That she should have felt his burning kisses on her hand was heavenly compensation for all she would have to suffer.
And so she allowed them to drag her through the sansculotte mob of Paris, who would have torn her to pieces then and there, so as not to delay the pleasure of seeing her die.
They took her to the Luxembourg, once the palace of the Medici, the home of proud "Monsieur" in the days of the Great Monarch, now a loathsome, overfilled prison.
It was then six o'clock in the afternoon, drawing towards the close of this memorable day.

She was handed over to the governor of the prison, a short, thick-set man in black trousers and black-shag woollen shirt, and wearing a dirty red cap, with tricolour rosette on the side of his unkempt head.
He eyed her up and down as she passed under the narrow doorway, then murmured one swift query to Merlin: "Dangerous ?" "Yes," replied Merlin laconically.
"You understand," added the governor; "we are so crowded.

We ought to know if individual attention is required." "Certainly," said Merlin, "you will be personally responsible for this prisoner to the Committee of Public Safety." "Any visitors allowed ?" "Certainly not, without the special permission of the Public Prosecutor." Juliette heard this brief exchange of words over her future fate.
No visitor would be allowed to see her.

Well, perhaps that would be best.

She would have been afraid to meet Deroulede again, afraid to read in his eyes that story of his dead love, which alone might have destroyed her present happiness.
And she wished to see no one.