ers, where he had affronted the scornful eyes of Jacques
Maubel and Maurice Brotteaux, the appealing glances of the _citoyenne_
Rochemaure, who had got him his post as juryman and whom he had
recompensed with a sentence of death. Again he saw, looking down on the
dais where the judges sat in three mahogany armchairs, covered in red
Utrecht velvet, the busts of Chalier and Marat and that bust of Brutus
which he had one day apostrophized. Nothing was altered, neither the
axes, the fasces, the red caps of Liberty on the wall-paper, nor the
insults shouted by the _tricoteuses_ in the galleries to those about to
die, nor yet the soul of Fouquier-Tinville, hard-headed, painstaking,
zealously turning over his murderous papers, and, in his character of
perfect magistrate, sending his friends of yesterday to the scaffold.

The _citoyens_ Remacle, tailor and door-keeper, and Dupont senior,
joiner, of the Place de Thionville, member of the Committee of
Surveillance of the Section du Pont-Neuf, identified Gamelin (Evariste),
painter, ex-juror of the Revolutionary Tribunal, ex-member of the
Council General of the Commune. For their services they received an
assignat of a hundred _sols_ from the funds of the Section; but, having
been neighbours and friends of the outlaw, they found it embarrassing to
meet his eye. Anyhow, it was a hot day; they were thirsty and in a hurry
to be off and drink a glass of wine.

Gamelin found difficulty in mounting the tumbril; he had lost a great
deal of blood and his wounds pained him cruelly. The driver whipped up
his jade and the procession got under way amid a storm of hooting.

Some women recognized Gamelin and yelled:

"Go your ways, drinker of blood! murderer at eighteen francs a day!...
He doesn't laugh now; look how pale he is, the coward!"

They were the same women who used in other days to insult conspirators
and aristocrats, extremists and moderates, all the victims sent by
Gamelin and his colleagues to the guillotine.

The cart turned into the Quai des Morfondus, made slowly for the
Pont-Neuf and the Rue de la Monnaie; its destination was the Place de la
Revolution and Robespierre's scaffold. The horse was lame; every other
minute the driver's whip whistled about its ears. The crowd of
spectators, a merry, excited crowd, delayed the progress of the escort,
fraternizing with the gendarmes, who pulled in their horses to a walk.
At the corner of the Rue Honore, the insults were redoubled