"Make way for the true citizen Gilbert, carrying out the body of a poor crazed woman slain by mistake."
They stepped aside, and carrying the corpse of Andrea, the man who had first loved her, even to committing crime to triumph over her, passed amid the murderers without one thinking of barring the way, so sovereign was Maillard's words over the multitude.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
THE ROYAL MARTYR.
Let us return to the somber edifice confining a king become mere man, a queen still a queen, a maid who would be a martyr, and two poor children innocent, from age if not by birth.
The king was in the temple, not the temple tower, but the palace of the Knights Templars, which had been used by Artois as a pleasure resort.
The Assembly had not haggled about his keep, but awarded a handsome sum for the table of one who was a hearty eater, like all the Bourbons. Not only did the judges reprimand him for his untimely gluttony during his trial, but they had a note made of the fact to be on record to our times.
In the temple he had three servants and thirteen attendants connected with the table. Each day's dinner was composed of four entrées—six varieties of roast meat, four fancy dishes, three kinds of stews, three dishes of fruit, and Bordeaux, Madeira, and Malvoisie wine.
He and his son alone drank wine, as the queen and the princesses used water.
On the material side, he had nothing to complain of; but he lacked air, exercise, sunshine, and shady trees.