iving together."

"Thank you, good girl," the old clergyman nodded.

By the side of the street, near a second-floor window, two residents were engrossed in pointing and gossiping about the tumbrel carrying notables.

"Which one is Desmoulins'' wife?"

"The prettiest one."

"Nice indeed! And that one is Citizeness Hébert?"

"That''s her."

"She doesn''t seem to have the same fever as her husband. And who is the girl beside her?"

"Not sure. Never seen her before."

"Seems like a former aristocrat, sister of an emigre," a woman chimed in, leaning in to tend to the flowers by the window. "Yesterday still bedecked in gold and silver, casting sidelong glances from atop her silk fan. Today wrapped in hessian sacks, serving at Madame Guillotine''s dinner table."

"An aristocrat! Fantastic!" exclaimed the most curious one, clapping his hands. "I just enjoy watching the heads of noblewomen being chopped off, especially the blonde ones! I must call for Sanson to lift that head for me to have a good look later."

These words reached Charlene''s ears, but failed to create any ripples on her composed countenance. Her nonchalance did not manage to stir the onlookers upstairs either.

Such aristocratic young ladies had been witnessed by the spectators alongside the tumbrels, one after another. Initially, there were some who admired their noble demeanor. But as familiarity grew, it gradually turned into a pretentious display in the eyes of the people.

"They just can''t let go of their noble airs. As