mistress’s sake.  I thought so too; and in an evil hour I said to Louis:  ’Will you try in secret to get my husband’s mother away, and see that her faithful servant makes her really leave France this time?’ I wrongly asked my brother to do this for a selfish reason of my own—­a reason connected with my married life, which has not been a happy one.  I had not succeeded in gaining my husband’s affection, and was not treated kindly by him.  My brother—­who has always loved me far more dearly, I am afraid, than I have ever deserved—­my brother increased his kindness to me, seeing me treated unkindly by my husband.  This made ill-blood between them.  My thought, when I asked my brother to do for me what I have said, was, that if we two in secret saved my husband’s mother, without danger to him, from imperiling herself and her son, we should, when the time came for speaking of what we had done, appear to my husband in a new and better light.  I should have shown how well I deserved his love, and Louis would have shown how well he deserved his brother-in-law’s gratitude; and so we should have made home happy at last, and all three have lived together affectionately.  This was my thought; and when I told it to my brother, and asked him if there would be much risk, out of his kindness and indulgence toward me, he said ‘No.’  He had so used me to accept sacrifices for my happiness that I let him endanger himself to help me in my little household plan.  I repent this bitterly now; I ask his pardon with my whole heart.  If he is acquitted, I will try to show myself worthier of his love.  If he is found guilty, I, too, will go to the scaffold, and die with my brother, who risked his life for my sake.”

She ceased as quietly as she had begun, and turned once more to her brother.

As she looked away from the court and looked at him, a few tears came into her eyes, and something of the old softness of form and gentleness of expression seemed to return to her face.  He let her take his hand, but he seemed purposely to avoid meeting the anxious gaze she fixed on him.  His head sunk on his breast; he drew his breath heavily, his countenance darkened and grew distorted, as if he were suffering some sharp pang of physical pain.  He bent down a little, and, leaning his elbow on the rail before him, covered his face with his hand; and so quelled the rising agony, so forced back the scalding tears to his heart.  The audience had heard Rose in silence, and they preserved the same tranquillity when she had done.  This was a rare tribute to a prisoner from the people of the Reign of Terror.

The president looked round at his colleagues, and shook his head suspiciously.

“This statement of the female prisoner’s complicates the matter very seriously,” said he.  “Is there anybody in court,” he added, looking at the persons behind his chair, “who knows where the mother of Superintendent Danville and the servant are now?”

Lomaque came forward at the appeal, and placed himself by the table.