From the upper balcony, hanging head downward, was a man clad in the bright blue coat and white breeches of one of the King's dragoons. His hat and wig had dropped off, and his close-cropped head swung slowly backward and forward a good fifty feet above the pavement. His face was turned toward the street, and was of a deadly whitness, while his eyes were screwed up as though he dared not open them on the horror which faced them. His voice, however, resounded over the whole place untill the air was filled with his screams for mercy. Above him, at the corner of the balcony, there stood a young man who leaned with a bent back over the balustrade, and who held the dangling dragoon by each ankle.
