key--where they are. 'What are they?' 'Blood!'

In October, 1791, when the Revolution was at its height here, sixty
persons: men and women ('and priests,' says Goblin, 'priests'):
were murdered, and hurled, the dying and the dead, into this
dreadful pit, where a quantity of quick-lime was tumbled down upon
their bodies. Those ghastly tokens of the massacre were soon no
more; but while one stone of the strong building in which the deed
was done, remains upon another, there they will lie in the memories
of men, as plain to see as the splashing of their blood upon the
wall is now.

Was it a portion of the great scheme of Retribution, that the cruel
deed should be committed in this place! That a part of the
atrocities and monstrous institutions, which had been, for scores
of years, at work, to change men's nature, should in its last
service, tempt them with the ready means of gratifying their
furious and beastly rage! Should enable them to show themselves,
in the height of their frenzy, no worse than a great, solemn, legal
establishment, in the height of its power! No worse! Much better.
They used the Tower of the Forgotten, in the name of Liberty--their
liberty; an earth-born creature, nursed in the black mud of the
Bastile moats and dungeons, and necessarily betraying many
evidences of its unwholesome bringing-up--but the Inquisition used
it in the name of Heaven.

Goblin's finger is lifted; and she steals out again, into the
Chapel of the Holy Office. She stops at a certain part of the
flooring. Her great effect is at hand. She waits for the rest.
She darts at the brave Courier, who is explaining something; hits