I observed one or two faces--brutal, coarse faces--turned our way, and overheard remarks not unmingled with jeers on the lady's plight.

Happily for us, a new humour of the crowd, to make their poor prisoner dismount and carry his own guillotine, swept the crowd in a new direction, and in a moment or two left us standing almost alone on the path.
It was some time before my lady could recover enough to leave the place.
Still longer was it before we had her safe in the attic on the Quai Necker; and ere that happened more than one note of warning had fallen on my ears.
"Save yourselves; you are marked," whispered a voice, as we came to the Quai.
I looked sharply round.

Only a lame road-mender was in sight, and he was too far away to have been the speaker.

The voice was that, I thought, of a person of breeding and sympathy, but its owner, whoever he was, had vanished.
"There they are," said another voice as we entered the doorway.
This time I saw the speaker--a vicious-looking woman, who stood with her friend across the road and pointed our way with her finger.
"So," thought I, as Miss Kit and I carried our fainting burden up the stairs, "we have at least one friend and one enemy in Paris." Not a word did my little mistress and I exchange as we laid my lady on the bed, and took breath after our toilsome ascent.

She tried to smile as I left her to the task of restoration, and retired to my kitchen to prepare our scanty breakfast.
While thus occupied I was startled by a tap at the window, followed by a head which I recognised as that of the road-mender I had lately seen.
He must have crawled along the parapet which connected the houses in our block, or else have been waiting where he was till he could find me alone.
His cap was slouched over his eyes, and his face was as grimy as the roads he mended.