Surrender to a Stranger Read Free

rough-looking crowd. His absence did not surprise her. Her betrothed was not a man who took unnecessary risks, and he undoubtedly feared his association with her would soon be called into question. She was sorry for that, and despite her disappointment that no one was there to offer support through their presence, she could not fault him for his desire to be cautious.
    For the most part the members of the audience ignored her as they gathered up their food and drink and discussed her fate among themselves. Her eyes came to rest upon an old man who was sitting at the back of the courtroom. He did not speak to anyone around him, apparently uninterested in sharing their harsh enthusiasm over what was certain to be a guilty verdict. He was dressed entirely in black, and his head was covered with a battered, low crowned hat that bore a revolutionary cockade. The scraggly hair spilling out from underneath his head dress was snowy white, the sallow skin that sagged upon his face spotted and lined with age. He hunched forward on the bench, his pale hands gripping the top of a cane that was evidently very much needed to give his ancient, fragile body support. He stared vacantly into space, apparently oblivious to the coarse remarks about “the aristo whore” who would soon find herself lying down for Sanson, the executioner. Someone jostled him and laughingly asked him a question while pointing at her, and the old man smiled and nodded. He turned his eyes to her and appeared surprised to find her looking at him. They locked gazes for the briefest of seconds, and Jacqueline found herself transfixed by the intensity of his stare. Then he turned abruptly and made some remark to the burly man seated beside him, which caused the lout to shake with booming laughter before wiping his nose on his sleeve. Jacqueline looked away.
    The jury returned after a few minutes with a verdict of guilty. The audience cheered.
    “Citizeness Doucette, you have been found guilty by this court of committing crimes against the Republic of France. Do you have anything you wish to say in your defense before you are sentenced?” asked the judge president.
    Jacqueline gripped the bar of the dock as she looked at the judges and jury with contempt. “You have found me guilty of trying to protect my family from the cruelty and corruption that has hooked its claws into France,” she began, her voice tight and frigid. “You have already murdered my father, and undoubtedly you will soon do the same to my brother. Do you think I believe you would have stopped there? By attacking the scum who invaded my home, I merely saved you the time and expense of sending another party to the Château de Lambert to arrest me later.” She paused and stared hard at them. “My advice to you, my fellow citizens, is that you enjoy today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, because your days are sadly numbered. By murdering the noblesse, and the wealthy bourgeois, and anyone who has the courage to speak out against you, you cannot solve the enormous problems that are choking the breath out of France.” She gestured to the men and women in the audience, who had settled back into their seats to listen to her. “It is only a matter of time before these people to whom you have promised so much grow weary of your fancy rhetoric,” she continued. “Ceremonies of liberty and reason and the constant chop of the guillotine do not put food on a table or clothing on a body.” She looked at Fouquier-Tinville and smiled. “Even you, fellow citizen, will not be exempt,” she told him with certainty. “But my sisters will be safe. And when reason and justice have been restored to France, they will return.”
    “Citizeness Doucette, the hour grows late and your political opinions are no longer of interest to this court,” interrupted the judge president impatiently. “Since you do not seem to have anything to say which would alter the verdict of this jury, I find you guilty of the