iron railings that protect the front of the building, behind which was
stationed a detachment of infantry, the cries of "Death to the doctors!"
becoming every moment more threatening. The people who thus vociferated.
belonged to an idle, vagabond, and depraved populace--the dregs of the
Paris mob; and (terrible spectacle!) the unfortunate beings who were
forcibly carried through the midst of these hideous groups entered the
Hospital, whilst the air resounded with hoarse clamors, and cries of
"Death." Every moment, fresh victims were brought along in litters, and
on stretchers; the litters were frequently furnished with coarse
curtains, and thus the sick occupants were concealed from the public
gaze; but the stretchers, having no covering, the convulsive movements of
the dying patients often thrust aside the sheet, and exposed to view
their faces, livid as corpses. Far from inspiring with terror the
wretches assembled round the Hospital, such spectacles became to them the
signal for savage jests, and atrocious predictions upon the fate of these
poor creatures, when once in the power of the doctors.

The big blaster and Ciboule, with a good many of their adherents, were
among the mob. After the destruction of Hardy's factory, the quarryman
was formally expelled from the union of the Wolves, who would have
nothing more to do with this wretch; since then, he had plunged into the
grossest debauchery, and speculating on his herculean strength, had hired
himself as the officious champion of Ciboule and her compeers. With the
exception therefore of some chance passengers, the square of Notre-Dame
was filled with a ragged crowd, composed of the refuse of the Parisian
populace--wretches who call for pity as well as blame; for misery,
ignorance, and destitution, beget but too fatally vice and crime. These
savages of civilization felt neither pity, improvement, nor terror, at
the shocking sights with which they were surrounded; careless of a life
which was a daily struggle against hunger, or the allurements of guilt,