lling Louise of Henriette's being strapped to the board
and shoved toward the knife vent.

"That big murderer is going to kill her!" hissed Pierre.

Louise's blind features became contorted with agony. Large tear drops
fell from her eyes. Both arms were extended toward her sister above,
then clawed convulsively at Pierre.

"They-have-put-her-head-in-the crossboard-and--oh, oh!--fastened-it-down!

"The-executioner-is-all-ready." Pierre was gesticulating like a
madman. He seemed to be raising despairing hands to high Heaven, in
token of helplessness.

Above--around--everywhere, he looked for succor; found none. A glance
from Henriette's doomed form to Louise's bitter anguish converts him
into a maniac.

"HE'S ASKING THE MASTER FOR THE SIGNAL TO PULL THE ROPE!"

Pierre shouts the words in a fury that is rapidly growing uncontrollable.
Spectators for the first time notice his strange actions. But neither
the expectant executioner nor the self-important master of ceremonial
looks down, or distinguishes the cry in the babel of savage sounds.

The wild youth now disengages himself from Louise's clutch. With his
right hand he pulls a dagger from his hip pocket. Look! As the
master's signalling hand is upraised high and begins to lower, the boy
leaps up the steps of the guillotine, and attacks the executioner
whose fingers are already on the death rope....

Ride on yet more fiercely, O Danton and ye fierce Cavalrymen--ride on,
e'en past the barrier, if Jacques-Forget-Not and his men do not stay
thee. Yes, thank God! there may yet be time, should this maniac with
the dagger provide sufficient respite!

... The brawny butcher is too astonished to defend himself. His
nerveless fingers are no longer on the rope; he stands like a stalled
ox in front of his homicidal assailant. With the rapidity of lightning
Pierre plunges his long Provencal dirk in the executioner's side. The
butchered butcher falls with a single bawling outcry and a groan. The
crowd is thunderstruck, and the pinioned de Vaudrey is wild with joy.
Though bound and helpless, he tries to leap up to his prostrate
Henriette.

But the master of ceremonial, at first too panic-stricken to
intervene, now summons the sansculotte guards from the ground below.
Up the steps on the double-quick they rush with fixed bayonets. As the
huge victim falls back into the arms of his assistant, the bayoneting
soldiers corner the dirk-waving Pierre.

The brief contest is quit