Persevering to the last in his practical jest, Lomaque contrived to get close to Trudaine for a minute, and to give him one significant look before he seized him by the shoulders, like the rest.
"Now, then, rear-guard," cried Lomaque, pushing Trudaine on, "close the line of march, and mind you keep step with your young woman there.

Pluck up your spirits, citoyenne! one gets used to everything in this world, even to the guillotine!" While he was speaking and pushing at the same time, Trudaine felt a piece of paper slip quickly between his neck and his cravat.

"Courage!" he whispered, pressing his sister's hand, as he saw her shuddering under the assumed brutality of Lomaque's joke.
Surrounded by the guard of "Patriots," the procession of prisoners moved slowly into the outer courtyard, on its way to the revolutionary tribunal, the humpbacked jailer bringing up the rear.

Lomaque was about to follow at some little distance, but the head jailer hospitably expostulated.

"What a hurry you're in!" said he.