"Oh, better times are coming, better times are coming!" cried Simon
the cobbler, who was close by, with his coarse laugh. "The cardinal
took a girl from the streets for the Queen of France; but wait a
little and we shall see the time when she will have to sweep the
streets with a broom, that the noble people may walk across with dry
feet!"

In the loud laugh with which the crowd greeted this remark of the
cobbler, was mingled one single cry of anger, which, however, was
overborne by the rough merriment of the mass. It came from the lips
of a man in simple citizen's costume, who had plunged into the mob
and worked his way forward with strong arms, in order to reach a
place as near as possible to the entrance-door of the prison, and to
be among the first to learn the impending sentence.

No one, as just said, had heard this cry; no one had troubled
himself about this young man, with the bold defiant face, who, with
shrugged shoulders, was listening to the malicious speeches which
were uttered all around him, and who replied to them all with
flaming looks of anger, pressing his lips closely together, in order
to hold back the words which could hardly be suppressed.

He succeeded at last in reaching the very door of the prison, and
stood directing his eyes thither with gloomy looks of curiosity.

His whole soul lay in this look; he heard nothing of the mocking
speeches which echoed around him; he saw nothing of what took place
about him. He saw only this fatal door; he only heard the noises
which proceeded from within the prison.