And the hateful monstrosity of it all howled aloud under the pale sky where the first pure, twinkling stars were gleaming.
A great shudder came upon Pierre as he thought of all that mass of iniquity and suffering, of all that went on below amid want and crime, and all that went on above amid wealth and vice.

The _bourgeoisie_, wielding power, would relinquish naught of the sovereignty which it had conquered, wholly stolen, while the people, the eternal dupe, silent so long, clenched its fists and growled, claiming its legitimate share.

And it was that frightful injustice which filled the growing gloom with anger.

From what dark-breasted cloud would the thunderbolt fall?
For years he had been waiting for that thunderbolt which low rumbles announced on all points of the horizon.

And if he had written a book full of candour and hope, if he had gone in all innocence to Rome, it was to avert that thunderbolt and its frightful consequences.