Scarcely was he out of doors when his wound reopened, the bandage which covered his eyeless socket became stained with blood, and a red streamlet trickled over his cheek and moustache.

He looked frightful in his dumb fury with his pale face and blood-stained bandage, as he ran along closely scrutinising each of the prisoners.

He followed the beams, bending down and going to and fro, making the bravest shudder by his abrupt appearance.

And, all of a sudden: "Ah! the bandit, I've got him!" he cried.
He had just laid his hand on Silvere's shoulder.

Silvere, crouching down on a beam, with lifeless and expressionless face, was looking straight before him into the pale twilight, with a calm, stupefied air.