"  I  don't  hear  it."

"Gone  deaf  in  a  hour.?'"  said  Mr.  Crancher,  ruminating,
with  his  mind  much  disturbed ;  "  wot's  come  to  her  ?  ■"

"  I  feel,'"  said  Miss  Pross,  "  as  if  there  had  been  a  flash  and
a  cra-sh,  and  that  crash  was  the  last  thing  I  should  ever  hear
in  this  life.'"

"  Blest  if  she  ain't  in  a  queer  condition  ! "  said  Mr.  Cruncher,
more  and  more  disturbed.  "  Wot  can  she  have  been  a  takin',
to  keep  her  courage  up .''  Hark !  There's  the  roll  of  them
dreadful  carts !     You  can  hear  that,  miss  ?  "

"I  can  hear,"  said  Miss  Pross,  seeing  that  he  spoke  to  her,
"nothing.  O,  my  good  man,  there  was  first  a  great  crash,
and  then  a  great  stillness,  and  that  stillness  seems  to  be  fixed
and  unchangeable,  never  to  be  broken  any  more  as  long  as
my  life  lasts."

"K  she  don't  hear  the  roll  of  those  dreadful  carts,  now
very  nigh  their  journey's  end,"  said  Mr.  Cruncher,  glancing
over  his  shoulder,  "it's  my  opinion  that  indeed  she  never
■\vill  hear  anything  else  in  this  world."

And  indeed  she  never  did.
CHAPTER    XV.
THE   FOOTSTEPS    DEE   OCT  FOR  EVER.
Along  the  Paris  streets,  the  death-carts  rumble,  hollow  and
harsh.  Six  tumbrils  carry  the  day''s  wine  to  La  Guillotine.
