the book, was omitted by the dramatist,
because it had no opportunity for Isabelle. D'Arnay arrived in Carton's
clothes, many inches too small for him, and explained to Lucy what had
occurred. So she and her child and her husband escape.

The curtains were closed now, and the audience stirred as if to rise.
Isabelle rushed forth.

"Sit still," she commanded, "it isn't over yet."

There was a long wait, and much hammering back on the stage. Then the
curtains parted again on the big realistic moment of the drama.
Suspended at back was what at first glance looked to be a wooden window
frame. It was suspended from above by ropes, which disappeared over the
gallery which ran around the garage. Under this frame was a wooden
saw-horse, and beneath that a pail. Only a look sufficed to show that
this was _La Belle Dame sans Merci_, the guillotine.

A ragged rabble appeared at back, shouting and shaking fists. Then--led
forward by D'Arnay and the able Margie who had been Dr. Manet, Lorry,
and the Judge--came the blind-folded figure of the hero, Carton. They
led him to the foot of that terrible machine of destruction, and after
several vain promptings from the gallery above, Carton cried in a loud,
manly voice:

"It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a
far, far better rest I go to, than I have ever known."

Then he laid his noble head on the saw horse, and _bing!_ went the
window frame down on his neck.

"Gosh!" yelled Carton, just as it struck; and then no more.

"Good Lord! Tommy!" cried his mother excitedly from the audience. "I
think she's killed him."

"He's all right," cried Isabelle from the gallery. "There wasn't any
knife in it--it couldn't hurt him much, unless it just broke his neck."

Carton sat up and lifted a red and angry face toward her.

"It just about did break my neck, you big nut!" he cried, feeling
himself, gently. "I told you that darned thing wouldn't work."

"Draw the curtain," hissed Isabelle fiercely, sensing that the shouts of
the audience were too abandoned to be complimentary.

The curtains were hitched shut, and she looked over the balustrade on
to the group below. Wally was beating Christiansen on the back, and Max
was laughing hysterically. Mrs. Page, whose stupid maternal plans had
nearly ruined the climax, was now panting for breath.

Isabelle, even while she was delighted with their applause, despised
them. Had they no feeling for the noble tragedy