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out onemaninitwiththeirswords.Theleadingcuriosityis,toknow whichishehestandsatthebackofthetumbrilwithhishead CharlesDickensElecBookClassics bentdown,toconversewithameregirIwhositsonthesideofthe cart,andholdshishand.Hehasnocuriosityorcareforthescene abouthim,andalwaysspeakstothegirl.Hereandthereinthe longstreetofSt.Honore,criesareraisedagainsthim.Iftheymove himatall,itisonlytoaquietsmile,asheshakeshishairalittle morelooselyabouthisface.Hecannoteasilytouchhisface,his armsbeingbound. Onthestepsofachurch,awaitingthecoming-upofthe tumbrils,standstheSpyandprison-sheep.Helooksintothefirst ofthem:notthere.Helooksintothesecond:notthere.Healready askshimself,“Hashesacrificedme?”whenhisfaceclears,ashe looksintothethird. “WhichisEvremonde?”saysamanbehindhim. “That.Atthebackthere.” “Withhishandinthegirl’s?”