The miserable man's eyes glazed at the sight, and he smiled a ghastly smile. Then the bearer of the trophy sprang up behind the carriage, holding his pike aloft. The band recommenced their martial strain. The soldiers took up the chant, the banners fluttered forward; the devil blew a hideous blast on a cow's horn, and Madame Plomb waved her flag: thus the procession advanced. Arrived before the Hôtel de Ville, M. de la Rivière with difficulty drew Berthier out of the vehicle. The unfortunate man was sick, faint, and dizzy, and he probably would have been unable to walk, had it been required of him, but a compact body of guards surrounding him bore him forward into the great hall of S. John. Without being conscious of where he was, or what was being done, he felt himself forced before the bar. Silence was enforced, and then the procureur, recently appointed by the people, began to speak. Berthier raised his hand, and all noticed how it shook. 'I am tired,' he said; 'I have not shut my eyes for two or three nights. Let me have a little repose, I pray you.' 'No; no repose for you, till you have been sentenced,' cried the assistants. 'At least give me a chair.' One was handed to him, and he fell into it, the picture of wretchedness. His eyes were lustreless, his complexion dull and dingy, and his hair limp. His great cheeks hung down like the dewlaps of a cow. He had not shaved for a week, and his mouth and chin were covered with a coarse growth of short hair. When he put up his shaking hand to wipe his eyes, he exposed a dirty hand, and ruffles at his wrist draggled and soiled. 'What is the charge you bring against him?' asked M. Duveyrier. 'He supplied the army with ammunition to butcher us.' 'He has made his fortune by the compact of famine.' 'He has kept back provisions from the city, when the poor were perishing for want of bread.' 'He stole from me my betrothed,' said a young man in a white smock, and with the marks of plaster on his hands and in his hair. 'He destroyed her fair fame, and she drowned herself in the Seine.' 'He robbed me of my little daughter,' cried a quack doctor, stepping forward, 'and I have never seen her since.' 'Monster!' yelled an old woman, shaking her fist in his face, 'where is my little Antoinette?' 'We will only hear crimes against the nation,' said Bailly, the mayor. 'Confine yourselves to these.' 'Why did you bring the troops round Paris? Why did you keep back the corn?' the people cried. 'I have obeyed superior orders,' answered Berthier, huskily. 'You have my papers; examine them.' 'I accuse him,' cried a shrill voice, and Madame Plomb tore her way towards the front,--'I accuse him,--I, his wife!' she said. 'He has been unfaithful to me. He has filled his house with profligates, he has kicked my cat, he has called me the leaden woman, he has shut me up in the Bastille--me, his wife, in the Bastille!' The crowd groaned, and then hooted.