have done no murder... Why should I die?"

His teeth chattered so loudly that words which he uttered became
unintelligible. He let the men do their work, made his confession, heard
mass and then, growing calmer and almost docile, with the voice of a
little child resigning itself, murmured:

"Tell my mother that I beg her forgiveness."

"Your mother?"

"Yes... Put what I say in the papers... She will understand... And
then..."

"What, Gilbert?"

"Well, I want the governor to know that I have not lost confidence."

He gazed at the bystanders, one after the other, as though he
entertained the mad hope that "the governor" was one of them, disguised
beyond recognition and ready to carry him off in his arms:

"Yes," he said, gently and with a sort of religious piety, "yes, I still
have confidence, even at this moment... Be sure and let him know, won't
you?... I am positive that he will not let me die. I am certain of
it..."

They guessed, from the fixed look in his eyes, that he saw Lupin, that
he felt Lupin's shadow prowling around and seeking an inlet through
which to get to him. And never was anything more touching than the sight
of that stripling--clad in the strait-jacket, with his arms and legs
bound, guarded by thousands of men--whom the executioner already held in
his inexorable hand and who, nevertheless, hoped on.

Anguish wrung the hearts of all the beholders. Their eyes were dimmed
with tears:

"Poor little chap!" stammered some one.

Prasville, touched like the rest and thinking of Clarisse, repeated, in
a whisper:

"Poor little chap!"

But the hour struck, the preparations were finished. They set out.

The two processions met in the passage. Vaurheray, on seeing Gilbert,
snapped out:

"I say, kiddie, the governor's chucked us!"

And he added a sentence which nobody, save Prasville, was able to
understand:

"Expect he prefers to pocket the proceeds of the crystal stopper."

They went down the staircases. They crossed the prison-yards. An
endless, horrible distance.

And, suddenly, in the frame of the great doorway, the wan light of day,
the rain, the street, the outlines of houses, while far-off sounds came
through the awful silence.

They walked along the wall, to the corner of the boulevard.

A few steps farther Vaucheray started back: he had seen!

Gilbert crept along, with lowered head, supported by an executioner's
assistant and by the chaplain, who made him kiss the crucifix