The audience had risen, waving hats and handkerchiefs to bid them God- speed, and then poured forth into the streets, shouting the chorus, and cheering till they were hoarse and tired. It was into a party of such loyal revellers that I found myself sucked before I was half-way out of the Rue d'Agnes; and yelling and shouting at the top of my voice I passed safely the guards, and reached the broad Rue Saint Honore. Here the crowd gradually dispersed, some one way, some another, while a few, with cries of "_A la Place_," held on in company. With these I joined myself, and presently came to a great open square, where on a high platform stood a grim and terrible looking object. "_Vive la guillotine_!" shouted the crowd as they caught sight of it. It was strangely lit up with the glare of the torches of some workmen who were evidently busy upon it. I could see the fatal knife being raised once or twice and let fall with a crash by way of experiment. And each time the crowd cheered and laughed, and invited one of their number to ascend the platform and put his head in the empty collar. It made me sick to watch it, yet for safety's sake I had to shout "_Vive la guillotine_!" with the rest of them, and laugh with the loudest. Presently some one near noticed me and caught me by the arm. "Here is one that will do, Citoyen Samson. Lift him up, comrades. Let us see if the knife is sharp enough." At the touch of his hand I broke into a cold sweat, and clung to his knees amid shouts of laughter. It was all very well for them, who were used to such jests. I was new to it, and fell a victim to a panic such as I have never known since. A herculean strength seemed to possess me. I flung my tormentors right and left, and darted away from them into the dark recesses of the surrounding gardens. They began by giving chase, but in the end let me go, and returned to their more congenial spectacle, and presently, tired even of that, went home to bed. It was an hour before I durst look out from my hiding-place in the midst of a clump of thick bushes. I could still see the guillotine looming in the moonlight; but the workmen, like the sightseers, had gone. The only living persons were a few women, who had seated themselves on one of the benches in front of the instrument, evidently determined on a good view of to-morrow's spectacle. I retreated to my hiding-place with a shudder, glad I was too far away to overhear their talk. But if I heard not theirs, I heard, oddly enough, another conversation, so near that had it been intended for my ears it could not have taken place in a better spot. One of the speakers, by his voice, was an Englishman, of more than middle age; the other, a woman, who also spoke English, but with a foreign accent. This is what I heard, and you may guess how much of it I comprehended:-- "No news yet?" said the old man anxiously. "None. I expected to hear before this." "Who is the messenger?"