Lomaque's joke.

Surrounded by the guard of "Patriots," the procession of prisoners
moved slowly into the outer courtyard, on its way to the revolutionary
tribunal, the humpbacked jailer bringing up the rear. Lomaque was
about to follow at some little distance, but the head jailer hospitably
expostulated. "What a hurry you're in!" said he. "Now that incorrigible
drinker, my second in command, has gone off with his batch, I don't mind
asking you to step in and have a drop of wine."

"Thank you," answered Lomaque; "but I have rather a fancy for hearing
the trial this morning. Suppose I come back afterward? What time do you
go to your Section? At two o'clock, eh? Good! I shall try if I can't
get here soon after one." With these words he nodded and went out. The
brilliant sunlight in the courtyard made him wink faster than ever. Had
any of his old enemies been with him, they would have whispered within
themselves, "If you mean to come back at all, Citizen Lomaque, it will
not be soon after one!"

On his way through the streets, the chief agent met one or two police
office friends, who delayed his progress; so that when he arrived at the
revolutionary tribunal the trials of the day were just about to begin.

The principal article of furniture in the Hall of Justice was a long,
clumsy, deal table, covered with green baize. At the head of this
table sat the president and his court, with their hats on, backed by
a heterogeneous collection of patriots officially connected in various
ways with the proceedings that were to take place. Below the front of
the table, a railed-off space, with a gallery beyond, was appropriated
to the general public--mostly represented, as to the gallery, on
this occasion, by women, all sitting together on forms, knitting,
shirt-mending, and baby-linen-making, as coolly as if they were at home.
Parallel with the side of the table furthest from the great door
of entrance was a low platform railed off, on which the prisoners,
surrounded by their guard, were now assembled to await their trial. The
sun shone in brightly from a high window, and a hum of ceaseless talking
pervaded the hall cheerfully as Lomaque entered it. He was a privileged
man here, as at the prison; and he made his way in by a private door, so
as to pass to the prisoners' platform, and to walk round it, before he
got to a place behind the president's chair. Trudaine, standing with
his sister on the outermost limits of the group, nodd