other members of his family.
He contrived, however, by means of a tangle of thread, in which was
inclosed a piece of paper, perforated by a needle, to get a note to the
queen, and to receive a few words in return. He, however, felt that his
doom was sealed, and began from that hour to look forward to his
immortality. He made his will, in which he spoke in most affecting terms
of his wife, and his children, and his enemies, commending them all to
the protection of God.

An indescribable gloom now reigned throughout Paris. The allied armies
on the frontiers were gradually advancing. The French troops were
defeated. It was feared that the Royalists would rise, and join the
invaders, and rescue the king. Desperadoes rioted through the streets,
clamoring for the blood of their monarch. With knives and bludgeons they
surrounded the Convention, threatening the lives of all if they did not
consign the king to the guillotine. The day for the final decision
came--Shall the king live or die? On that day the heart of the
metropolis throbbed as never before. It was the 20th of January, 1793.
The Convention had already been in uninterrupted session for fifteen
hours. The clamor of the tumultuous and threatening mob gave portentous
warning of the doom which awaited the members of the Assembly should
they dare to spare the life of the king. One by one the deputies mounted
the tribune as their names were called in alphabetical order, and gave
their vote. For some time death and exile seemed equally balanced. The
results of the vote were read. The Convention comprised seven hundred
and twenty-one voters, three hundred and thirty-four of whom voted for
exile, and three hundred and eighty-seven for death.

Louis sat alone in his prison, calmly awaiting the decision. He laid
down that night knowing that his doom was sealed, and yet not knowing
what that doom was. Malesherbes, the venerable friend who had
volunteered for his defense, came to communicate the mournful tidings.
He fell at the king's feet so overcome with emotion that he could not
speak. The king understood the language of his silence and his tears,
and uttered himself the sentence "Death." But a few moments elapsed
before the officers of the Convention came, in all the pomp and parade
of the land, to communicate to the king his doom to the guillotine in
twenty-four hours. With perfect calmness, and fixing his eye immovably
upon his judges he heard the reading of the sentence.