They can only be
explained by the excitement of political fanaticism which armed
her hand. It is for you, citizens of the jury, to judge what
weight that moral consideration should have in the scales of
justice."
The jury voted her guilty, and Tinville rose to demand the full
sentence of the law.
It was the end. She was removed to the Conciergerie, the
antechamber of the guillotine. A constitutional priest was sent
to her, but she dismissed him with thanks, not requiring his
ministrations. She preferred the painter Hauer, who had received
the Revolutionary Tribunal's permission to paint her portrait in
accordance with her request. And during the sitting, which lasted
half an hour, she conversed with him quietly on ordinary topics,
the tranquillity of her spirit unruffled by any fear of the death
that was so swiftly approaching.
The door opened, and Sanson, the public executioner, came in. He
carried the red smock worn by those convicted of assassination.
She showed no dismay; no more, indeed, than a faint surprise that
the time spent with Hauer should have gone so quickly. She begged
for a few moments in which to write a note, and, the request
being granted, acquitted herself briskly of that task, then
announcing herself ready, she removed her cap that Sanson might
cut her luxuriant hair.
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