"Baroness," said he, "these men for whom you have such singular though meritorious sympathy have flagrantly wronged yourself and the King. How much better are they than the thousands who suffer the same fate every year under the well-weighed sentences of the bench?"
"What rends me, sir, is to see human beings die, into whose faces I have looked."
"That speaks well for your heart, Madame; but what about the laws?"
"Are laws just under which three lives are set against a few trinkets?"
"Well, Baroness, that is the business not of you nor me, but of the magistrates. You admit at least the guilt of the criminals against society?"
"What has society done for these creatures? What have we who live at ease in Versailles done to make them good citizens? But I cease to argue, my lord, and know that in doing so I am presuming beyond any rights I might have. Listen, then, with your good heart—for all France knows the good heart of Monsieur de Calonne—to the intercession of a woman for three of her dying, neglected, and miserable fellow-men."
"They have a fair and powerful advocate," he said, smiling agreeably.
Calonne no longer resisted her appeal, but wrote the necessary order. Putting profound gratitude as well as respect into her three parting curtseys, she flew with it to her chamber.
"Get me an enragé," she exclaimed to Jude. An enragé was one of those lean post-horses specially used for quick travel to and from Paris, a distance they could make in a couple of hours.
She would trust no one with the Minister's order, but rapidly threw on a cloak and cap during the absence of the Abbé.