midday
At the thresholds of doors women sat sewing canvas to make tents . Sometimes came a wave of men in red caps , bending forward a pike , at the end of which could be seen a discoloured head with the hair hanging down . The lofty tribune of the Convention looked down upon a cloud of dust , amid which wild faces were yelling cries `` Death ! '' Anyone who passed , at midday , close to the basin of the Tuileries could hear each blow of the guillotine , as if they were cutting up sheep . And the breeze moved the vine-leaves of the arbour ; the ripe barley swayed at intervals ; a blackbird was singing . And , casting glances around them , they relished this tranquil scene . What a pity that from the beginning they had failed to understand one another !