again, when you're too drunk to do it
yourself!"
"Hold your tongue, and let me have another look at the list!"
returned the hunchback, turning away from the cell door, and
snatching a slip of paper from the other's hand. "The devil take
me if I can make head or tail of it!" he exclaimed, scratching
his head, after a careful examination of the list. "I could swear
that I read over their names at the grate yesterday afternoon
with my own lips; and yet, look as long as I may, I certainly
can't find them written down here.
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