"My children, I have been as Judas amongst you, as Judas who betrayed his Lord. I desire to ask pardon of the souls I have offended, before I go to answer for my sin."
Carré stared at him.
"Is he mad?" he asked, with a brutal laugh.
"No, not mad," said M. le Curé quietly.
"Not that it matters having a crack in a head that's so soon to come off," continued the Commissioner. "Take him away. When I want to hear a sermon I 'll send for him"; and out went the curé.
On the road to Paris he was very quiet, sitting for the most part with his head in his hands. After they reached Paris, Mlle Ange and Aline saw him no more. No doubt he perished amongst the hundreds who died and left no sign. As for the women, they were sent to the Abbaye, and there waited for the end.
CHAPTER XXVIII
INMATES OF THE PRISON
It was the first week in July, and heat fetid and airless brooded over the crowded prison. Mlle Ange drooped daily. To all consoling words she made but one reply—"C'est fini"—and at last Aline gave up all attempt at rousing her. After all, what did it matter since they were all upon the edge of death?
There were six people in the small, crowded cell, and they changed continually. No one ever returned, no one was ever released now.