Part 20 (2/2)

”A pretty one--eh, Jean?” he commented to his a.s.sistant.

Between the two, they had strapped her unresisting on the board. They lowered it below the razor edge of the knife, so that she lay p.r.o.ne with her neck directly underneath. The finale was to fasten on the neck piece, a round-holed cross board which prevented the head from drawing back....

Alas! what avails it that five miles away--in the heart of the city--the hoofbeats of a company of cavalry resound rhythmically over the flagstones?

Danton and his Northern riders are straining every nerve, galloping their steeds furiously--eyes fixed on the seeming-impossible goal.

Rather are they modern centaurs, each rider and steed a unit of undivisible will and energy: Danton a furious resistless hippogriff, fire-striking, fire-exhaling, in unity with his white charger; the lean-jawed, sternly set Captain on his lean galloping Arabian, cyclonic, onrus.h.i.+ng like some Spectral Horseman; the rest riding like the Valkyries--as it were, twixt Heaven and earth--their galloping beats scorning the ground as they rush by to the hissing of the cleaved and angry winds.

But what avails it?...

Even on the straightway 'twere a quarter-hour ride to the outer-suburban locality where the guillotine does its dreadful work. Ancient Paris with its tortuous streets delays them. Ahead, are Jacques-Forget-Not--Jacobin troops--barriers--gates.

Poor little Henriette's golden head!

Is it not fated to drop in the basket long, long before they can appear?

CHAPTER XXVIII

MANIAC WITH A DAGGER

A sansculotte soldier, less brutal than his fellows, had allowed Louise and Pierre to approach one side of the scaffold. They were more privileged than the frantic Picard, who could not get near his young master and mistress. Revolutionary infantry guarded every side of the public square. Intermingled among them were the favored hoodlums of the Jacobin party, execrating the victims and howling with glee whenever the dread axe fell.

Among the riff-raff, Mere Frochard and her precious son Jacques Frochard were conspicuous. For no particular reason they were gloating over the cutting-off of aristocrats, whilst indulging in rough horseplay at the expense of the friends of the condemned. Picard's quaint look of helpless sympathy excited ready mirth.

”Sniveling over those good-for-nothings, eh?” La Frochard curled her heavy moustachioed lip in scorn.

”We'll find a way to make that sensitive young man feel something--”

she confided to Jacques. A moment later she had pulled over a sansculotte's bayonet, with which she executed a neat jab into Picard's anatomy.

Picard leaped in the air like a jumping jack. When he descended to earth and turned to survey the cause of his torment, he faced but an impa.s.sive trooper with weapon at parade rest and the grinning countenances of Mere and Jacques Frochard, convulsed with laughter.

Picard decided the vicinity of the guillotine was almost as dangerous for him as for his master. He edged out of range, biding the occasion for a counter-thrust....

Pierre and Louise stood on the other side of the scaffold, the heavy structure of which quite hid the ruffian Frochards and their horseplay with Picard.

Henriette had been borne up the steps of the guillotine a few moments before Pierre and Louise reached the scene. The cripple, terribly excited, was telling Louise of Henriette's being strapped to the board and shoved toward the knife vent.

”That big murderer is going to kill her!” hissed Pierre.

Louise's blind features became contorted with agony. Large tear drops fell from her eyes. Both arms were extended toward her sister above, then clawed convulsively at Pierre.

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