Even Charlotte was almost forgotten whilst Deroulede talked.

He had a fine voice, of strong calibre, which echoed powerfully through the hall.
He was rather short, but broad-shouldered and well knit, with an expressive hand, which looked slender and delicate below the fine lace ruffle.
Charlotte Corday was condemned.

All Deroulede's eloquence could not save her.
Juliette left the court in a state of mad exultation.

She was very young: the scenes she had witnessed in the past two years could not help but excite the imagination of a young girl, left entirely to her own intellectual and moral resources.
What scenes! Great God! And now to wait for an opportunity! Charlotte Corday, the half-educated little provincial should not put to shame Mademoiselle de Marny, the daughter of a hundred dukes, of those who had made France before she took to unmaking herself.
But she could not formulate any definite plans.

Petronelle, poor old soul, her only confidante, was not of the stuff that heroines are made of.