She did not attempt to escape. She drew out the dagger, let it fall, and took two or three steps to the window. The man Basse caught up a chair and beat her down, whereupon the woman, Albertine, trampled upon her.
The news spread in an incalculably short space of time, and the seething people called up into the air, “Throw her out to us; we are waiting.”
Soldiers rushed in, forming a hedge of steel about Charlotte Corday, and beat back the blaspheming crowd.
Charlotte showed no fear, crossed her hands ready for the cords, and her first words were “Poor woman!” in reference to Albertine, who was rending the air with her cries.
She said afterwards she had not asked herself the question, “Could this man be loved?”
“Poor people!” she said to those who endeavored to tear her to pieces; “you desire my death, whilst you owe me an altar for having freed you from a monster! Oh, throw me to the people,” she said to the soldiers; “as they regret him, they are fit to be my executioners!”
She was not cast among the people—at least, she died in peace. She boasted of her act, and declared herself a martyr.
Paris turned pale at the news. The panic reaching the Convention, business was arrested. One Henriot, the Commandant-General of the National Guard, entered.
“Tremble!” he cried. “Marat has been assassinated by a girl, who boasts of her deed! Tremble! Such a fate threatens all! Mistrust green ribbons, and let us swear to avenge the death of this great man.”