f

Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that

grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the

women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and

tearing at their own friends until they dropped into a passionate

swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from

being trampled under foot.

Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This

Foulon was at the Hotel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if

Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs!

Armed men and women flocked out of the Quarter so fast, and

drew even these last dregs after them with such a force of suction,

that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in

Saint Antoine’s bosom but a few old crones and the wailing

children.

No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination

where this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into

the adjacent open space and streets. The Defarges, husband and

wife, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three, were in the first press,

and at no great distance from him in the Hall.

“See!” cried madame, pointing with her knife. “See the old

villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of

grass upon his back. Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it

now!” Madame put her knife under her arm, and clapped her

Ch