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 A Tribunal Under the Terror. examination of the list, Fouquier threw himself on a mattress in the tribunal and passed the night there. In " Memoires de l'Executeur" by M. A. Gregoire, we have a very clear report of ten minutes spent in Fouquier's " hall of justice." Before the judges and the jury sit a crowd of innocent sufferers. The accusation is the usual vague one of conspiracy against the "unity and indivisibility of the Republic." A little distance from the prisoners are the accusers, perjurers, scum of the prisons, professional denouncers most of them, who find in this abominable work their means of livelihood. Advocates for the accused afe not allowed. The savage crowd of spectators being partially quieted by the gendarmes, the greffier, or registrar, reads over the list aloud, and the prisoners respond to their names. Fouquier on receiving the number — gener ally a hundred — rises and reads the com mon charge of conspiracy. This is very brief, consisting of only three lines. He then demands of the accused what they have to say in their defense. Thus far the proceedings have been formal enough, but now the brutal and arrogant Fouquier throws aside every semblance of judicial dignity. "Listen, you ancient on the perch! " he cries to an old man who happens to be seat ed on a bench higher than the rest of the prisoners; " You are charged to answer on behalf of your accomplices. What have you to urge in their justification and your own? " The old man in his terror stammers out: "That — that — that —," whereupon one of the judges remarks to Fouquier: "You cannot fail to perceive that this man is afflicted with paralysis of the tongue." " Let him hold his tongue then," said Fouquier, "his head is all I ask for. The next." "Citizen Judges," exclaims a woman prisoner, "you are mistaken in my case. I have been arrested for another"; and she goes on to assure her prosecutors that the warrant under which she has been brought

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there was made out in the name of the cidevant Duchesse de Maille, whereas hers is Maillet and she is a tradeswoman of the Rue Honore. Such an error is but a trifle to Fouquier. " Here the name makes no dif ference to the fact," he replies; " Maillet or Maille, you are not the less an object of sus picion, and it is the same thing whether you come to this tribunal to-day or to-morrow." The unfortunate woman, who had probably hoped to escape on this plea, bursts into tears and tells him that she is a poor widow with children depending on her; but the merciless prosecutor cuts her short, exclaim ing: "You have not the right of reply. The next." A handsome, well dressed youth is the next speaker. " I admit the charge for which I was arrested," he says boldly. "A street sweeper splashed mud upon me, call ing me a budding aristocrat, and I answer ed :' I spurn your Republic! ' but the law forbids you to put to death anyone under sixteen years of age, and I am only fifteen. Here is my certificate of baptism." Vain confidence. " The wolf-cubs are more dan gerous than the full-grown wolves. Next!" replies Fouquier. The Chevalier de Segrais pleads that he had been absent from Paris until the very hour of his arrest, and so could not be guilty of conspiring with his fellow prisoners, none of whom he had ever seen before. "Sufficient," cries the prosecutor. "The right of reply is taken away from you. To hear their accounts, all these messieurs are as pure as snow." The lovely young wife of De Sartine de fends herself with great coolness and wit, but is presently overcome by Fouquier's arrogant replies. Having silenced her, he cried : "You jade, if I could do without my dinner, I would come and see you guillo tined." A decrepit old woman whom her fellow prisoners have just been able to make un derstand that she is charged with conspiracy,