All this increased his own misery.
What? Alone in the crowd, he must suffer, alone he must lament! He rebelled against it. Was there no one to defy that infamous instrument of torture which had been erected there as an insult to human reason, and which was taken down to be set up elsewhere? It was indeed the end of France! Not one upright soul, not one just man brave enough to cry with outraged conscience: "Down with the scaffold!" Not a single Frenchman to be found to stay his fellow-countrymen, ignorant of true justice, dupes of cruel men in power, and to tear from their hands that ignoble invention, that monument of death, and make a bonfire of it all! Perhaps many thought as he did, but they dared not! ... No, they dared not act! And yet a spark was sufficient to inflame the multitude, frivolous and easily led perhaps, but withal so noble, so humane, so generous!
Olivier crossed the Place de la Révolution, discouraged and down-hearted. He followed the parapet of the bridge without looking where he was going, making his way unconsciously in the direction of the Port-Royal quarter, where the prison lay.
An unexpected sight awaited him before the building. People were briskly entering by the principal door, moving gaily along with cardboard boxes, baskets, and bags. They were certainly neither tradespeople nor officials, for some of them were smartly dressed. They were visitors, perhaps? The thought filled him with joy. Alas! if he were mistaken!
On questioning a guard, his hopes were confirmed. They were visitors, relations or friends of the prisoners, admitted to see them and bring them sweets, fruits, and change of clothes.
"You have some one there?" asked the man.
"My mother and my fiancée"
"You wish to see them?"
"Yes, I do."
"Have you any money?"