for a brief minute every eye,
and passing away for ever. Many ascended the platform without a word;
some waved a farewell towards a distant quarter, where they suspected a
friend to be; others spent their last moments in prayer, and died in
the very act of supplication. All bore themselves with a noble and proud
courage; and now some five or six alone remained of whose fate none
seemed to guess the issue, since they had been taken from the Temple by
some mistake, and were not included in the list of the commissary. There
they sat, at the foot of the scaffold, speechless and stupefied--they
looked as though it were matter of indifference to which side their
steps should turn--to the gaol or the guillotine. Among these was the
marquise, who alone preserved her proud self-possession, and sat in all
her accustomed dignity; while close beside her an angry controversy was
maintained as to their future destiny--the commissary firmly refusing
to receive them for execution, and the delegate of the Temple, as he was
styled, as flatly asserting that he would not reconduct them to prison.
The populace soon grew interested in the dispute, and the most violent
altercations arose among the partisans of each side of the question.

Meanwhile the commissary and his assistants prepared to depart. Already
the massive drapery of red cloth was drawn over the guillotine,
and every preparation made for withdrawing, when the mob, doubtless
dissatisfied that they should be defrauded of any portion of the
entertainment, began to climb over the wooden barricades, and, with
furious cries and shouts, threaten vengeance upon any who would screen
the enemies of the people.

The troops resisted the movement, but rather with the air of men
entreating calmness than with the spirit of soldiery. It was plain to
see on which side the true force lay.

'If you will not do it, the people will do it for you,' whispered the
delegate to the commissary; 'and who is to say where they will stop when
their hands once learn the trick!'

The commissary grew lividly pale, and made no reply.

'See there!' rejoined the other--'they are carrying a fellow on their
shoulders yonder--they mean him to be the executioner.'

'But I dare not--I cannot--without my orders.'

'Are not the people sovereign?--whose will have we sworn to obey but
theirs?'

'My own head would be the penalty if I yielded.'

'It will be, if you resist--even now it is too late.'

And as he spok