ucile down the steps.
As Lucile struggled to turn back, her eyelids trembled, seemingly foretelling tears. But she immediately held back that wave of tear and revealed a poignant smile to her family and friends.
The heavy door slammed shut. Louise supported Lucile''s elderly mother, who was on the verge of fainting from crying. Little Horace''s heart-wrenching wails all at once brought forth tears from everyone inside the house.
All hope was lost! Deep within their hearts, they keenly felt the destined misfortune awaiting their friends.
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Two soldiers of the National Guard, wearing red caps and carrying long-barrelled guns, burst into the room where Charlene Saint-Clemont was sitting at her laboratory bench, sorting her documents.
"Congratulations, citizeness, you''ve won the lottery of Saint-Guillotine," one of them casually informed, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Come along with us."
"On what charges, citizens?" Charlene asked with placidity, showing no surprise.
"Woman aristocrat Saint-Clemont, you''ve conspired with Desmoulins'' wife to incite the masses to storm the prison, to free her husband and the traitor Danton," another soldier, slender in build, nonchalantly waved the arrest warrant in his hand. "That''s what they say here, anyhow."
Charlene made no effort to defend herself.
"Then, may I request that you wait for a moment, at least, to allow me to organize these chemical research manuscripts?" she earnestly pleaded, her gaze fixed upon the two guards.
"Pardon us, we are only here to escort you," the soldier with the cigarette in his mouth said. "And again, the Republic has no need of scientists, let alone a woman scientist!"
"Especially a lame one," the thin soldier added with a chuckle.
"Mind your tongue, citizen. Don''t forget that Couthon in the Committee of Public Safety is also a wheelchair-bound cripple," the smoking soldier promptly reminded his fellow.①
The thin soldier shrugged his shoulders.
Charlene sighed, "So, Messieurs, you truly won''t spare even a moment for a poor girl who is nearing her death?"
"It''s not that we don''t want to, citizeness," the smoking soldier''s tone carried