“I myself accuse you, Citizen de Vaudrey!” says the Judge, rising and pointing to the culprit.

“I accuse your family and all aristocrats of oppression and murder through countless generations!”

A yell of approval––the savage howl of the Mob Beast––resounds from the rabble whose passion is played upon. It is followed by the general roar:

“Guillotine! Guillotine! GUILLOTINE!”

With a smile Forget-Not records the death sentence given by his compliant fellow judges, in his book. Chevalier de Vaudrey is hustled back to the rear of the hall.

Poor trembling Henriette is next. The horrors of Maurice’s condemnation and the thought of her little lost sister nearby, rack her with a stinging pain in which is commingled little thought of self.

“You sheltered this aristocrat?” questions the Judge.

“Of course––I––love him!”

“The penalty for sheltering an emigre is death!” replies Forget-Not shrilly, again playing to the Jacobins.

But Henriette is thinking of the suffering Louise. She strives to direct the Judge’s attention to the blind girl.

“She might hear!” says Henriette softly. “Please––not so loud!”

The Judge turns the pages of his book in studied indifference.

“Please––my sister––we have just met after a long time––she––she is blind!” The little voice breaks off in sobs.

The idea strikes her that, if they can only see the helpless creature, they will have pity. She calls:

“Louise, stand up––they want to see you!”

The cripple Pierre aids Louise to her feet. She stands there alone, a picture of abject misery.

“You see!” cries Henriette. “Blind––no one to care for her!”

The dandified dictator of France fixes fishy eyes on the little person in the dock. One affected hand has raised a double lorgnette 158 through which he peers at her. He muses, strokes a long nostril with his forefinger, recollects something which causes him to curl his lip:

Henriette’s door slam on the obscure Maximilian Robespierre finds its re-echo to day at the gates of Death. Ah, yes, he has placed the girl of the Faubourg lodging now!

“You were an inmate of the prison for fallen women?” he asks coldly.

The clear, unashamed blue eyes would have told innocence if the words had not.

“Yes, Monsieur, but I was not guilty.”

Robespierre’s delicate hand passes in the faintest movement across his throat and toys with the neck ruffle underneath it.

His lips frame a dreadful word though he does not speak it. A nod to Jacques-Forget-Not completes the by-play.

The servant imitates the master’s gesture. This time, the drawing of the hand across the throat is more decisive.

Jacques speaks the word that his master did not vocalize. The other judges confirm it.

“GUILLOTINE!”

Henriette is borne shrieking out to the 159 death chamber––“One hour with her––only one hour––then I will go with him!”

But she and the Vaudrey are already being taken out together by the attendants.