And then at last, on the morning of the 16th of October, her sorrows will end, and Marie Antoinette can find refuge in the grave!  Her soul is almost joyous and serene; she has suffered so much, and for her to sink into death is truly blessedness!

She has passed the undisturbed hours of the night in writing to her sister-in-law, Madame Elizabeth, and this letter is also the queen’s testament.  But the widow of Louis Capet has no riches, no treasures, no property to will; she has nothing left which belongs to her—­ nothing but her love, her tears, her farewell salutations.  These she leaves behind to all those who have loved her.  She takes leave of her relatives, her brothers and sisters, and cries out to them a farewell.

“I had friends,” she continues; “the thought of being forever separated from them, and your grief for my death, are my deepest sorrow; you will at least know that to the last moment I have remembered you.”

Then, when Marie Antoinette has finished this letter, some of whose characters here and there are disfigured by her tears, she thinks of leaving to her children a last token of remembrance—­one which the executioner’s hand has not desecrated.

The only ornament which remains is her long hair, whose silver-gray locks are the tearful history of her sufferings.

Marie Antoinette with her own hands despoils herself of this last ornament; she cuts off her long hair behind the head, so as to leave it as a last token to her children, to her relatives and friends.  Then, after having taken her spiritual farewell of life, she prepares herself for the last great ceremony of her existence, for death.

She feels exhausted, weary unto death, and she strengthens herself for this last toilsome journey, that she may worthily pass through it.

Marie Antoinette needs food, and with courageous mind she eats a chicken’s wing which has been brought to her.  After having eaten, she makes her last toilet, the toilet of death.

The wife of the jailer, at the queen’s request, gives her one of her own chemises, and Marie Antoinette puts it on.  Then she clothes herself with the garments which she has worn during her days of trial before the tribunal of the revolution, only over the black woollen dress, which she has often mended and patched with her own hand, she puts on a mantle of white needlework.  Around her neck she ties a small plain kerchief of white muslin, and, as it is not allowed her to mount the scaffold with uncovered head, she puts on it the round linen hood which the peasant-women used to wear.  Black stockings cover her feet, and over them she draws shoes of black woollen stuff.

Her toilet is now ended—­earthly things have passed away!  Ready to meet death, the queen lays herself down on her bed and sleeps.

She still sleeps when she is notified that a priest is there, ready to come in, if she will confess.

But Marie Antoinette has already unveiled her heart to God; she will have none of these priests of reason, whom the republic has ordained, after having exiled or murdered with the guillotine the priests of the Church.