e it that de Batz did not philosophise over-much on what went
on around him. He had walked swiftly up the Rue St. Martin, then turning
sharply to his right he found himself beneath the tall, frowning
walls of the Temple prison, the grim guardian of so many secrets, such
terrible despair, such unspeakable tragedies.

Here, too, as in the Place de la Revolution, an intermittent roll of
muffled drums proclaimed the ever-watchful presence of the National
Guard. But with that exception not a sound stirred round the grim and
stately edifice; there were no cries, no calls, no appeals around its
walls. All the crying and wailing was shut in by the massive stone that
told no tales.

Dim and flickering lights shone behind several of the small windows in
the facade of the huge labyrinthine building. Without any hesitation de
Batz turned down the Rue du Temple, and soon found himself in front
of the main gates which gave on the courtyard beyond. The sentinel
challenged him, but he had the pass-word, and explained that he desired
to have speech with citizen Heron.

With a surly gesture the guard pointed to the heavy bell-pull up against
the gate, and de Batz pulled it with all his might. The long clang of
the brazen bell echoed and re-echoed round the solid stone walls. Anon
a tiny judas in the gate was cautiously pushed open, and a peremptory
voice once again challenged the midnight intruder.

De Batz, more peremptorily this time, asked for citizen Heron, with whom
he had immediate and important business, and a glimmer of a piece of
silver which he held up close to the judas secured him the necessary
admittance.

The massive gates slowly swung open on their creaking hinges, and as de
Batz passed beneath the archway they closed again behind him.

The concierge's lodge was immediately on his left. Again he was
challenged, and again gave the pass-word. But his face was apparently
known here, for no serious hindrance to proceed was put in his way.

A man, whose wide, lean frame was but ill-covered by a threadbare coat
and ragged breeches, and with soleless shoes on his feet, was told off
to direct the citoyen to citizen Heron's rooms. The man walked slowly
along with bent knees and arched spine, and shuffled his feet as he
walked; the bunch of keys which he carried rattled ominously in his
long, grimy hands; the passages were badly lighted, and he also carried
a lanthorn to guide himself on the way.

Closely followed by de Bat