At that moment some one appeared with a light.
"Ah! there's the lantern!" cried the concierge.
When the man had explained that he had not been able to find any matches, the Recorder began to read the paper—
"Sourdeval!" he cried out.
Other lanterns were now lighting up the courtyard and the distracted crowd, and every eye was turned in the direction of the prisoner who had been named.
"Here I am!" cried a voice.
And a man advanced, his head erect, calm and impassive, without casting a single glance on the spectators, knowing no one perhaps. He crossed the line of gendarmes, and disappeared behind the grating to fetch his belongings.
The Recorder proceeded with his grim and gloomy task, drawing tears from some, heart-rending cries from others, and interrupted by murmurs of pity or defiance.
The young de Maillé, who was called among the first, stopped playing with the children to go to his death. An old man, Monsieur de Mauclère, at the sound of his name fainted away, and was carried out. Madame de Narbonne, called also, confided her little daughter to Madame de Choiseul.
"Where are you going, mamma?" asked the child.