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Page 886 of 896

Author: Charles Dickens

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There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the
tumbrils, and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they
are asked some question. It would seem to be always the same
question, for, it is always followed by a press of people towards
the third cart. The horsemen abreast of that cart, frequently
point out one man in it with their swords. The leading curiosity
is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbril
with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits on
the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or
care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here
and there in the long street of St. Honore, cries are raised
against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet
smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his
face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound.

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