nd cruelty, rulers and attendants
alike are steeled against shrieks of suffering or the outbursts of the
accused. A fence of locked bayonets stops each advancing sister.
Paying rather less heed to the incident than if it were a request for
a drink of water, the soldiery push back Pierre and Louise to the
seats and make ready to obey the prosecutor's call.

"Citizen de Vaudrey and Henriette Girard to the bar!"

The Chevalier faces the dread quintet. The prosecutor reads the
charge, demands the death penalty on the returned aristocrat. Poor
Henriette is divided between her frenzied wish to clasp her sister and
her horror about Maurice.

The young man defends himself.

"An emigre, yes!" he acknowledges, "but not an enemy of the people."

Many a spectator of the scenes--even the wicked judges--could bear
witness (did not prejudice blind!) to his kindness for the afflicted
and fallen. Is there an undercurrent of sympathy for him even amongst
hard sansculottes?

But this is Jacques-Forget-Not's great moment.

Vengeance's hour has struck.

The wickedness of the old de Vaudreys is to be expiated at last!

CHAPTER XXIV

VENGEANCE COME TO JUDGMENT

"I myself accuse you, Citizen de Vaudrey!" says the Judge, rising and
pointing to the culprit.

"I accuse your family and all aristocrats of oppression and murder
through countless generations!"

A yell of approval--the savage howl of the Mob Beast--resounds from
the rabble whose passion is played upon. It is followed by the general
roar:

"Guillotine! _Guillotine!_ GUILLOTINE!"

With a smile Forget-Not records the death sentence given by his
compliant fellow judges, in his book. Chevalier de Vaudrey is hustled
back to the rear of the hall.

Poor trembling Henriette is next. The horrors of Maurice's condemnation
and the thought of her little lost sister nearby, rack her with a
stinging pain in which is commingled little thought of self.

"You sheltered this aristocrat?" questions the Judge.

"Of course--I--love him!"

"The penalty for sheltering an emigre is death!" replies Forget-Not
shrilly, again playing to the Jacobins.

But Henriette is thinking of the suffering Louise. She strives to
direct the Judge's attention to the blind girl.

"She might hear!" says Henriette softly. "Please--not so loud!"

The Judge turns the pages of his book in studied indifference.

"Please--my sister--we have just met after a long time--she--she is
blind!" The litt