.
Mademoiselle had managed to get out of his house, how he could not tell,
but she could not have left Paris. An immediate and diligent search must
result in her capture.

Strange to say the awkward questions were not asked, nor was an
immediate search instituted. For the moment, at any rate, Jeanne St.
Clair was of small account, another name was in everybody's mouth,
another personality was forced into tragic prominence, and the hundreds
of deputies on whose word so much depended had no time or inclination to
think of any one else.

Wednesday and Thursday, which were marked days for Jeanne St. Clair,
were stupendous days for Paris, for France, for the world. The fate of
Louis Capet, once king, was sealed in them. He must die. By the vote of
the deputies this was decided. His crime? Who shall say. Chiefly perhaps
that he was born to be a king, and lived, a weak king, in a strenuous
time. And yet the business was not at an end. Some would have an appeal
made to the people, a proposition easily overruled; some would have
delay, and that was not so easily settled. There must be more voting. So
on this Saturday and Sunday the deputies were busy, and Paris vibrated
with excitement. Raymond Latour now voted for delay, as before he had
voted against the death sentence, firm to his conviction that the head
of a king was not necessary to the safety of France. Patriots hissed at
him and at many others. Robespierre noted the set of his face and
thought of the future; others noted that set face and thought of the
future, too. Was Raymond Latour as strong a man as some declared? Was he
safest as a friend or as an enemy? Once more the votes were counted.
Louis Capet must die, that fact remained unaltered, but there was added
something more to the sentence, he must die within twenty-four hours. It
was a merciful addition perchance, though not so intended; the shorter
the time, the less the suffering. Patriotic Paris flung its red cap into
the air, rejoicing greatly. Less than twenty-four hours to wait for the
greatest amusement that had yet been vouchsafed to the mob. There was no
time to sleep, no reason in sleep. Armed men would keep the streets
to-morrow, but there would be vantage places to be struggled for and
kept through long hours of waiting--yet not so long after all. Monday
morning came quickly--ten o'clock--one carriage and its guard. The last
ride of a king! The bitter mockery of fate sounded to-day for the Deep
Purple