Judge, I reveal thy doom! I know that the Anarchy thou callest a State expires with the setting of this sun.
Hark, to the tramp without; hark to the roar of voices! Room there, ye dead!--room in hell for Robespierre and his crew!" They hurry into the court,--the hasty and pale messengers; there is confusion and fear and dismay! "Off with the conspirator, and to-morrow the woman thou wouldst have saved shall die!" "To-morrow, president, the steel falls on THEE!" On, through the crowded and roaring streets, on moves the Procession of Death.

Ha, brave people! thou art aroused at last.

They shall not die! Death is dethroned!--Robespierre has fallen!--they rush to the rescue! Hideous in the tumbril, by the side of Zanoni, raved and gesticulated that form which, in his prophetic dreams, he had seen his companion at the place of death.

"Save us!--save us!" howled the atheist Nicot.

"On, brave populace! we SHALL be saved!" And through the crowd, her dark hair streaming wild, her eyes flashing fire, pressed a female form, "My Clarence!" she shrieked, in the soft Southern language native to the ears of Viola; "butcher! what hast thou done with Clarence ?" Her eyes roved over the eager faces of the prisoners; she saw not the one she sought.