“Hush!... sh!... sh!...” came in frightened accents from the crowd.
“Hush, Pierre Maxine!... the Citizen might hear thee,” whispered the man who stood closest to the old fisherman; “the Citizen might hear thee, and think that we rebelled....”
“What are these people doing here?' queried Chauvelin as he passed out into the street.
“They are watching the prison, Citizen,” replied the sentinel, whom he had thus addressed, “lest the female prisoner should attempt to escape.”
With a satisfied smile, Chauvelin turned toward the Town Hall, closely surrounded by his escort. The crowd watched him and the soldiers as they quickly disappeared in the gloom, then they resumed the stolid, wearisome vigil of the night.
The old Beffroi now tolled the midnight hour, the one solitary light in the old Fort was extinguished, and after that the frowning pile remained dark and still.
Chapter XXIX: The National Fete
“Citizens of Boulogne, awake!”
They had not slept, only some of them had fallen into drowsy somnolence, heavy and nerve-racking, worse indeed than any wakefulness.