Moreau was innocent; by his side, on the day of trial, appeared men who would have scorned to be so.  Georges Cadoudal appeared in court with the miniature of Louis XVI. suspended round his neck, and gloried in the avowal of his resolution to make war personally on the usurper of the throne.  The presiding judge, Thuriot, had been one of those who condemned the king to death.  Georges punned on his name, and addressed him as “Monsieur Tue-Roi."[50] When called up for sentence, the judge missed the miniature, and asked him what he had done with it?  “And you,” answered the prisoner, “what have you done with the original?”—­a retort which nothing could prevent the audience from applauding.  Georges and eighteen more were condemned to death; and he, and eleven besides, suffered the penalty with heroic firmness.  Of the rest, among whom were two sons of the noble house of Polignac, some were permitted to escape on condition of perpetual banishment:  others had their punishment commuted to imprisonment.

With what indignation the death of the Duke d’Enghien had been heard of throughout Europe, now began to appear.  The Emperor of Russia and the Kings of Sweden and Denmark put their courts into mourning, and made severe remonstrances through their diplomatic agents; and the correspondence which ensued laid the train for another general burst of war.  Austria was humbled for the time, and durst not speak out:  Prussia could hardly be expected to break her long neutrality on such an occasion:  but wherever the story went, it prepared the minds of princes as of subjects, to take advantage of the first favourable opportunity for rising against the tyranny of France.

A conspiracy suppressed never fails to strengthen the power it was meant to destroy:  and Buonaparte, after the tragedies of D’Enghien and Pichegru, beheld the French royalists reduced everywhere to the silence and the inaction of terror.  Well understanding the national temper, he gave orders that henceforth the name of the exiled family should be as much as possible kept out of view; and accordingly after this time it was hardly ever alluded to in the productions of the enslaved press of Paris.  The adherents of the Bourbons were compelled to content themselves with muttering their resentment in private saloons, where, however, the Chief Consul commonly had spies—­who reported to him, or to his Savarys and Fouches, the jests and the caricatures in which the depressed and hopeless party endeavoured to find some consolation.

In order to check the hostile feeling excited among the sovereigns of the continent by the murder of the Bourbon Prince, the French government were now indefatigable in their efforts to connect the conspiracy of Georges Cadoudal with the cabinet of England.  The agents of the police transformed themselves into numberless disguises, with the view of drawing the British ministers resident at various courts of Germany into some correspondence