Then one of them stooped to bind my feet together. This was done with a slender simple cord, which enabled me to take very short steps, and it was attached to the one that secured my wrists.
Then the big man threw the waistcoat on my back, tying the sleeves together under my chin. There was nothing more to be done.
The priest now approached with the crucifix.
“Come, my son,” said he.
The assistants put their hands under my arms, and I was lifted up. My steps were slow and tottering.
At the instant, the outer door was thrown wide open, and an irruption of noise, cold air, and blinding light burst in upon the gloom of the chamber. From the darkness I could see through the rain the thousands of heads, all shouting and yelling, piled one upon the other; on the right a line of mounted gendarmes; in front a detachment of infantry; on the left the back of a cart in which was a ladder—a terrible picture framed by the door of the prison. This was the dreaded moment for which I had nerved myself. I made two steps forward, and appeared on the threshold of the door.
“There he is! there he is!” cried the crowd; “he is coming at last!”
And those nearest to me clapped their hands. The king himself is not received with greater honours.
It was a mere ordinary cart, with a miserable hack in it, driven by a man in a blouse. The big man with the three-cornered hat mounted first.
“Good day, Monsieur Sanson,” cried the children.