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1There was no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting rest, no measurement of time. Though days and nights
2circled as regularly as when time was young, and the evening and morning were the first day, other count of time there
3was none. Hold of it was lost in the raging fever of a nation, as it is in the fever of one patient. Now, breaking the
4unnatural silence of a whole city, the executioner showed the people the head of the king--and now, it seemed almost in
5the same breath, the head of his fair wife which had had eight weary months of imprisoned widowhood and misery, to turn
6it grey. And yet, observing the strange law of contradiction which obtains in all such cases, the time was long, while
7it flamed by so fast. A revolutionary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand revolutionary committees all
8over the land; a law of the Suspected, which struck away all security for liberty or life, and delivered over any good
9and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged with people who had committed no offence, and could obtain
10no hearing; these things became the established order and nature of appointed things, and seemed to be ancient usage
11before they were many weeks old. Above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had been before the general
12gaze from the foundations of the world--the figure of the sharp female called La Guillotine. It was the popular theme
13for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented the hair from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar
14delicacy to the complexion, it was the National Razor which shaved close: who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the
15little window and sneezed into the sack. It was the sign of the regeneration of the human race. It superseded the Cross.
16Models of it were worn on breasts from which the Cross was discarded, and it was bowed down to and believed in where the
17Cross was denied. It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted, were a rotten red. It was
18taken to pieces, like a toy-puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again when the occasion wanted it. It hushed
19the eloquent, struck down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty-two friends of high public mark,
20twenty-one living and one dead, it had lopped the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes. The name of the strong
21man of Old Scripture had descended to the chief functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than his
22namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of God's own Temple every day. Among these terrors, and the brood
23belonging to them, the Doctor walked with a steady head: confident in his power, cautiously persistent in his end, never
24doubting that he would save Lucie's husband at last. Yet the current of the time swept by, so strong and deep, and
25carried the time away so fiercely, that Charles had lain in prison one year and three months when the Doctor was thus
26steady and confident. So much more wicked and distracted had the Revolution grown in that December month, that the
27rivers of the South were encumbered with the bodies of the violently drowned by night, and prisoners were shot in lines
28and squares under the southern wintry sun. Still, the Doctor walked among the terrors with a steady head. No man better
29known than he, in Paris at that day; no man in a stranger situation. Silent, humane, indispensable in hospital and
30prison, using his art equally among assassins and victims, he was a man apart. In the exercise of his skill, the
31appearance and the story of the Bastille Captive removed him from all other men. He was not suspected or brought in
32question, any more than if he had indeed been recalled to life some eighteen years before, or were a Spirit moving among
33mortals.
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