"Sing it, sing it!" shouted hundreds and hundreds of voices from all parts of the house.
"No, do not sing it!" roared the others; "we will not hear the air."
And suddenly, above the cries of the contestants, rose a loud, yelling voice:
"I forbid the singer Clairval ever again singing this air. I forbid it in the name of the people!"
It was Marat who spoke these words. Standing on the arm-chair of the Princess de Lamballe, and raising his long arms, and directing them threateningly toward the stage, he turned his face, aglow with hate and evil, toward the queen.
Marie Antoinette, who had turned her head in alarm in the direction whence the voice proceeded, met with her searching looks the eyes of Marat, which were fixed upon her with an expression equally stern and contemptuous. She shrank back, and, as if in deadly pain, put her hand to her heart.
"0 God!" she whispered to herself, "that is no man, that is an infernal demon, who has risen there to take the place of my dear, sweet Lamballe. Ah, the good spirit is gone, and the demon takes its place—the demon which will destroy us all!"
"Long live Marat!" roared Santerre, and his comrades. "Long live
Marat, the great friend of the people, the true patriot!"
Marat bowed on all sides, stepped down from the easy-chair, and seated himself comfortably in it.
Clairval had stopped in the air; pale, confused, and terrified, he had withdrawn, and the director whispered to the orchestra and the singers to begin the next number.