This man was mad—there can be no doubt upon the point: he even included saintly Madame Elizabeth in this frantic idiotic accusation.
Heaven be thanked, those present turned upon him, and cried “Shame!” The Queen herself shrank, raising her hand as though to guard her from the wretch.
But one juryman was nearly as bad as Hébert.
“Why does not the accused answer?” this foul wretch asked.
“I do not answer,” she said—and once again, it is said, she looked radiantly beautiful in her momentary indignation—“because these are accusations to which nature refuses a reply.”
She turned to the women, with whom the court was crowded.
“I appeal from him to all mothers present.”
To the honor of these women be it said, they cried Hébert down—and so he passes out of this history.
The Queen met questions having reference to the King with equal calmness. It being alleged that she endeavored to obtain ascendancy over him through his mental weakness, she replied, “I never knew that character of him. I was but his wife, and it was my duty and my pleasure to yield to his will.”