"The Montmorencys are a brood of monsters," energetically called the young Jacobiness, rising in her place.
"The aristocrat to the guillotine!" shouted a drunken man.
"The guillotine!"
"Yes, yes—to La Force immediately!"
These and similar cries resounded. They fell upon Cyrène's ears like thunders of hostile artillery in a battle. Dominique sat quite still. His mistress rose. Now that the instant of danger had actually come she felt an inconquerable courage well up in her, which, as she stood with brilliant eye and glowing cheek, made her very beautiful. This was not in her favour with the envious knitters; but while they commented in frightful language on her gentle build, the secretary said—"Are you the person?"
"I am," she answered clearly.
"Are you not," he continued glancing at the audience for approbation, "the late aristocrat Baroness of that name?"
"I am," she replied, in a tone still clearer and more fearless.
The President's face gleamed with admiration. He rang his bell sharply and the clamours subsided. His glittering eyes devoured her features, while he said—
"Does anybody know the citizeness and answer for her civism?" He hurriedly added, "Adjourned; call the next."