The big blaster and Ciboule, with a good many of their adherents, were among the mob.  After the destruction of Hardy’s factory, the quarryman was formally expelled from the union of the Wolves, who would have nothing more to do with this wretch; since then, he had plunged into the grossest debauchery, and speculating on his herculean strength, had hired himself as the officious champion of Ciboule and her compeers.  With the exception therefore of some chance passengers, the square of Notre-Dame was filled with a ragged crowd, composed of the refuse of the Parisian populace—­wretches who call for pity as well as blame; for misery, ignorance, and destitution, beget but too fatally vice and crime.  These savages of civilization felt neither pity, improvement, nor terror, at the shocking sights with which they were surrounded; careless of a life which was a daily struggle against hunger, or the allurements of guilt, they braved the pestilence with infernal audacity, or sank under it with blasphemy on their lips.

The tall form of the quarryman was conspicuous amongst the rest; with inflamed eyes and swollen features, he yelled at the top of his voice:  “Death to the body-snatchers! they poison the people.”

“That is easier than to feed them,” added Ciboule.  Then, addressing herself to an old man, who was being carried with great difficulty through the dense crowd, upon a chair, by two men, the hag continued:  “Hey? don’t go in there, old croaker; die here in the open air instead of dying in that den, where you’ll be doctored like an old rat.”

“Yes,” added the quarryman; “and then they’ll throw you into the water to feast the fishes, which you won’t swallow any more.”

At these atrocious cries, the old man looked wildly around, and uttered faint groans.  Ciboule wished to stop the persons who were carrying him, and they had much difficulty in getting rid of the hag.  The number of cholera-patients arriving increased every moment, and soon neither litters nor stretchers could be obtained, so that they were borne along in the arms of the attendants.  Several awful episodes bore witness to the startling rapidity of the infection.  Two men were carrying a stretcher covered with a blood-stained sheet; one of them suddenly felt himself attacked with the complaint; he stopped short, his powerless arms let go the stretcher; he turned pale, staggered, fell upon the patient, becoming as livid as him; the other man, struck with terror, fled precipitately, leaving his companion and the dying man in the midst of the crowd.  Some drew back in horror, others burst into a savage laugh.

“The horses have taken fright,” said the quarryman, “and have left the turn-out in the lurch.”

“Help!” cried the dying man, with a despairing accent; “for pity’s sake take me in.”

“There’s no more room in the pit,” said one, in a jeering tone.

“And you’ve no legs left to reach the gallery,” added another.