An oath burst from his lips, and he struck his fist, in impotent
fury, on a table near him.
"The seals are set on everything in this room and in the
bedroom," said Magloire, approaching Lomaque, who nodded and
signed to him to bring up the other police agents at the door.
"Ready," cried Magloire, coming forward immediately with his men,
and raising his voice to make himself heard. "Where to?"
Robespierre and his Hard-hitters were passing the house. The
smoke of the torch-light was rolling in at the window; the
tramping footsteps struck heavier and heavier on the ground; the
low sullen roar of the Marseillaise was swelling to its loudest,
as Lomaque referred for a moment to his arrest-order, and then
answered:
"To the prison of St. Lazare!"
CHAPTER III.
The head jailer of St. Lazare stood in the outer hall of the
prison, two days after the arrest at Trudaine's lodgings, smoking
his morning pipe. Looking toward the courtyard gate, he saw the
wicket opened, and a privileged man let in, whom he soon
recognized as the chief agent of the second section of Secret
Police. "Why, friend Lomaque," cried the jailer, advancing
toward the courtyard, "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 jailer is getting
on.
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