The character of the whole face changed.

He caught up his gay cap and plume, and followed his father into the streets.
Silently the two took their way towards the Barriere du Trone.

At a distance they saw the crowd growing thick and dense as throng after throng hurried past them, and the dreadful guillotine rose high in the light blue air.

As they came into the skirts of the mob, the father, for the first time, took his child's hand.

"I must get you a good place for the show," he said, with a quiet smile.
There was something in the grave, staid, courteous, yet haughty bearing of the man that made the crowd give way as he passed.