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.

T