To him, the city appeared as though besieged. Every soldier around the royal carriage had had served out to him sixteen cartridges.
The King looked wretched. His razors had been taken from him, and his hair was rough and scrubby about his face. He had grown thin, and his clothes hung miserably about him. But he was quite unmoved.
He took his seat quietly before the Convention.
“Citizens,” cried the President, “Louis Capet is at the bar. You are about to give a lesson to kings.”
The accusation was then read. It accused him of high treason in calling upon the foreigner to enter France.
He listened quite unmovedly until he was accused of “shedding the blood of the people.” He raised his eyes to heaven. It was clear he had not anticipated being called a sanguinary prince.
At the close of the first day’s examination, the King’s fatal appetite failed him, and he refused an offer to obtain refreshments; but almost immediately afterwards, seeing a soldier gnawing a piece of bread, he asked for a part, and ate it with relish.
Upon the return-ride to the Temple, he counted the number of streets.
It was the King’s sister, Elizabeth—a veritable angel,—who foresaw what was to happen.