A few minutes elapsed, and then Pirot, obeying the orders of the officers, drew Marie towards the steps, the executioner assisting on the other side. The archers in the street cleared a space with some difficulty, almost riding the people down, who crowded about the entrance to the court; and then they saw more plainly, in the middle of the semicircle thus opened, a small tumbrel, with a horse attached to it—a wretched animal, in as bad condition as the rude dirty vehicle he dragged after him. There was no awning, nor were there any seats; some straw was all for them to travel on. The back-board of the cart taken out, with one end laid on the steps and the other on the cart now backed against them, made a rude platform, along which Marie hurriedly stepped, and then crouched down in the corner, averting her face from the greater part of the crowd. Pirot next entered, and took his place at her side; and then the executioner followed them, replacing the board, upon the edge of which he seated himself; one of his assistants climbed up in front, and the other walked at the head of the horse, to guide the animal along the narrow opening made by the crowd, which the archers with difficulty forced.
Trifling as was the distance, a long space of time was taken up in passing from the Palais de Justice to the Parvis Notre Dame. The Rue de Calandre was blocked up with people, and it was only by forcing the crowd to part right and left into the Rue aux Fèves that sufficient room could be gained for the tumbrel to pass; and when it halted, as it did every minute, the more ruffianly of the population, who nested in this vile quarter of the city,[25] came close up to the vehicle, slipping between the horses of the troops who surrounded it, and launched some brutal remark at Marie, with terrible distinctness and meaning; but she never gave the least mark of having heard them, only keeping her eyes intently fixed upon the crucifix which Pirot held up before her, until the tumbrel crossed the square, and at length stopped before the door of Notre Dame.
The Marchioness going to Execution
Here she was ordered to descend; and as she appeared upon the steps a fresh cry broke from the multitude, more appalling than any she had before heard, for the area was large, and every available position, even to the very housetops, was occupied. So also were the towers and porticos of the church, as well as the interior, for all the doors were open, and the sanctity of the place was so far forgotten that those who were in the body of the cathedral joined alike in the ringing maledictions of thousands of voices. But the most overwhelming yell of execration came from the Hôtel Dieu, where the students had, one and all, assembled to insult the unhappy criminal. Their hate was the deeper, for they had known her at the hospital, and had all been deceived by her wondrous hypocrisy; whilst the late revelations at the trial had shown up the destroying hand that, under the guise of charity, administered the poisons to the inmates and filled the dead-house with hapless and unoffending victims.
The amende was the work of a few minutes. The paper, which contained a simple avowal of her crimes, was handed to her by the executioner; and the Marchioness read it, firmly and with strange emphasis—albeit the uproar of the people prevented anybody from hearing it, except in close approximation. As soon as it was concluded, the torch which she carried was extinguished; the executioners, with Pirot and Marie, remounted the tumbrel, and the cortege once more moved on towards the fearful Place de Grêve, the crowd making an awful rush after it, as they pushed on in their anxiety to witness the last scene of the tragedy.
They were approaching the foot of the Pont Notre Dame, when Pirot observed a sudden change in Marie’s countenance. Her features, which, notwithstanding all the insults and maledictions of the crowd, had put on an expression almost of resignation, became violently convulsed, and the whole of her attention was in an instant abstracted from the urgent exhortations of her faithful companion. He saw that a violent revulsion of feeling had taken place, and he directly conjured her to tell him the cause of her excitement.
‘Do you see that man?’ she asked him, in hurried and almost breathless words, pointing along the bridge. ‘I was in hopes this last trial would have been spared me.’
Pirot looked in the direction indicated. A mounted exempt was coming across the bridge, meeting them, as it were, at the head of a body of archers, closely surrounding a small party who were walking. The two escorts with difficulty came nearer to each other, until they met at the foot of the Pont Notre Dame.
‘It is a party proceeding from the Hôtel de Ville to the Conciergerie with a prisoner,’ said Pirot. ‘Heed them not, madame. Remember that a few minutes only are now left to you for prayer in this world.’