On 15th January, 1793, the second floor of the conference hall was packed with people. Edith squeezed her way among the crowd to witness this historic moment.
One by one, the representatives went up to vote, deciding the fate of the former king Louis Capet.
From the staircase below, Edith caught sight of Andre waiting in line, his countenance with aplomb and his head held high.
A Girondist in front of him called for reprieve for the king, causing a chorus of boos from the surrounding audience.
Andre Quenet strode confidently onto the podium, his hands planted on the table and his body leaning forward.
"I vote for Death," he declared, his tone steady and unwavering.
"...I see the crocodile tears are already stirring your hearts to sympathy. Someone wants to exploit the people''s weakness and kindness to serve his own conspiracy." He began to expound on his reasoning, his voice resonant yet his tone becoming increasingly infused with heartfelt tearful rage, "But think about it, citizens, think about those children in rags with nothing to wear, think about the innocent people who perished in hunger and despair! Are we entitled to condone a tyrant on their behalf? Are we worthy of showing mercy to a criminal who oppressed us?!"
The people around Edith couldn''t help but nod at each other in agreement, "Well said!"
Edith smiled as she watched his tall and straight figure. She led the applause, thunderous clapping ringing throughout the hall.
"That''s all." The young man stepped down from the podium.
----------------
"Your speech just now was truly excellent!" Edith bounced over to Andre after the meeting.
Perhaps too eager to share her feelings, or perhaps swept up in the exhilarating atmosphere, the young girl momentarily forgot about the grudge she held against the youth before her. Her face, tanned from the sun, shone brightly as she merrily twirled the white square scarf that was tied in a knot at her chest with her pinky finger.
Like most women on the street at that time, Edith did not adorn herself much. Her plain, solid-coloured dress complemented her Spartan maiden''s temperament: the narrow skirt hung almost straight down without any superfluous trim or pattern, nor deliberately accentuate her curves. It was a dress that the artists of the time who passionately worshiped the natural beauty of ancient Greece would not hesitate to praise. However,