The momentary silence which followed was interrupted by a sudden confusion among the prisoners on the platform. Two of the guards sprang in among them. There was the thump of a heavy fall—a scream of terror from some of the female prisoners—then another dead silence, broken by one of the guards, who walked across the hall with a bloody knife in his hand, and laid it on the table. “Citizen President,” he said, “I have to report that one of the prisoners has just stabbed himself.” There was a murmuring exclamation, “Is that all?” among the women spectators, as they resumed their work. Suicide at the bar of justice was no uncommon occurrence, under the Reign of Terror.
“Name?” asked the president, quietly taking up his pen and opening a book.
“Martigne,” answered the humpbacked jailer, coming forward to the table.
“Description?”
“Ex-royalist coach-maker to the tyrant Capet.”
“Accusation?”
“Conspiracy in prison.”
The president nodded, and entered in the book: “Martigne, coachmaker. Accused of conspiring in prison. Anticipated course of law by suicide. Action accepted as sufficient confession of guilt. Goods confiscated. 1st Thermidor, year two of the Republic.”
“Silence!” cried the man with the bludgeon, as the president dropped a little sand on the entry, and signing to the jailer that he might remove the dead body, closed the book.
“Any special cases this morning?” resumed the president, looking round at the group behind him.