She is trying to avert your murder, here; show some respect. More to the point, it's working. They're going to enact this odd ritual Guiteau expects, and then… then Guiteau will be… oh, dear. Her shoulders slump a little as they both head toward the scaffold. She did not entirely think this through. And now there's nothing for her to do but watch.

And listen.

Guiteau sings, first, and she grimaces a little as the melody wanders between 'hymnal' and 'cloying.' It's a relief when the Balladeer comes in. He has a nice voice, actually. It takes her a few moments to appreciate as much. She's distracted by the sudden animation of the crowd, as if they were all waiting for this moment, or as if the music lifted whatever spell they were under. Then she's distracted again by a sudden swell of more instruments from somewhere, though she can't spot any other musicians in the crowd for the life of her.

At least no one tries to talk to her. A few people elbow past her to get a better view; she folds her arms, hunches her shoulders, and lets them. She doesn't really want to see what's coming.