My name was now called. I shall not say with what a throb of heart I
heard it. But at the moment when I was stepping forward, I felt my
skirt pulled by one of the guard behind me. I looked, and recognized
through all his beard, and the hair that in profusion covered his
physiognomy, my police friend, who seemed to possess the faculty of
being every where--a matter, however, rendered easier to him by his
being in the employ of the government--and who simply whispered the
words--"Be firm, and acknowledge nothing." Slight as the hint was, it
had come in good time; for I had grown desperate from the sight of the
perpetual casualties round me, and, like Cassini's idea of the man
walking on the edge of the precipice, had felt some inclination to
jump off, and take my chance. But now contempt and defiance took the
place of despair; and instead of openly declaring my purposes and
performances, my mind was made up to leave them to find out what they
could.

On my being marched up to the foot of the platform between two
frightful-looking ruffians, whose coats and trousers seemed to have
been dyed in gore, to show that they were worthy of the murders of
September, and who, to make "assurance doubly sure," wore on their
sword-belts the word "September," painted in broad characters, I
remained for a while unquestioned, until they turned over a pile of
names which they had flung on the table before them. At last their
perplexity was relieved by one of the clerks, who pronounced my name.
I was then interrogated in nearly the same style as before the
committee of my first captors. I gave them short answers.

"Who are you?" asked the principal distributor of rabble justice. The
others stooped forward, pens in hand, to record my conviction.