Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and that evening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions. The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenly she trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had just heard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glanced around her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip, outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated it in a still louder voice.
"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.
Dolores stepped forward.
"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."
"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"
"The same."
This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration, surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did not hear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand, she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned to her place.
The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the last upon the sad list.
"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at ten o'clock."