crowd. Then, the person named
came forward and received from the hands of the official a paper,
enumerating the real or imaginary crimes with which he was charged and
ordering him to appear before his judges the following day. If his
father, his wife or his children were in prison with him, the air was
filled with tears and lamentations.

One could hear such words as these:

"If they had but taken me!"

"Would I could die in your stead!"

These heart-breaking scenes began even before the departure of the
officer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of final
adieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, he
came forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death,
and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozen
unknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage and
strengthen him.

Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and that
evening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions.
The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenly
she trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had just
heard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glanced
around her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip,
outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated it
in a still louder voice.

"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.

Dolores stepped forward.

"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."

"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"

"The same."

This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration,
surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did not
hear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand,
she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned to
her place.

The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the last
upon the sad list.

"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock."

With these words, the messenger of the Tribunal withdrew. Then came a
sigh of relief from those who had not been summoned.

The friends of Dolores assembled around her.

"Unfortunate child, what have you done?" asked one.

"Are you, then, so anxious to die?"

"Why did you go forward when it was not your name that he called?"

She glanced calmly at her questioners; then, in a voice in which