The trials--beside their Terror function of upholding a minority government--were great public shows for the howling rabble and leering sansculottes, the hoodlums of Paris whom even the masters dared not offend. The riff-raff acted exactly as at any of their own celebrations and feastings. Along the side benches and up on the "Mountain," flirtation and sweethearting went on, of a rough-and-ready order. Some spectators coolly munched their dinners. Others, having brought along their bottles, indulged in drinking bouts. Everyone's ideas of a good time cannot be the same. There was our eccentric acquaintance the Jolly Baker, for instance. The height of bliss for him, at one of these capital trials, was to lean far, far back with open mouth whilst a tilted bottle, held by a ministering Hebe, spilled ecstatic drops of damp and ruby "happiness" upon his "open-face" physiognomy. Another misfit of the grotesque crowds was Picard, foolishly trying to discover what 'twas all about, gazing soulful-eyed into hoodlum "mugs" that gave him the merry "ha! ha!" or sickened him with the likeness of the First Murderer. But "crime," in one instance at least, was followed by "punishment," for as the murderous citizen suddenly thrust out his roaring raucous mouth, Picard inadvertently leaned back. [Illustration: LOUISE AND LA FROCHARD TRYING TO KEEP PIERRE, THE CRIPPLE, FROM FIGHTING HIS BROTHER JACQUES.] The huge sansculotte, to his own surprise, was eating the bushy horse-hair pigtail of Picard's bobbing queue! The ex-valet made a quick duck. His murderous-looking neighbor, with a full swing, walloped the countenance of the sansculotte beyond.... On this day of our characters' trial, the side benches and balconies of the great hall quickly fill with the howling, leering mobs--the fierce and grotesque chorus of the grim tragedy. Interspersed with the rabid Jacobins are other--less partisan--spectators, and among the hurrying throngs a close observer might have noticed the luckless Pierre Frochard and the blind girl Louise entering. They found seats on a front bench. "The judges are taking their places now," said Pierre. "You will soon hear the trials. Over on their right sits Robespierre, the dictator of France!" The judges, so-called, are five villainous individuals, wearing dirty-looking plumed hats, black jerkins and breeches, and tall jack boots. The shaggy-haired Jacques-Forget-Not presides. A frowsy public prosecutor--red, white and blue cockade affixed to his tousled hat plume--calls the names of the accused and presents the charge. From the background, the stripe-panted soldiery are bringing the victims up. "They are arraigning them in batches," says Pierre. "The judges make quick work!" Louise shudders, lays hold of his arm.