These steps drew near to his dungeon, the door was thrown open, and the guards appeared.
"Follow me," said an officer, who came up behind the guards.
"Follow you!" cried Bonacieux, "follow you at this hour! Where, my God ?" "Where we have orders to lead you." "But that is not an answer." "It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give." "Ah, my God, my God!" murmured the poor mercer, "now, indeed, I am lost!" And he followed the guards who came for him, mechanically and without resistance.
He passed along the same corridor as before, crossed one court, then a second side of a building; at length, at the gate of the entrance court he found a carriage surrounded by four guards on horseback.

They made him enter this carriage, the officer placed himself by his side, the door was locked, and they were left in a rolling prison.

The carriage was put in motion as slowly as a funeral car.

Through the closely fastened windows the prisoner could perceive the houses and the pavement, that was all; but, true Parisian as he was, Bonacieux could recognize every street by the milestones, the signs, and the lamps.
At the moment of arriving at St.Paul--the spot where such as were condemned at the Bastille were executed--he was near fainting and crossed himself twice.

He thought the carriage was about to stop there.
The carriage, however, passed on.
Farther on, a still greater terror seized him on passing by the cemetery of St.Jean, where state criminals were buried.