Armand skirted the square clock-tower, and passed through the monumental gateways of the house of Justice.
He knew that his best way to the prison would be through the halls and corridors of the Tribunal, to which the public had access whenever the court was sitting.

The sittings began at ten, and already the usual crowd of idlers were assembling--men and women who apparently had no other occupation save to come day after day to this theatre of horrors and watch the different acts of the heartrending dramas that were enacted here with a kind of awful monotony.
Armand mingled with the crowd that stood about the courtyard, and anon moved slowly up the gigantic flight of stone steps, talking lightly on indifferent subjects.

There was quite a goodly sprinkling of workingmen amongst this crowd, and Armand in his toil-stained clothes attracted no attention.
Suddenly a word reached his ear--just a name flippantly spoken by spiteful lips--and it changed the whole trend of his thoughts.

Since he had risen that morning he had thought of nothing but of Jeanne, and--in connection with her--of Percy and his vain quest of her.

Now that name spoken by some one unknown brought his mind back to more definite thoughts of his chief.
"Capet!" the name--intended as an insult, but actually merely irrelevant--whereby the uncrowned little King of France was designated by the revolutionary party.
Armand suddenly recollected that to-day was Sunday, the 19th of January.
He had lost count of days and of dates lately, but the name, "Capet," had brought everything back: the child in the Temple; the conference in Blakeney's lodgings; the plans for the rescue of the boy.