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“Madame,” said the Queen, “for heaven’s sake!”

Once again the town crier’s voice was heard, as he repeated: “Here is the judgment and arrest of the girl Héloïse Tison, condemning her to death for the crime of conspiracy!”

“Do you hear that?” screamed the madwoman, now surrounded by a group of National Guards. “You hear that? Condemned to death? It’s for you, for you, that they’re going to kill my daughter! You hear? For you, the Austrian woman!”

“Messieurs,” said the Queen, “for heaven’s sake! If you won’t get rid of this poor madwoman for me, let me at least go back upstairs. I cannot bear this woman’s blame: unjust as it is, it is breaking my heart.”

The Queen turned her head away, letting a painful sob escape.

“That’s right, weep, hypocrite!” jeered the madwoman. “Your bouquet has cost her dearly.… Besides, she should have known. It’s the way all those who serve you end up. You bring bad luck, you Austrian witch: they’ve killed your friends, your husband, your defenders; finally they’ll kill my daughter. When in hell are they going to kill you, so no one else dies for you anymore?”

The unhappy woman hurled these last words at the Queen, accompanying them with a threatening gesture.

“Wretched woman!” risked Madame Elisabeth. “Have you forgotten that the woman you are speaking to is the Queen?”

“The Queen? Her? … The Queen?” stammered Mother Tison, whose derangement was becoming more pronounced by the minute. “If she’s the Queen, let her forbid the executioners to kill my daughter.… Let her grant my poor Héloïse pardon.… Kings let people off.… Until now, all you’ve ever been is a woman, and a woman who brings bad luck, a woman who kills!”

“Ah! For pity’s sake, madame,” cried Marie Antoinette. “See my pain, see my tears.”

With that Marie Antoinette made an attempt to pass, no longer in the hope of escaping but instinctively, to get away from this woman with her alarming obsession.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” screamed the old woman. “You want to escape, Madame Veto.… I know all about it, the man in the coat told me. You want to go and join the Prussians.… But you’re not going to get away,” she went on, clinging to the Queen’s frock. “I’ll stop you! I will! String her up, Madame Veto! Aux armes, citoyens! Marchons … qu’un sang impur! … ”1

And, her arms twisted, her wild grey hair all over the place, her face purple with apoplexy, her eyes swimming in blood, the unhappy woman fell backward, ripping a strip off the frock to which she clung.

The Queen, dazed but at least free of the lunatic, was about to flee into the garden when, all of a sudden, a terrible cry erupted, mingled with barking and some other strange noise. The National Guards snapped out of the stupor they had fallen into as they stood around Marie Antoinette, lured by the scene we have just described.

“To arms! To arms! Treason!” cried a man the Queen recognized by his ugly voice as the cobbler Simon.

Next to this man, who, saber in hand, stood guard at the threshold of the canteen, little Black was barking like fury.

“To arms, all guards!” cried Simon. “We have been betrayed! Get the Austrian woman back inside! To arms! To arms!”

An officer came running over. Simon spoke to him, his eyes inflamed, pointing to the interior of the canteen. The officer in turn cried out:

“To arms!”

“Black! Black!” the Queen called, taking a few steps forward. But the dog did not respond and went on barking like fury.

The National Guards ran to take up arms and rushed toward the cabin, while the municipal officers grabbed hold of the Queen, her sister, and her daughter and forced the prisoners back through the wicket gate, which closed behind them.

“Arms at the ready!” cried the municipal officers to the sentries, and the sound of guns being loaded was heard.

“In there, in there, under the trapdoor,” cried Simon. “I saw the trapdoor move. Nothing surer. Anyway, the Austrian woman’s dog, and a good little fellow he is—he’s not involved in the plot—he yapped at the conspirators, who are probably