Death is the sentence:  but its execution?  It is not executed yet!  Scarcely is the vote declared when Louis’s Three Advocates enter; with Protest in his name, with demand for Delay, for Appeal to the People.  For this do Deseze and Tronchet plead, with brief eloquence:  brave old Malesherbes pleads for it with eloquent want of eloquence, in broken sentences, in embarrassment and sobs; that brave time-honoured face, with its grey strength, its broad sagacity and honesty, is mastered with emotion, melts into dumb tears. (Moniteur in Hist.  Parl. xxiii. 210.  See Boissy d’Anglas, Vie de Malesherbes, ii. 139.)—­They reject the Appeal to the People; that having been already settled.  But as to the Delay, what they call Sursis, it shall be considered; shall be voted for to-morrow:  at present we adjourn.  Whereupon Patriotism ‘hisses’ from the Mountain:  but a ‘tyrannical majority’ has so decided, and adjourns.

There is still this fourth Vote then, growls indignant Patriotism:—­this vote, and who knows what other votes, and adjournments of voting; and the whole matter still hovering hypothetical!  And at every new vote those Jesuit Girondins, even they who voted for Death, would so fain find a loophole!  Patriotism must watch and rage.  Tyrannical adjournments there have been; one, and now another at midnight on plea of fatigue,—­all Friday wasted in hesitation and higgling; in re-counting of the votes, which are found correct as they stood!  Patriotism bays fiercer than ever; Patriotism, by long-watching, has become red-eyed, almost rabid.

“Delay:  yes or no?” men do vote it finally, all Saturday, all day and night.  Men’s nerves are worn out, men’s hearts are desperate; now it shall end.  Vergniaud, spite of the baying, ventures to say Yes, Delay; though he had voted Death.  Philippe Egalite says, in his soul and conscience, No.  The next Member mounting:  “Since Philippe says No, I for my part say Yes, Moi je dis Oui.”  The balance still trembles.  Till finally, at three o’clock on Sunday morning, we have:  No Delay, by a majority of Seventy; Death within four-and-twenty hours!

Garat Minister of Justice has to go to the Temple, with this stern message:  he ejaculates repeatedly, “Quelle commission affreuse, What a frightful function!” (Biographie des Ministres, p. 157.) Louis begs for a Confessor; for yet three days of life, to prepare himself to die.  The Confessor is granted; the three days and all respite are refused.

There is no deliverance, then?  Thick stone walls answer, None—­Has King Louis no friends?  Men of action, of courage grown desperate, in this his extreme need?  King Louis’s friends are feeble and far.  Not even a voice in the coffeehouses rises for him.  At Meot the Restaurateur’s no Captain Dampmartin now dines; or sees death-doing whiskerandoes on furlough exhibit daggers of improved structure!  Meot’s gallant Royalists on furlough are far across the Marches; they are wandering distracted over the world:  or their bones lie whitening Argonne Wood.  Only some weak Priests ‘leave Pamphlets on all the bournestones,’ this night, calling for a rescue; calling for the pious women to rise; or are taken distributing Pamphlets, and sent to prison. (See Prudhomme’s Newspaper, Revolutions de Paris in Hist.  Parl. xxiii. 318.)