[The Elusive Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy]@TWC D-Link bookThe Elusive Pimpernel CHAPTER XXVIII: The Midnight Watch 8/11
It looked dark and gloomy enough, save for one window which gave on the southern ramparts.
This window was wide open and a feeble light flickered from the room beyond, and as the men stood about, gazing at the walls in sulky silence, they suddenly caught the sound of a loud laugh proceeding from within, and of a pleasant voice speaking quite gaily in a language which they did not understand, but which sounded like English. Against the heavy oaken gateway, leading to the courtyard of the prison, the proclamation written on stout parchment had been pinned up.
Beside it hung a tiny lantern, the dim light of which flickered in the evening breeze, and brought at times into sudden relief the bold writing and heavy signature, which stood out, stern and grim, against the yellowish background of the paper, like black signs of approaching death. Facing the gateway and the proclamation, the crowd of men took its stand.
The moon, from behind them, cast fitful, silvery glances at the weary heads bent in anxiety and watchful expectancy: on old heads and young heads, dark, curly heads and heads grizzled with age, on backs bent with toil, and hands rough and gnarled like seasoned timber. All night the men stood and watched. Sentinels from the town guard were stationed at the gates, but these might prove inattentive or insufficient, they had not the same price at stake, so the entire able-bodied population of Boulogne watched the gloomy prison that night, lest anyone escaped by wall or window. They were guarding the precious hostage whose safety was the stipulation for their own. There was dead silence among them, and dead silence all around, save for that monotonous tok-tok-tok of the parchment flapping in the breeze.
The moon, who all along had been capricious and chary of her light, made a final retreat behind a gathering bank of clouds, and the crowd, the soldiers and the great grim walls were all equally wrapped in gloom. Only the little lantern on the gateway now made a ruddy patch of light, and tinged that fluttering parchment with the colour of blood.
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