Then one of the men stooped down and fastened a small cord to my ankles, which restricted my steps; and this was again tied to the cord around my wrists; finally, the tall man threw my jacket over my shoulders, and tied the sleeves in front. All was now completed. Then the Priest drew near with his Crucifix. “Come, my son,” said he. The men raised me by my arms; and I walked, but my steps were weak and tottering. At this moment the folding doors were thrown open. A furious clamour, a chill breeze, and a strong white light reached me in the shade. From the extreme of the dark chamber I saw through the rain a thousand yelling heads of the expectant mass. On the right of the doorway, a range of mounted gendarmes; in front, a detachment of soldiers; on the left, the back of the cart, with a ladder. A hideous picture, with the appropriate frame of a prison-door. It was for this dread moment that I had reserved my courage. I advanced a few steps, and appeared on the threshold. “There he is! there he is!” bellowed the crowd. “He’s come out at last!” and the nearest to me clapped their hands. Much as a king might be loved, there could not be more greeting for him. The tall man first ascended the cart. “Good morning, _Mr. Sampson_!” cried the children hanging by the lamp-posts. One of his servants next followed. “Bravo, _Tuesday_!” cried out the children, as the two placed themselves on the front seat. It was now my turn, and I mounted with a firm step. “He goes well to it!” said a woman beside the gendarmes. This atrocious commendation gave me courage. The Priest took his seat beside me. They had placed me on the hindmost seat, my back towards the horse. I shuddered at this last attention. There is a mixture of humanity in it. I wished to look around me,--gendarmes before and behind: then crowd! crowd! crowd! A sea of heads in the street. The officer gave the word, and the procession moved on, as if pushed forward by a yell from the populace. “Hats off! hats off!” cried a thousand voices together, as if for the King. Then I laughed horribly also myself, and said to the Priest, “Their hats--my head.” We passed a street which was full of public-houses, in which the windows were filled with spectators, seeming to enjoy their good places, particularly the women. There were also people letting out tables, chairs, and carts; and these dealers in human life shouted out, “Who wishes for places?” A strange rage seized me against these wretches, and I longed to shout out to them, “Do you wish for mine?”