Lucretia | Page 5

the collar
of his cloak, and his compressed lips told that he felt the anguish of the
laugh that circled round him.
"They are coming! There they are!" cried the boy, in ecstatic
excitement.
"That's the way to bring up citizens," said the butcher, patting the
child's shoulder, and opening a still better view for him at the edge of
the wagon.
The crowd now abruptly gave way. The tumbril was in sight. A man,
young and handsome, standing erect and with folded arms in the fatal
vehicle, looked along the mob with an eye of careless scorn. Though he
wore the dress of a workman, the most unpractised glance could detect,
in his mien and bearing, one of the hated noblesse, whose
characteristics came out even more forcibly at the hour of death. On the
lip was that smile of gay and insolent levity, on the brow that gallant if
reckless contempt of physical danger, which had signalized the
hero-coxcombs of the old regime. Even the rude dress was worn with a
certain air of foppery, and the bright hair was carefully adjusted, as if
for the holiday of the headsman. As the eyes of the young noble
wandered over the fierce faces of that horrible assembly, while a roar of
hideous triumph answered the look, in which for the last time the
gentilhomme spoke his scorn of the canaille, the child's father lowered
the collar of his cloak, and slowly raised his hat from his brow. The eye
of the marquis rested upon the countenance thus abruptly shown to him,
and which suddenly became individualized amongst the crowd,--that
eye instantly lost its calm contempt. A shudder passed visibly over his
frame, and his cheek grew blanched with terror. The mob saw the
change, but not the cause, and loud and louder rose their triumphant
yell. The sound recalled the pride of the young noble; he started, lifted
his crest erect, and sought again to meet the look which had appalled
him. But he could no longer single it out among the crowd. Hat and
cloak once more hid the face of the foe, and crowds of eager heads
intercepted the view. The young marquis's lips muttered; he bent down,

and then the crowd caught sight of his companion, who was being
lifted up from the bottom of the tumbril, where she had flung herself in
horror and despair. The crowd grew still in a moment as the pale face
of one, familiar to most of them, turned wildly from place to place in
the dreadful scene, vainly and madly through its silence imploring life
and pity. How often had the sight of that face, not then pale and
haggard, but wreathed with rosy smiles, sufficed to draw down the
applause of the crowded theatre; how, then, had those breasts, now
fevered by the thirst of blood, held hearts spellbound by the airy
movements of that exquisite form writhing now in no stage-mime
agony! Plaything of the city, minion to the light amusement of the hour,
frail child of Cytherea and the Graces, what relentless fate has
conducted thee to the shambles? Butterfly of the summer, why should a
nation rise to break thee upon the wheel? A sense of the mockery of
such an execution, of the horrible burlesque that would sacrifice to the
necessities of a mighty people so slight an offering, made itself felt
among the crowd. There was a low murmur of shame and indignation.
The dangerous sympathy of the mob was perceived by the officer in
attendance. Hastily he made the sign to the headsman, and as he did so,
a child's cry was heard in the English tongue,--"Mother! Mother!" The
father's hand grasped the child's arm with an iron pressure; the crowd
swam before the boy's eyes; the air seemed to stifle him, and become
blood-red; only through the hum and the tramp and the roll of the
drums he heard a low voice hiss in his ear "Learn how they perish who
betray me!"
As the father said these words, again his face was bare, and the woman,
whose ear amidst the dull insanity of fear had caught the cry of her
child's voice, saw that face, and fell back insensible in the arms of the
headsman.
CHAPTER I.
A FAMILY GROUP.
One July evening, at the commencement of the present century, several
persons were somewhat picturesquely grouped along an old-fashioned

terrace which skirted the garden-side of a manor-house that had
considerable pretensions to baronial dignity. The architecture was of
the most enriched and elaborate style belonging to the reign of James
the First: the porch, opening on the terrace, with its mullion window
above, was encased with pilasters and reliefs at once ornamental and
massive; and the large square tower in which it