"Move on!" ordered the police, who were now reinforced by the military.
The crowd yielded on all sides, and the tram rails were once more free.

A few minutes later a closed carriage was driven along the same road.
The glint of a bayonet could be seen through the window. The crowd
flocked after the carriage, but it went so swiftly over the paved road
that the dust flew up under the horses' hoofs, and at length it
vanished in the poplar avenue that led to the prison. Some of the
people stopped, panting, and asked each other why they had run so fast.
"It won't take place to-day. We shall see in the papers when it's to
come off."

"Do you think so? I tell you it's only for specially invited and
honoured guests! The times when executions were conducted in public
are gone, my dear fellow. The people are kept out of the way."

"Patience, my wise compeer! It'll be a people's holiday when the
hangman is hung."

The crowd melted into the ordinary traffic of the street.

A slender, stooping man sat handcuffed between two policemen in the
carriage that rolled along the avenue. He breathed so heavily that his
shoulders heaved up and down. He wore his black coat today, and white
linen appeared at neck and sleeves. His hair was reddish brown, he had
brushed it carefully, and cheeks and chin were shaved smoothly. He had
felt sure that the day would restore him to liberty, or promise it him
at no very distant date. His pale face and sunken cheeks proclaimed
him about forty, but he might have been younger. His blue eyes had a