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 Lomaque's joke.
Surrounded by the guard of "Patriots," the procession of
prisoners moved slowly into the outer courtyard, on its way to
the revolutionary tribunal, the humpbacked jailer bringing up the
rear. Lomaque was about to follow at some little distance, but
the head jailer hospitably expostulated.
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