if by doing so, they can still be the superior lords, above us common folks," commented a working silversmith. It''s hard to imagine that a year ago, this same person shed tears for the composure of King Louis XVI.

Even the most easily moved heart can grow jaded. This posturing is akin to a series of reenacted Mystery-Plays, no longer commanding reverence among the multitude.

Every day, there were people riding firmly and proudly on the tumbrel along this road - whether singing the Marseillaise loudly until their final breath or agonizingly bidding farewell to life, it had become a repetitive spectacle that wearied the people of Paris.

Eight days ago, as Danton''s friend Philippeaux descended from the tumbrel in this square, he loudly exclaimed to the people, "Those who have pushed us here will soon ascend this guillotine themselves!"

Such a shattering prophecy could have been expected to shake even the most numb souls, but the crowd below merely jeered and shouted.

"We''ve heard those words until our ears have calloused!" "The previous cartload said the same thing!" "Give us something fresh!"

The brave women on the tumbrel knew full well that they lived exactly in such a time - a time where ordinary sympathy and conscience could no longer be awakened by simple words or heroic bearing. Hence, they remained admirably silent.

When the tumbrel came to a halt before the scaffold, Charlene humbly gestured to the old priest, "Please, you go first, so as not to prolong the agony of waiting!"

As the elder stood up, sh