You will soon
hear the trials. Over on their right sits Robespierre, the dictator of
France!"

The judges, so-called, are five villainous individuals, wearing
dirty-looking plumed hats, black jerkins and breeches, and tall jack
boots. The shaggy-haired Jacques-Forget-Not presides.

A frowsy public prosecutor--red, white and blue cockade affixed to his
tousled hat plume--calls the names of the accused and presents the
charge. From the background, the stripe-panted soldiery are bringing
the victims up.

"They are arraigning them in batches," says Pierre. "The judges make
quick work!" Louise shudders, lays hold of his arm.

There is something horrible in the sound of the advancing footsteps; the
harsh accusations and weak replies, oft drowned by the sansculottes'
roar; the sentences of doom, and the final scuffling of feet as the
soldiers seize their prey and bear it off.

Innocence and guilt often go up together.

Unfortunate women of the street are arraigned next high-bred
aristocrats, or moderates whose only crime has been to denounce such
horrors. A gallant gentleman pleads vainly to the judges who are also
the jury: "We have had no trial!" The mob howls "Guillotine!" and
"Guillotine!" is Jacques-Forget-Not's brief sentence !

A young Corsican lieutenant of artillery looks on meditatively. His
silent thought is sensed by a bystander who remarks: "I suppose,
Napoleon, you think you could manage things better!" The man grins.
But Napoleon Bonaparte--he who snuffed out Revolution later by whiff
of grapeshot--nods gravely yes.

As the prisoners from the faubourg are brought in, Henriette sees the
loved and long lost face of her dreams among the front row of the
sansculottes.

Stupefied, unbelieving, she looks again and again. Yes, it is
she--none other! Her own peril and that of Maurice are unthought of.
Protective love of the blind one tides back in resistless strength.

She is trying now to escape from the guards, run to her sister--even
to pantomime her love, gesticulate it with funny little motions and
confidential fingers on lips--forgetting that the other cannot see!
And then her wild, excited cry rings through the great hall:

"LOUISE! LOUISE!"

Louise jumps to her feet, groping wildly towards the cry. Her blind
features are strained in agonized expectancy. Pierre has located the
frenzied Henriette. He guides the groping blind girl from the benches
to her sister.

In this council chamber of hates a