The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of
Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount
himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with
which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced feebly
up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he had
striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How
blessed--how undeservedly blessed--was his fate! Who or what was he that
after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory should
be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to look back
upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the everlasting
doors were open. A few more hours, and then--! and as Monsieur the
Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears that trickled from
his fingers were literally tears of joy.

He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay
down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur Crapaud's fiery eyes.
And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, to take
the form and features of the face of the Priest, and to gaze at him with
unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some familiar piece of
music, awoke the words that had been written on the fly-leaf of the
little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over and over again--

"_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur!_"
(Remember the Saviour!)

In that remembrance he fell asleep.

Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then
it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too
long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have
resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, he
awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. Surely
the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an early
hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The hours of
suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a key rattled
into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared with a jug of
milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down.

"A good appetite to you, citizens."

Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is
it? Is the execution deferred?"

"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, significantly;
"_Robespierre is dead!