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As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the

fifty-two were brought in after him, one man stopped in passing,

to embrace him, as having a knowledge of him. It thrilled him

with a great dread of discovery; but the man went on. A very few

moments after that, a young woman, with a slight girlish form, a

sweet spare face in which there was no vestige of colour, and

large widely opened patient eyes, rose from the seat where he had

observed her sitting, and came to speak to him.

"Citizen Evremonde," she said, touching him with her cold hand.

"I am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in La Force."

He murmured for answer: "True. I forget what you were accused

of?"

"Plots. Though the just Heaven knows that I am innocent of any.

Is it likely? Who would think of plotting with a poor little weak

creature like me?"

The forlorn smile with which she said it, so touched him, that

tears started from his eyes.