e changed into a weary, woeful eternity.

On the 9th of May, the Princess Elizabeth and her niece, who had
received the name of Maria Theresa in memory of her grandmother, were
retiring to bed. They were enveloped in midnight darkness. With their
arms around each other's necks, they were kneeling at the foot of the
bed in prayer. Suddenly a great noise was heard at the door, accompanied
with repeated and violent blows, almost heavy enough to shiver the door
from its hinges. Madame Elizabeth hastened to withdraw a bolt, which
constituted an inner fastening, when some soldiers rushed in with their
lanterns, and said to Madame Elizabeth, "You must immediately follow
us." "And my niece," replied the princess, ever forgetful of herself in
her thoughtfulness for others, "can she go too?" "We want you only now!"
was the answer; "we will take care of her by-and-by." The aunt foresaw
that the hour for the long-dreaded separation had come. She threw her
arms around the neck of the trembling maiden, and wept in uncontrollable
grief. The brutal soldiers, unmoved by these tears, loaded them both
with reproaches and insults, as belonging to the detested race of kings,
and imperiously commanded the Princess Elizabeth immediately to depart.
She endeavored to whisper a word of hope into the ear of her despairing
niece. "I shall probably soon return again, my dear Maria." "No,
citoyenne, you won't," rudely interrupted one of the jailers; "you will
never ascend these stairs again. So take your bonnet and come down."
Bathing the face of the young girl with her tears, invoking the blessing
of heaven upon her, turning again and again to enfold her in a last
embrace, she was led out by the soldiers, and conducted down the dark
and damp stairs to the gate. Here the soldiers rudely searched her
person anew, and then thrust her into a carriage. It was midnight. The
carriage was driven violently through the deserted streets to the
Conciergerie. The Tribunal was, even at that hour, in session, for in
those days of blood, when the slide of the guillotine had no repose from
morning till night, the day did not contain hours enough for the work of
condemnation. The princess was conducted immediately into the presence
of the Revolutionary Tribunal. A few questions were asked her, and then
she was led into a hall, and left to catch such repose as she could upon
the bench where Maria Antoinette but a few months before had awaited her
condemnation.

The