How many innocent persons Dolores saw leave the prison never to return!
But the victims, whatever might be their age or sex, displayed the same
fortitude, courage and firmness. They met their doom with such proud
audacity that those who survived them, but who well knew that the same
fate awaited them, in their turn, watched them depart with sad, but not
despairing, eyes.

These scenes, of which she was an almost hourly witness, strengthened
the soul of Dolores and increased her distaste for life and her scorn of
death. Still, she experienced a feeling of profound sorrow when, on the
morning of the ninth day of her captivity, she was obliged to bid
farewell to the Marquise de Beaufort, who, in company with the former
abbess of the Convent of Bellecombe, in Auvergne, and a venerable
priest, had been summoned before the Tribunal. They were absent scarcely
three hours; they returned, condemned. Their execution was to take place
that same day at sunset. They spent the time that remained, in prayer;
and Dolores, kneeling beside them, wept bitterly.

"Do not mourn, my dear child," said the Marquise, tenderly. "I die
without regret. There was nothing left me here on earth. I have lost my
husband, my son--all who were dear to me. I am going to rejoin them. I
could ask no greater happiness."

She spoke thus as she obeyed the call of the executioner, who summoned
her and her companions to array themselves for their final journey. When
her toilet was completed, she knelt before the aged priest.

"Bless me, my father!" said she.

And the priest, who was to die with her, extended his hands and blessed
her. When she rose, her face was radiant. She took Dolores in her arms.

"Farewell, my child;" she said, tenderly. "You are young. I hope you
will escape the fury of these misguided wretches. Pray for me!"

And as the prisoners crowded around her with outstretched hands, she
cried, cheerfully:

"Au revoir, my friends, au revoir!"

She was led away. Just as she was disappearing from sight, she turned
once more and sent Dolores a last supreme farewell in a smile and kiss.
Then, in a clear, strong voice, that rang out like a song of victory,
she cried:

"Vive le Roi!"

The very next day Dolores saw two young men led out to die. Their
bearing was no less brave than that of the Marquise. They were not
royalists. They died accused of Moderantisme, that frightful word with
which the revolution sealed the doom of so many of its mos