Madame du Barry stood at the foot of the scaffold. One by one her companions passed her. The young man in the handsome great coat murmured “courage” as he stepped up and looked at her with pitying eyes.
Her heart was beating very fast; she did not know what she was thinking or doing, only that all her worst anticipations had not equalled this horror—
There were only three left besides herself. The man in charge of the cart seized hold of her long locks and quickly and roughly cut them off.
“Your turn, my little piece of royalty,” he said.
She looked at him blankly; he snatched her small, feeble hands and tied them behind her before she had guessed his intention.
“Oh!” she cried. “Oh!”
She was quite bewildered. The world seemed to have stopped. She saw her blonde curls lying at her feet and moved her head stiffly to and fro to see if the ringlets were not still there.
They pushed her forward and told her to mount.
“Up there?” she asked vacantly, and stared at the scaffold.