Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. “Your success here is absolutely meteoric. But in this posture he fared worse than ever. But that bridge was more remarkable than any the metropolis now possesses. Come along, master. The last piece was Scheherazade. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child.
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