or forty persons were guillotined, and blood flowed so copiously on the
Place de la Revolution that it became necessary to dig a trench three feet
deep around the scaffolding. This trench was covered with deals. One of
them loosened under the feet of an eight-year-old lad, who fell into the
abominable pit and was drowned.

For self-evident reasons I said nothing to Solange of the studies that
occupied my attention during the day. In the beginning my occupation had
inspired me with pity and loathing, but as time wore on I said: "These
studies are for the good of humanity," for I hoped to convince the
lawmakers of the wisdom of abolishing capital punishment.

The Cemetery of Clamart had been assigned to me, and all the heads and
trunks of the victims of the executioner had been placed at my disposal. A
small chapel in one corner of the cemetery had been converted into a kind
of laboratory for my benefit. You know, when the queens were driven from
the palaces, God was banished from the churches.

Every day at six the horrible procession filed in. The bodies were heaped
together in a wagon, the heads in a sack. I chose some bodies and heads
in a haphazard fashion, while the remainder were thrown into a common
grave.

In the midst of this occupation with the dead, my love for Solange
increased from day to day; while the poor child reciprocated my affection
with the whole power of her pure soul.

Often I had thought of making her my wife; often we had mutually pictured
to ourselves the happiness of such a union. But in order to become my
wife, it would be necessary for Solange to reveal her name; and this name,
which was that of an emigrant, an aristocrat, meant death.

Her father had repeatedly urged her by letter to hasten her departure, but
she had informed him of our engagement. She had requested his consent, and
he had given it, so that all had gone well to this extent.

The trial and execution of the queen, Marie Antoinette, had plunged me,
too, into deepest sadness. Solange was all tears, and we could not rid
ourselves of a strange feeling of despondency, a presentiment of
approaching danger, that compressed our hearts. In vain I tried to whisper
courage to Solange. Weeping, she reclined in my arms, and I could not
comfort her, because my own words lacked the ring of confidence.

We passed the night together as usual, but the night was even more
depressing than the day. I recall now that a dog, locked up in a