Love at Dawn

10.Dispute With The Idol

On the morning of January 21st, a crowd had gathered in the square at the break of dawn, eagerly awaiting the arrival of a tumbrel like none had ever seen in a millennium. Many women had taken special care to dress in their finest attire, resembling the garments they wore to the chapel, while young girls with filthy hair held vibrant, colourful flowers in their hands.

"Mama, is the king getting married today?" asked a little boy, perched on his mother's shoulders and sucking his thumb.

"Yes, young man, to Lady Guillotine!" replied a nearby man, prompting laughter to ripple through the crowd.

In the back, an elderly woman, her face etched with anguish, clutched her eyes shut even more desperately, continually making the sign of the cross over her chest.

The arrival of the prisoner carriage had been delayed for quite a while, testing the patience of the gathered masses. Rumors circulated that the king had already been robbed by the ambushing nobles and their cavalry on the way. The executioner paced restlessly on and off the platform amid the growing grumbles of impatience.

"He's here!" exclaimed a keen-eyed young girl shortly after ten o'clock.

The black carriage carrying the king finally came into view from a distance. The horse, with its head hung low and movements languid, appeared reluctant.

"Try harder, mate. This is your last time in service to the monarchy," a man in the front called out to the horse with a laugh.

The king was led off the carriage. Unlike the dismay during his trial, he now appeared perfectly composed. Neither too disheveled to provoke malice nor too proud to incur disdain. Among the crowd, those who had harbored the greatest hatred for him now felt the deepest sense of pity. In their imagination, when he had been toying with the jewels on his crown and swaying among his mistresses, they only thirsted for his blood. Yet, when they saw him, just like them, shivering in the cold, with a haggard and troubled countenance, he transformed into a vulnerable soul. If the king were to plead for mercy at this moment, they might even turn against the opposition to save him.

As he walked to the centre of the guillotine, the king suddenly broke free from those restraining him and rushed towards the edge of the platform. His hands were bound behind him, making it almost impossible for him to maintain his balance, but several soldiers around the execution platform immediately assumed a defensive stance.

"I die innocent," he shouted to the people below, his words carried away by the wind in the vast square, with only occasional fragments audible. "I forgive those who have condemned me to death. May my blood be the last to stain the soil of France! I..."

Before he could finish his last sentence, one of the executioners hastily gestured, then the sound of the drums announcing the execution interrupted his confession.

"What did he say in his last words?" someone in the crowd asked as the king was led back to the execution platform.

"I couldn't hear. Who cares?"

"I don't know why, but I can't help feeling it was something quite meaningful. If only someone had heard!" another voice exclaimed.

Edith, with a stubborn resolution, maintained a dignified and unflinching demeanor all along, holding her chin as stiffly as if to maintain balance. As the final moment drew near, she also held her breath in both anxiety and anticipation.

The chopper fell. Initially, there was a deathly silence in the crowd below. Suddenly, someone shouted, "Long live the nation!" Then the crowd erupted, with deafening gun salute thundering out in the air, heralding the dawn of a new era. Children felt granted permission, tossing their bouquets high into the air, while young girls held hands, forming circles and dancing together. Standing beside her, Philippe also raised his arm, joining in the jubilant cheers.