Other torches and candles appeared, and the mob trembled to and fro in delirium.
"The prison! Open the Vier Prison! Break down the doors! Gatd'en'ale--drive out the devils! Free the prisoners--the poor vauriens!" the crowd shouted, rushing forward with sticks and weapons.
The prison arched the street as Temple Bar once spanned the Strand.

They crowded under the archway, overpowered the terror-stricken jailer, and, battering open the door in frenzy, called the inmates forth.
They looked to see issue some sailor seized for whistling of a Sabbath, some profane peasant who had presumed to wear pattens in church, some profaner peasant who had not doffed his hat to the Connetable, or some slip-shod militiaman who had gone to parade in his sabots, thereby offending the red-robed dignity of the Royal Court.
Instead, there appeared a little Frenchman of the most refined and unusual appearance.

The blue cloth of his coat set off the extreme paleness of a small but serene face and high round forehead.

The hair, a beautiful silver grey which time only had powdered, was tied in a queue behind.

The little gentleman's hand was as thin and fine as a lady's, his shoulders were narrow and slightly stooped, his eye was eloquent and benign.