uent want of eloquence, in broken
sentences, in embarrassment and sobs; that brave time-honoured face,
with its grey strength, its broad sagacity and honesty, is mastered with
emotion, melts into dumb tears. (Moniteur in Hist. Parl. xxiii. 210.
See Boissy d'Anglas, Vie de Malesherbes, ii. 139.)--They reject the
Appeal to the People; that having been already settled. But as to the
Delay, what they call Sursis, it shall be considered; shall be voted for
to-morrow: at present we adjourn. Whereupon Patriotism 'hisses' from the
Mountain: but a 'tyrannical majority' has so decided, and adjourns.

There is still this fourth Vote then, growls indignant Patriotism:--this
vote, and who knows what other votes, and adjournments of voting; and
the whole matter still hovering hypothetical! And at every new vote
those Jesuit Girondins, even they who voted for Death, would so fain
find a loophole! Patriotism must watch and rage. Tyrannical adjournments
there have been; one, and now another at midnight on plea of
fatigue,--all Friday wasted in hesitation and higgling; in re-counting
of the votes, which are found correct as they stood! Patriotism bays
fiercer than ever; Patriotism, by long-watching, has become red-eyed,
almost rabid.

"Delay: yes or no?" men do vote it finally, all Saturday, all day and
night. Men's nerves are worn out, men's hearts are desperate; now it
shall end. Vergniaud, spite of the baying, ventures to say Yes, Delay;
though he had voted Death. Philippe Egalite says, in his soul and
conscience, No. The next Member mounting: "Since Philippe says No, I
for my part say Yes, Moi je dis Oui." The balance still trembles. Till
finally, at three o'clock on Sunday morning, we have: No Delay, by a
majority of Seventy; Death within four-and-twenty hours!

Garat Minister of Justice has to go to the Temple, with this stern
message: he ejaculates repeatedly, "Quelle commission affreuse, What a
frightful function!" (Biographie des Ministres, p. 157.) Louis begs for
a Confessor; for yet three days of life, to prepare himself to die. The
Confessor is granted; the three days and all respite are refused.

There is no deliverance, then? Thick stone walls answer, None--Has King
Louis no friends? Men of action, of courage grown desperate, in this his
extreme need? King Louis's friends are feeble and far. Not even a voice
in the coffeehouses rises for him. At Meot the Restaurateur's no Captain
Dampmartin now dines; or sees death-doing