while her pristine white dress made her look like a sacred bride once again; Charlene and Edith sat opposite each other, their lotus pink and apple green dresses dancing in the wind, creating a charming contrast.
Especially captivating was Danton''s lovely newlywed wife, little Louise, who had a dollface that was extremely pleasing to the eye, wearing a fashionable sky blue dress with a low neckline. When her husband leaned over to ask for her kiss in front of everyone, she blushed and gave him a pettish scold.②
As they boarded the carriage and saw Lucile holding her barely two-year-old son, Edith was somewhat surprised.
"I was supposed to have my mother look after him for two days, but this kid can''t bear to be away from me even for a moment," Lucile apologised with a smile to everyone.
Little Horace stood on the seat, his two tiny, ball-like hands gripping the window frame of the carriage, curiously peering outside.
The young Madame Danton took Lucile''s hand and engaged with her in chitchats. These revolutionaries, by some unspoken agreement, had all stopped discussing politics today and instead focused on fashion and lighthearted gossip. Danton, with slightly vulgar language, regaled the ladies with a love affair about a member of the National Convention, causing them to cover their mouths and giggle.
Only Raphael sat slightly apart from the others, leaning against the window and rarely joining in the conversation. His mind seemed to be elsewhere as he gazed out at the scenery receding behind them.
As the carriage passed through the Place of the Revolution, the eyes of those inside were drawn to a young boy being held tightly by two soldiers of the National Guard on the execution platform.
The doomed boy was barely more than a child, his frail body trembling with fear, tears streaking his face as he shrank back desperately, trying to pull away from his captors. Great big drops of tears continued to fall from his swollen, bloodshot eyes.
"No, I don''t want to die! I don''t! I don''t! I''ve done nothing!" He screamed and struggled violently as the executioner pushed the board he was bound to toward the platform, crying as though his heart would break.
Most of the Parisians who