secretes de la Revolution de Thermidor (Paris, 1825), p. 179.) on whose foul head his foul lie has recoiled.  At four o’clock on Wednesday morning, after two days and two nights of interrogating, jury-charging, and other darkening of counsel, the result comes out:  Sentence of Death.  “Have you anything to say?” The Accused shook her head, without speech.  Night’s candles are burning out; and with her too Time is finishing, and it will be Eternity and Day.  This Hall of Tinville’s is dark, ill-lighted except where she stands.  Silently she withdraws from it, to die.

Two Processions, or Royal Progresses, three-and-twenty years apart, have often struck us with a strange feeling of contrast.  The first is of a beautiful Archduchess and Dauphiness, quitting her Mother’s City, at the age of Fifteen; towards hopes such as no other Daughter of Eve then had:  ‘On the morrow,’ says Weber an eye witness, ’the Dauphiness left Vienna.  The whole City crowded out; at first with a sorrow which was silent.  She appeared:  you saw her sunk back into her carriage; her face bathed in tears; hiding her eyes now with her handkerchief, now with her hands; several times putting out her head to see yet again this Palace of her Fathers, whither she was to return no more.  She motioned her regret, her gratitude to the good Nation, which was crowding here to bid her farewell.  Then arose not only tears; but piercing cries, on all sides.  Men and women alike abandoned themselves to such expression of their sorrow.  It was an audible sound of wail, in the streets and avenues of Vienna.  The last Courier that followed her disappeared, and the crowd melted away.’ (Weber, i. 6.)

The young imperial Maiden of Fifteen has now become a worn discrowned Widow of Thirty-eight; grey before her time:  this is the last Procession:  ’Few minutes after the Trial ended, the drums were beating to arms in all Sections; at sunrise the armed force was on foot, cannons getting placed at the extremities of the Bridges, in the Squares, Crossways, all along from the Palais de Justice to the Place de la Revolution.  By ten o’clock, numerous patrols were circulating in the Streets; thirty thousand foot and horse drawn up under arms.  At eleven, Marie-Antoinette was brought out.  She had on an undress of pique blanc:  she was led to the place of execution, in the same manner as an ordinary criminal; bound, on a Cart; accompanied by a Constitutional Priest in Lay dress; escorted by numerous detachments of infantry and cavalry.  These, and the double row of troops all along her road, she appeared to regard with indifference.  On her countenance there was visible neither abashment nor pride.  To the cries of Vive la Republique and Down with Tyranny, which attended her all the way, she seemed to pay no heed.  She spoke little to her Confessor.  The tricolor Streamers on the housetops occupied her attention, in the Streets du Roule and Saint-Honore; she also noticed the Inscriptions on the house-fronts.  On reaching the Place de la Revolution, her looks turned towards the Jardin National, whilom Tuileries; her face at that moment gave signs of lively emotion.  She mounted the Scaffold with courage enough; at a quarter past Twelve, her head fell; the Executioner shewed it to the people, amid universal long-continued cries of ‘Vive la Republique.’ (Deux Amis, xi. 301.)