arts loaded with victims for the guillotine.
Madame Roland had contemplated her fate too long, and had disciplined
her spirit too severely, to fail of fortitude in this last hour of
trial. She came from her cell scrupulously attired for the bridal of
death. A serene smile was upon her cheek, and the glow of joyous
animation lighted up her features as she waved an adieu to the weeping
prisoners who gathered around her. The last cart was assigned to
Madame Roland. She entered it with a step as light and elastic as if
it were a carriage for a pleasant morning's drive. By her side stood
an infirm old man, M. La Marche. He was pale and trembling, and his
fainting heart, in view of the approaching terror, almost ceased to
beat. She sustained him by her arm, and addressed to him words of
consolation and encouragement, in cheerful accents and with a
benignant smile. The poor old man felt that God had sent an angel to
strengthen him in the dark hour of death. As the cart heavily rumbled
along the pavement, drawing nearer and nearer to the guillotine, two
or three times, by her cheerful words, she even caused a smile faintly
to play upon his pallid lips.

The guillotine was now the principal instrument of amusement for the
populace of Paris. It was so elevated that all could have a good view
of the spectacle it presented. To witness the conduct of nobles and of
ladies, of boys and of girls, while passing through the horrors of a
sanguinary death, was far more exciting than the unreal and bombastic
tragedies of the theater, or the conflicts of the cock-pit and the
bear garden. A countless throng flooded the streets, men, women, and
children, shouting, laughing, execrating. The celebrity of Madame
Roland, her extraordinary grace and beauty, and her aspect, not only
of heroic fearlessness, but of joyous exhilaration, made her the
prominent object of the public gaze. A white robe gracefully enveloped
her perfect form, and her black and glossy hair, which for some reason
the executioners had neglected to cut, fell in rich profusion to her
waist. A keen November blast swept the streets, under the influence of
which, and the excitement of the scene, her animated countenance
glowed with all the ruddy bloom of youth. She stood firmly in the
cart, looking with a serene eye upon the crowds which lined the
streets, and listening with unruffled serenity to the clamor which
filled the air. A large crowd surrounded the cart in which Madame
Rol