e condemned
cells, the men in black were conversing in low voices. Prasville was
talking to the public prosecutor, who expressed his fears:

"No, no," declared Prasville, "I assure you, it will pass without an
incident of any kind."

"Do your reports mention nothing at all suspicious, monsieur le
secretaire-general?"

"Nothing. And they can't mention anything, for the simple reason that we
have Lupin."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes, we know his hiding-place. The house where he lives, on the Place
de Clichy, and where he went at seven o'clock last night, is surrounded.
Moreover, I know the scheme which he had contrived to save his two
accomplices. The scheme miscarried at the last moment. We have nothing
to fear, therefore. The law will take its course."

Meanwhile, the hour had struck.

They took Vaucheray first; and the governor of the prison ordered the
door of his cell to be opened. Vaucheray leapt out of bed and cast eyes
dilated with terror upon the men who entered.

"Vaucheray, we have come to tell you..."

"Stow that, stow that," he muttered. "No words. I know all about it. Get
on with the business."

One would have thought that he was in a hurry for it to be over as fast
as possible, so readily did he submit to the usual preparations. But he
would not allow any of them to speak to him:

"No words," he repeated. "What? Confess to the priest? Not worth while.
I have shed blood. The law sheds my blood. It's the good old rule. We're
quits."

Nevertheless, he stopped short for a moment:

"I say, is my mate going through it too?"

And, when he heard that Gilbert would go to the scaffold at the same
time as himself, he had two or three seconds of hesitation, glanced
at the bystanders, seemed about to speak, was silent and, at last,
muttered:

"It's better so.... They'll pull us through together... we'll clink
glasses together."

Gilbert was not asleep either, when the men entered his cell.

Sitting on his bed, he listened to the terrible words, tried to stand
up, began to tremble frightfully, from head to foot, like a skeleton
when shaken, and then fell back, sobbing:

"Oh, my poor mummy, poor mummy!" he stammered.

They tried to question him about that mother, of whom he had never
spoken; but his tears were interrupted by a sudden fit of rebellion and
he cried:

"I have done no murder... I won't die. I have done no murder..."

"Gilbert," they said, "show yourself a man."

"Yes, yes... but I