The railing in front of her shook with the quivering of her arms and hands as she held by it to support herself! Her hair lay tangled on her shoulders; her face had assumed a strange fixedness; her gentle blue eyes, so soft and tender at all other times, were lit up wildly.

A low hum of murmured curiosity and admiration broke from the women of the audience.

Some rose eagerly from the benches; others cried: "Listen, listen! she is going to speak!" She did speak.

Silvery and pure the sweet voice, sweeter than ever in sadness, stole its way through the gross sounds--through the coarse humming and the hissing whispers.
"My lord the president," began the poor girl firmly.

Her next words were drowned in a volley of hisses from the women.
"Ah! aristocrat, aristocrat! None of your accursed titles here!" was their shrill cry at her.