At the present time, when everybody went in terror of his life, and to be suspected of any design against the liberties of France was the same thing as being condemned for it, it was no easy task even for the most innocent and well-conducted traveller to get clear of a town like Brest.
The few merchants and tourists and nervous women who ventured were made to pass through a row of soldiers, who examined their passports narrowly, and sometimes ordered them to stand aside for further inquiry; a command which sent the blood out of the cheeks of him who heard it, and made him think no more of the mail-coach but of the low tumbrel on which the victims of the guillotine took their last dreadful drive.
Even while I stood, there was one woman--a would-be traveller--who failed to satisfy the officer on guard, and who, on being ordered back, fell on her knees with shrieks and begged for mercy.

And not one of those who stood gaping beside me but said she would be in luck if she got it.
Still more fuss was made about a horseman who demanded leave to ride forward to Paris on an errand of hot haste.

He was, to all appearance, a gentleman's lackey, and, from the little I heard of the talk, spoke English easier than French.

He was ordered to dismount while the officer carefully read his passport by the light of a lantern and inspected his letters of introduction and even of credit.

Finally, after much suspense, he was allowed to remount, which he did in less than a moment, and clattered away through the pouring rain out into the wet night.
The sight of him made me envious indeed.