til the last.

"I wish to know the crimes of which you are accused," persisted
Coursegol. "There are no proofs against you. I will find a lawyer to
defend you--if need be, I, myself will defend you."

"It would be useless, my friend. Your efforts would only compromise you,
without saving me."

As she spoke, she heard quick footsteps behind her. She turned. The
officer who was there the evening before had returned to conduct the
prisoners to the Tribunal. He began to call their names.

"Farewell, farewell," murmured Dolores, huskily.

In this parting from the friend who had loved her so long and
faithfully, she experienced the first pang of anguish that had assailed
her heart since she had decided to sacrifice her own life for
Antoinette's sake.

"Not farewell," responded Coursegol, "but au revoir!"

And without another word, he departed.

Dolores glanced around the hall; but saw nothing of Philip or
Antoinette. She was greatly relieved, for she had feared that their
emotion would unnerve her; but now she could reasonably hope to carry
with her to the grave the secret of the devotion which was to cost her
her life. She did not wish Philip ever to know that she had died in
place of Antoinette, lest her friend should become hateful in his sight,
and Antoinette herself be condemned to eternal remorse.

It was now nine o'clock, and about twenty persons had assembled in the
hall. The majority of them were unfortunates who, like Dolores, were to
appear that morning before the tribunal; but all did not enjoy a
serenity like hers. One, a young man, seated upon a chair, a little
apart from his companions, allowed his eyes to rove restlessly around
without pausing upon any of the objects that surrounded him. Though his
body was there, his mind assuredly, was far away. He was thinking,
doubtless, of days gone by, memories of which always flock into the
minds of those who are about to die; not far from him, a venerable man
condemned to death, was striving to conquer his emotion in order to
console a young girl--his daughter--who hung about his neck, wiping
bitterly; there, stood a priest, repeating his breviary, pausing every
now and then to reply to each of the prisoners who came to implore the
benediction which, according to the tenets of the Romish Church,
insures the soul the eternal joys of Paradise. So these prisoners, all
differently occupied, were grouped about the hall; and those who were to
die displayed far mor