What? Alone in the crowd, he must suffer, alone he must lament! He rebelled against it. Was there no one to defy that infamous instrument of torture which had been erected there as an insult to human reason, and which was taken down to be set up elsewhere? It was indeed the end of France! Not one upright soul, not one just man brave enough to cry with outraged conscience: "Down with the scaffold!" Not a single Frenchman to be found to stay his fellow-countrymen, ignorant of true justice, dupes of cruel men in power, and to tear from their hands that ignoble invention, that monument of death, and make a bonfire of it all! Perhaps many thought as he did, but they dared not! ... No, they dared not act! And yet a spark was sufficient to inflame the multitude, frivolous and easily led perhaps, but withal so noble, so humane, so generous! Olivier crossed the Place de la Révolution, discouraged and down-hearted. He followed the parapet of the bridge without looking where he was going, making his way unconsciously in the direction of the Port-Royal quarter, where the prison lay. An unexpected sight awaited him before the building. People were briskly entering by the principal door, moving gaily along with cardboard boxes, baskets, and bags. They were certainly neither tradespeople nor officials, for some of them were smartly dressed. They were visitors, perhaps? The thought filled him with joy. Alas! if he were mistaken! On questioning a guard, his hopes were confirmed. They were visitors, relations or friends of the prisoners, admitted to see them and bring them sweets, fruits, and change of clothes. "You have some one there?" asked the man. "My mother and my _fiancée_" "You wish to see them?" "Yes, I do." "Have you any money?" Olivier had already offered him a piece of gold. "Oh! not for me, for the concierge," the man protested as he beckoned to Olivier to follow him. Passing through the gateway, he presented him to the concierge, a little man, thick set, brisk, and sly, who, seeing them in the distance, had understood Olivier's object, and now asked him the name of the prisoners he wished to see. "The citoyennes Durand? Very good! Follow me. They must be in the Acacia Court;" and turning round, he added-- "Here is a card which you will return to me when you come out." He then crossed a dark, narrow corridor, and stopped before an iron grating, which he opened for Olivier to pass in. As he showed him the courtyard he said laughing-- "You will recognise them, won't you?" And he went away, shutting the grating. CHAPTER VI THE PRISON OF LA BOURSE