Beyond the wicket some people had assembled in the court. As she emerged from the building a man pressed rudely forward from the little knot of gazers, and came close to her side, as he thrust a small note almost in her face. Pirot took it from him, at Marie’s request, and inquired what it was.
‘An account of money due to me,’ said the man, ‘for a tumbrel and a horse, both ruined on the road from La Villette to Le Bourget.’
‘I know not what he means,’ said Marie.
‘You do—you do, madame,’ answered the intruder. ‘It was taken from your hôtel in the Rue St. Paul for your flight to Liége.’
‘Another time will do to settle this,’ observed Pirot.
‘Another time will not do,’ answered the man. ‘Where will be my chance of payment five minutes after madame reaches the Grêve?’
As he spoke the man was pulled forcibly away, and thrust on one side, by one of the bystanders. Marie looked up to see who had thus interfered, and her eyes met those of Philippe Glazer. Clasping his hands together he gazed at her with a look of intense agony. Even in the horror of the moment Marie perceived that he had placed in his hat the clasp she gave him at Compiègne. She bowed her head in recognition, and then passed on. Philippe never saw her again.
They moved forward through the courts of the Conciergerie, Pirot never ceasing his religious consolations until they came to the lodge of the prison. Here the cortege halted, and then the executioner approached her with a long white garment hanging over his arm. The ghastly toilette of the scaffold was to be made at this place. She was about to surrender herself to the operation when a door at the other side of the lodge was opened, and a large concourse of people—so many that they nearly filled the apartment—entered eagerly. They were chiefly females—women holding high rank in Paris, who had met the Marchioness frequently in society. Amongst them were the Countess of Soissons and Mademoiselle de Scudery.
The shock given to Marie by this unexpected sight was too great, and she would have fallen but for the support of Pirot. He sustained her whilst the executioner once more released her hands, and drew the long white dress over that she was wearing, tying it up closely round her neck, and knotting a large cord round her waist in lieu of a girdle.
‘She has a neat foot,’ whispered the Countess of Soissons to M. de Roquelaure, as she looked at Marie’s small naked foot, not covered by the garment, planted upon the chill pavement of the lodge.