At the same moment the registrar, to avoid all accusation of connivance, went and seated himself near Fouquier Tinville, leaving the management of the office to his head clerk.
At ten minutes to three, Maurice, furnished with the pass, crossing a hedge of turnkeys and gendarmes, arrived without interruption at the fatal door.
When we say fatal, we exaggerate, for there were two doors,—the principal one by which those possessing passes entered and returned; and the door of the condemned, by which no one departed except to the scaffold.
The place that Maurice entered was divided into two compartments. One of these was set apart for those employed in registering the name of the arrivals; the other, furnished only with wooden benches, was appropriated for the reception of those who were arrested and those who were condemned, which amounted to pretty nearly the same thing.
The hall was very dark, lighted only from the panes of the partition which divided it from the register-office.
A female dressed in white, in a half-fainting attitude, lay in a corner, supported against the wall.
A man was standing in front of her, from time to time shaking his head. His arms were crossed upon his breast, and he hesitated to speak to her, as if fearful of restoring her to the consciousness she appeared to have lost.
Around these two individuals several condemned persons were scattered promiscuously,—some giving vent to their feelings in sobs and groans, others joining in patriotic songs, while the remainder walked rapidly up and down, as if to chase away the thoughts which devoured them.