When the name of Mademoiselle de Mirandol was called, Dolores stepped forward as she had done the evening before, and took her place with the other prisoners between the double file of soldiers who were to conduct them to the Tribunal. Then the gloomy cortége started. When they entered the court-room a loud shout rent the air. The hall was filled with sans-culottes and tricoteuses who came every day to feast their eyes upon the agony of the prisoners, and to accompany them to the guillotine. Never was there such an intense and long-continued thirst for blood as prevailed in those horrible days.
The prisoners were obliged to pass through this hooting and yelling crowd, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the soldiers protected them from its violence. Several wooden benches occupied the space between the bar and the chairs of the judges; and upon these the prisoners were seated, eleven on each bench and so close together that it was almost impossible for them to make the slightest movement. On their right stood the arm chair of the prosecuting attorney, or "accusateur;" on their left, were the seats of the jurors. Ten minutes passed, and the noise and confusion increased until it became positively deafening. Suddenly, a door opened and the court entered. The judges came first, dressed in black, with plumed hats, and with red sashes about their waists. The government attorney took his seat; the jurors installed themselves noisily in their places, and the session began.
Nothing could be more summary than the proceedings of this tribunal. The prisoner at the bar was generally ignorant of the charges against him, for the so-called act of accusation was in most cases, a scrap of paper covered with cramped and illegible hand-writing that frequently proved undecipherable. The president read a name. The person designated, rose and replied to such questions as were addressed to him. If the responses were confused, the prisoner's embarrassment was regarded as a conclusive proof of his guilt; if they were long, he was imperiously ordered to be silent. Witnesses were heard, of course; but those who testified in favor of the accused were roughly handled. Then the prosecuting attorney spoke five minutes, perhaps; the jury rendered its verdict, and the judge sentenced the prisoner or set him at liberty as the case might be. That day, eleven persons were tried and condemned to death in less than two hours. Dolores' turn came last.
"Your name?" asked the president.
"Antoinette de Mirandol."
As she made this reply, she heard an ill-suppressed cry behind her. She turned quickly, and saw Coursegol. He was leaning upon the arm of Bridoul, and his hands were clenched and his face flushed. He now comprehended, for the first time, the girl's heroic sacrifice. Fearing he would betray her, she gave him a warning glance, as if to impose silence. It was unnecessary. He well knew that any statement of the real facts would be useless now; and that the truth would ruin Antoinette without saving Dolores. Such mistakes were not rare during the Reign of Terror. Almost daily, precipitancy caused errors of which no one was conscious until it was too late to repair them. Only a few days before, a son had been condemned in place of his father; and another unfortunate man had paid with his head, for the similarity between his name and that of another prisoner in whose stead he had been summoned before the Tribunal, and with whom he was executed; for Fouquier-Tinville, not knowing which was the real culprit, chose rather to doom two innocent men to death than to allow one guilty man to escape. Dolores was sentenced to be beheaded under the name of Antoinette de Mirandol When her sentence was pronounced, the business of the Court was concluded, and the judges were about to retire when suddenly a man made his way through the crowd to the bar, and cried a stentorian voice:
"The sentence you have just pronounced is infamous. You are not judges, but assassins and executioners."
Then he crossed his arms upon his breast and glowered defiance on the indignant and wrathful judges.
"Arrest that man!" thundered the public accusateur.
Two gendarmes sprang forward, and the officer who had just spoken added: