he displeasure of the Republic.

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“Is that all? It is not a great deal that! Many are under the

displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little

window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?”

“I am he. Necessarily, being the last.”

It is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions.

It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the

coach door, replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk

round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what

little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging

about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily stare in; a little

child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it

may touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine.

“Behold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, counter-signed.”

“One can depart, citizen?”

“One can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good journey!”

“I salute you, citizens.And the first danger passed!”

These are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his

hands, and looks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is