Approaching her on the right, the Seamstress welcomed her and stepped closer to speak earnestly and in quiet. “Most are not coming today. They have heard their necks are at risk in such a gathering. I concur. Please reconsider. Come with us. Your own neck might need safekeeping as well.” She held her breath, hoping Olympe would change her mind.

As the sun rose in the sky and merchants did not leave their shops, soldiers became impatient and began pounding doors and breaking through locks. Empty stores were ransacked. Beds, cold from lack of use that night remained, mocking the soldiers who kicked them aside. Up and down the street, every single shopkeeper or worker had disappeared.

Wary, the Seamstress watched it all, hoping to convince Olympe of her foolishness. Time grew short as soldiers’ tempers flared.

Voices carried from the front of the bakery. “Do you think they used magic?” one particularly burly guard asked. “We’ve been watching their shops all night.”

Another rushed out of the shop. “No, not magic. Look here.” A small red flower in the center of a paper caused them both to grimace in fear. Anyone fooled by that little red flower had to answer to Robespierre himself.

The members of the Society of Revolutionary Republican Women watched as Olympe shook her head and then embraced the Seamstress. Their speaker straightened her back and then stepped up to the platform to begin. A few women jeered and shouted to her.

“Today, I came here to illuminate three different forms of government. But I don’t think I will have time to give my whole speech, so I will say just the following: We are at a crossroads in France. Now that the monarchy has been toppled, we may choose who are to be our rulers. I feel it is time to warn you. At this very moment, those in power are preparing new shackles for you, new ways to stifle your freedoms. We no longer have our king, that is true—may he rest in peace—but losing a king did not make us free. New leaders threaten worse than any monarch ever did, and at the head of the evil and the lawless in Paris is Robespierre himself. He represents all that is wrong in France. From him, we should run for our very lives.”

A group of five soldiers approached from the back of the square, spreading out, prepared to surround her.

She watched them come for a moment and then said, “Robespierre! Have you the courage to imitate me? I suggest we take a bath in the Seine, but in order to wash away all the stains you have acquired . . . we will attach cannonballs of sixteen or twenty-four to our feet; then, together, we will rush headlong into the flow.”3

As she finished her last words, the soldiers bound and gagged her, leading her away from the crowds.

Scarlet slipped into the shadows.