“Let them withdraw,” said the President.
A slight bustle ensued in the body of the court as the gendarmes advanced to make a passage for our exit; and for a moment I could perceive that the attention of the assembly was drawn towards us. One by one we descended to the platform, and with a gendarme on either side, proceeded to pass out, when suddenly the deep, mellow voice of Cadoudal called out aloud,—
“Adieu, my friends, adieu! If we are not to be better treated than our prince, we shall never see you again.”
“Silence, sir!” cried the President, severely; and then, turning towards the bar of advocates, he continued, “If that man have an advocate in this court, it would well become him to warn his client that such continued insult to the tribunal can only prejudice his cause.”
“I have none, and I wish for none,” replied George, in a tone of defiance. “This mockery is but the first step of the guillotine, and I can walk it without assistance.”
A renewed call of “Silence!” and a deep murmur through the assembly, was all I heard, as the door of the court opened and closed behind us. As we marched along a low vaulted corridor, the sounds of the court grew fainter and fainter; and at last the echoes of our own steps were the only noises.
The room to which we were conducted was a small whitewashed chamber, around which ran a bench of unpainted wood. A deal table stood in the centre, on which was a common-looking earthenware jar of water and some tin goblets. The window was several feet from the ground, and strongly barred with iron.
“La salle d'attente is gloomy enough,” said one of my companions, “and yet some of us may be very sorry to leave it.”
“Not I, at least,” cried the other, resolutely. “The basket beneath the guillotine will be an easier couch than I have slept on these three months.”