The dead body of their friend was carried with them. Such was the end of the founders of the French republic. With them the brightness, beauty, youth, wit, frankness of the Convention passed away, and their places were filled by sullen, threatening men. CHAPTER LXI. THE RED FLAG. The first to fall was the Duc of Orleans (father of Louis Philippe, King of the French). He had done nothing against the interests of the republic, but his birth was a crime, and his death was decided on. The Prince and his sons were at table when the fatal indictment arrived. “So much the better,” said he. “This must end one way or the other. Kiss me, children. And I wonder of what they accuse me?” he said, opening the paper. “The scoundrels!” he added; “they accuse me of nothing. Come, boys, eat; for this summons is indeed good news.” He was taken to Paris, where, at this time, no man of mark, being put upon his trial, escaped the guillotine. The one plausible accusation brought against Orleans must have compressed his heart. “Did you not vote the King’s death in the hope of succeeding to his throne?” “No; I obeyed my heart and my conscience.” He heard his sentence calmly, despite the fact of his cowardice in his early years; and he replied sarcastically to his judges, “Since you were determined to condemn me, you should have found better pretexts than you have; for, as it is, you will deceive no man into believing that you think me guilty. I am in the way. And you too,” he said, turning to a once Marquis d’Autonelle, an old friend,—“you to condemn me! Finally,” he continued, “since I am to die, I demand not to be left in gaol a whole night, but to be at once taken to the block.” This desire was not complied with. Returning to the gaol, his rage was terrible. The Abbé Lambert approached and said, “Citizen Equality, will you accept my assistance, or, at least, the offer of my condolence?” “Who are you?” “The Vicar-General of the Bishop of Paris. If you will not accept my religious help, can I be of any service to you after your death? Have you messages to send?” “No; I can die without help, and like a good citizen.” He went to the place of execution at three, accompanied by three others. Reaching the scaffold, he looked at the knife calmly; and the executioner offering to remove his boots, he said, “You will do it more easily afterwards.” He was dressed very beautifully for his death, and he died without fear. He had followed the Revolution blindly—had thrown away fortune, name, reputation, in its cause, and it destroyed him simply because he had belonged to royalty. Terror was rapidly reddening all the land. The guillotine was not quick enough, and squads of soldiers shot down the condemned. Such sentences as the following, were accepted as truths:— “The time is come when the prophecy shall be fulfilled. The wealthy shall be despoiled, and the poor shall be enriched.