One by one the windows in the public square were lighted up from within.

The citizens of Boulogne wanted to think over the strange events which had occurred without their knowledge, yet which were apparently to have such direful or such joyous consequences for them.
A man to be captured! the mysterious English adventurer of whom they had all heard, but whom nobody had seen.

And a woman--his wife--to be guarded until the man was safely under lock and key.
Marguerite felt as if she could almost hear them talking it over and vowing that she should not escape, and that the Scarlet Pimpernel should soon be captured.
A gentle wind stirred the old gnarled trees on the southern ramparts, a wind that sounded like the sigh of swiftly dying hope.
What could Percy do now?
His hands were tied, and he was inevitably destined to endure the awful agony of seeing the woman he loved die a terrible death beside him.
Having captured him, they would not keep him long; no necessity for a trial, for detention, for formalities of any kind.

A summary execution at dawn on the public place, a roll of drums, a public holiday to mark the joyful event, and a brave man will have ceased to live, a noble heart have stilled its beatings forever, whilst a whole nation gloried over the deed.
"Sleep, citizens of Boulogne! all is still!" The night watchman had replaced the town-crier.

All was quiet within the city walls: the inhabitants could sleep in peace, a beneficent government was wakeful and guarding their rest.
But many of the windows of the town remained lighted up, and at a little distance below her, round the corner so that she could not see it, a small crowd must have collected in front of the gateway which led into the courtyard of the Gayole Fort.