"Gentlemen!" cried the queen, "help! Do you not see that this woman is mad?"
"No, I am not mad; I know well what I am saying!" cried the woman. "It is the truth,—there was a conspiracy, and Simon discovered all. It was my poor daughter who sold the bouquet. She confessed it before the Revolutionary Tribunal—A bouquet of carnations—They had papers concealed in them."
"Madame," exclaimed the queen, "in the name of Heaven!"
The voice of the crier was again heard, repeating,—
"This is the judgment and decree condemning the girl Héloïse Tison to the punishment of death for the crime of conspiracy!"
"Do you hear it?" screamed the lunatic, around whom the National Guards had now gathered; "do you hear? Condemned to death; it is you who have killed my daughter—you, Austrian, you!"
"Gentlemen," said the queen, "for pity's sake, if you will not release me from this poor mad creature, allow me at least to return to my apartments. I cannot support the reproaches of this woman; unjust though they are, they crush my heart," and she turned away, sighing deeply.
"Yes, yes; weep, hypocrite!" cried the maddened wretch; "your bouquet cost her dear—She might have known it. Thus it is with all those who serve you. You bring misery, Austrian, everywhere! Your friends are dead,—your husband and your defenders have all perished,—and now they will sacrifice my unhappy child! When will your turn come, that no more may die for you?" And the miserable creature accompanied these last words with threatening gestures.
"Unhappy woman!" observed Madame Elizabeth, venturing to speak, "do you forget that she whom you address is the queen?"