At this moment the hoarse voice of a hawker was heard in the Rue de Temple.
"Here," cried he, "is the judgment and decree condemning Héloïse Tison to the penalty of death for the crime of conspiracy!"
Scarcely had these words reached the ears of the woman Tison, than rising from her knees, with an air of dogged resolution, she extended her arms to impede the passage of the queen.
"O God!" cried the queen, who had not lost one word of the hawker's terrible cry.
"Condemned to death!" cried the mother; "my child condemned!—my Héloïse lost! He has not then saved her, and now he cannot save her! Too late! too late!"
"Poor woman," said the queen, "believe me, I feel for you."
"You!" said she, looking at her fiercely with her blood-shot eyes. "You pity me? Never! never!"
"You are mistaken. I pity you from my heart; but do pray allow me to pass."
The woman burst into a hoarse laugh.
"Let you pass? No, no! I would have assisted you to escape, because he promised if I did so and asked your forgiveness he would rescue my daughter; but since she is condemned to death you shall not escape."