"What!" the girl exclaimed, astonished, "are you not curious to see how a man can die?" "Curious, yes; but the spectacle is disagreeable to me." "Why? What is more ordinary and commonplace than death?" Barabant, in despair of making her understand, remained silent. "How curious! And when I am at an execution I look different from this?" "Yes." "I seem--?" "Unhuman." She tossed her head in displeasure and said sharply: "I do not like that." "I am frank." Louison remained thoughtfully silent, perturbed and frowning. Then lifting her head, she said gaily, in quite a different manner: "Very well, then; I shall take care how you see me in future." She turned in the direction of the Bastille, and fastening her glance upon the ring of light, said: "It seems to be going away. Perhaps we shall see the woman now." "She comes faster this time," Barabant said as the sound of footsteps warned them of her approach. The next moment a bundle of draperies passed them as a ship scudding before a storm. Louison, watching the woman, closed her hand over Barabant's wrist, allowing an exclamation to escape her. Then, springing forward, she cried: "Eh, mother! Wait a moment!" The fleeting figure turned as though stung, then dashed wildly into the darkness. Louison, with a bound, sprang after her, but suddenly clapping her hand to her forehead, turned and broke past Barabant, who heard only, as she shot on toward the Bastille, the words: "The man with the lantern!" XII THE MASSACRE OF THE PRISONS The next morning Nicole and Geneviève, having breakfasted at noon near the Temple, where the throng collected daily to insult the ears of the royal family, returned slowly toward the Tuileries through the hushed and apprehensive city. Toward three o'clock the long-awaited tocsin sounded from the other side of the river, then the chance burst of a musket and the assembling roll of drums. But this time, in contrast to the night of the 9th of August, there came no spontaneous outpouring into the streets. As the tocsin continued to disturb the air with its violent voice, timid faces appeared at the windows, searching with anxious glances the streets, the opposite walls, in doubt of their neighbors; even the air, as though to discover the reason of the uproar. The streets were emptied; small groups wavered in the entrances, waiting for the first rumors to guide them. As the two girls hesitated, a woman appeared, running toward them, dragging a child at either side. From window and doorway a clamor of questions arose, while many, running into the street, surrounded her and sought to stop her progress. But the woman, resisting all entreaties, cleft the crowd and disappeared, repeating frantically: "They are massacring the prisoners!"