She was tried for being the wife of Roland, and the friend of the Girondists. She was proud of the accusation, declared herself to be so, and she heard her condemnation to death with a calm bearing and a smiling face. “I thank you,” she said, “that you think me worthy to share the fate of great and good men.” That same day she was placed in the last of a number of carts, her only companion being an old man. Her beauty was more than radiant, seated so near trembling age. She wore a white dress, and her long black hair streamed down her back. Near the scaffold had been erected a colossal statue of Liberty. When she ascended the scaffold, she bowed to the statue, and cried, “Oh Liberty, how much crime is committed in your name!” But she had shown her woman’s tenderness at the foot of the scaffold. She said to her companion, “Go first, that you may not see me die. Let me save you that pain.” She died quite fearlessly. The next day, some peasants, driving home their flocks, found the dead body of a man, a sword-stick blade through his heart. The position of the remains proved suicide, effected by putting the sword-handle against a tree, when the sufferer flung himself upon the point. A paper found upon the dead man contained these words:— “Whoever thou art that findest these remains, respect them as those of a virtuous man. After my wife’s death, I will not remain another day upon this earth, so stained with crimes.” This was Madame Roland’s husband. Very different from this honest woman’s death was that of Madame Dubarry, mistress of Louis XV. Her crime was the concealment of a treasure. As a King’s favorite, she had amassed enormous wealth. Strangely enough, it was a favorite of her own—a negro boy she had adopted—that denounced her. She was condemned, and she went shrieking to the scaffold—the only instance of this kind amongst all the women who died during the Reign of Terror. Her beauty was her crime. “Life!” she cried. “Life for repentance—for devotion to the Republic! All my treasures for a little life!” The knife only cut short these ignoble cries. The next thing done was the abolition of the name of the days of the weeks and months of the year, because they were idolatrous. Finally, the Catholic faith was abolished, the church bells were cast into money, the worship of the Goddess of Reason, was proclaimed. The proclamation was carried into effect at the Cathedral. An actress, one Mdlle. Maillard, beautiful, talented, and a favorite of the late Queen’s, was compelled to play the part of the goddess.