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Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded,

and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and

spluttered. "What is it?" cried Lucie, affrighted. "Hush! The

soldiers' swords are sharpened there," said Mr. Lorry. "The place

is national property now, and used as a kind of armoury, my

love."

Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and

fitful. Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly

detached himself from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked

out again. A man, so besmeared that he might have been a sorely

wounded soldier creeping back to consciousness on a field of

slain, was rising from the pavement by the side of the

grindstone, and looking about him with a vacant air. Shortly,

this worn-out murderer descried in the imperfect light one of the

carriages of Monseigneur, and, staggering to that gorgeous

vehicle, climbed in at the door, and shut himself up to take his

rest on its dainty cushions.