ow she had
given, that she must be well practiced in crime. "The monster takes me
for an assassin!" she exclaimed, in a tone thrilling with indignation.
This closed the debates, and her defender rose. It was not Doulcet de
Pontecoulant--who had not received her letter--but Chauveau de la Garde,
chosen by the President. Charlotte gave him an anxious look, as though
she feared he might seek to save her at the expense of honor. He spoke,
and she perceived that her apprehensions were unfounded. Without
excusing her crime, or attributing it to insanity, he pleaded for the
fervor of her conviction; which he had the courage to call sublime. The
appeal proved unavailing. Charlotte Corday was condemned. Without
deigning to answer the President, who asked her if she had aught to
object to the penalty of death being carried out against her, she rose,
and walking up to her defender, thanked him gracefully. "These
gentlemen," said she, pointing to the judges, "have just informed me
that the whole of my property is confiscated. I owe something in the
prison: as a proof of my friendship and esteem, I request you to pay
this little debt."

On returning to the conciergerie, she found an artist, named Hauer,
waiting for her, to finish her portrait, which he had begun at the
tribunal. They conversed freely together, until the executioner,
carrying the red chemise destined for assassins, and the scissors with
which he was to cut her hair off, made his appearance. "What, so soon!"
exclaimed Charlotte Corday, slightly turning pale; but rallying her
courage, she resumed her composure, and presented a look of her hair to
M. Hauer, as the only reward in her power to offer. A priest came to
offer her his ministry. She thanked him and the persons by whom he had
been sent, but declined his spiritual aid. The executioner cut her hair,
bound her hands, and threw the red chemise over her. M. Hauer was struck
with the almost unearthly loveliness which the crimson hue of this
garment imparted to the ill-fated maiden. "This toilet of death, though
performed by rude hands, leads to immortality," said Charlotte, with a
smile.

A heavy storm broke forth as the car of the condemned left the
conciergerie for the Place de la Revolution. An immense crowd lined
every street through which Charlotte Corday passed. Hootings and
execrations at first rose on her path; but as her pure and serene beauty
dawned on the multitude, as the exquisite loveliness of her cou