and stood, shouting, "To the guillotine! to the guillotine!" She
looked kindly upon them, and, bending over the railing of the cart,
said to them, in tones as placid as if she were addressing her own
child, "My friends, I _am_ going to the guillotine. In a few moments I
shall be there. They who send me thither will ere long follow me. I go
innocent. They will come stained with blood. You who now applaud our
execution will then applaud theirs with equal zeal."

Madame Roland had continued writing her memoirs until the hour in
which she left her cell for the scaffold. When the cart had almost
arrived at the foot of the guillotine, her spirit was so deeply moved
by the tragic scene--such emotions came rushing in upon her soul from
departing time and opening eternity, that she could not repress the
desire to pen down her glowing thoughts. She entreated an officer to
furnish her for a moment with pen and paper. The request was refused.
It is much to be regretted that we are thus deprived of that unwritten
chapter of her life. It can not be doubted that the words she would
then have written would have long vibrated upon the ear of a listening
world. Soul-utterances will force their way over mountains, and
valleys, and oceans. Despotism can not arrest them. Time can not
enfeeble them.

The long procession arrived at the guillotine, and the bloody work
commenced. The victims were dragged from the carts, and the ax rose
and fell with unceasing rapidity. Head after head fell into the
basket, and the pile of bleeding trunks rapidly increased in size. The
executioners approached the cart where Madame Roland stood by the side
of her fainting companion. With an animated countenance and a
cheerful smile, she was all engrossed in endeavoring to infuse
fortitude into his soul. The executioner grasped her by the arm.
"Stay," said she, slightly resisting his grasp; "I have one favor to
ask, and that is not for myself. I beseech you grant it me." Then
turning to the old man, she said, "Do you precede me to the scaffold.
To see my blood flow would make you suffer the bitterness of death
twice over. I must spare you the pain of witnessing my execution." The
stern officer gave a surly refusal, replying, "My orders are to take
you first." With that winning smile and that fascinating grace which
were almost resistless, she rejoined, "You can not, surely, refuse a
woman her last request." The hard-hearted executor of the law was
brought within