At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Her little white hand stole across the table. ‘And we shall see which of us is more quick. Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding.
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