oot of the cross was engraved the head of Saint
John the Baptist. With their long unbelted robes, the chains on their
wrists, they resembled nocturnal phantoms.

The last ones bore a coffin, and sang in lugubrious tones the doleful
'Miserere.' Chanting a service and carrying the bier of a person still
in the flesh! Breaking through the crowd, they arrived near the
scaffold and placed the bier upon the ground. Then they arranged
themselves in two cordons around the block, so that they could receive
the victim among them, and also to form a guard between the world and
her who was to leave it. Now a car came, moving slowly and drawn by
two oxen caparisoned in black. In this car was our poor Margherita.

In obedience to the curious sentiment which commands one to adorn
one's self for all occasions, even the melancholy ones, Margherita had
dressed herself in a rich robe of sombre hue. With great pains she had
arranged her black hair, which set off to advantage the delicate
pallor of the face revealing so much suffering. Upon her neck, which
had so often disputed whiteness with pearls, she now wore her rosary,
which seemed to outline the circle of the axe. In her hands she
clasped the crucifix attached to the chapelet, and from this she never
removed her eyes,--eyes which had always beamed with kindness and
sweetness, but which were now full of sorrow. They could only look
upon one object--the cross, the one hope of salvation.

By her side was seated Buonvicino, even paler, if possible, than she.
In his hand he held an image of the Crucified God who has suffered for
us. From time to time he spoke some consoling words to the young
victim,--a simple prayer such as our mothers have taught us in
infancy, and which come to us again in the most critical moments of
life:--"Savior, unto thee I yield my spirit. Maria, pray for me at the
hour of death. Depart, Christian soul, from this world, which is but a
place of exile, and return into that celestial country sanctified by
thy suffering, so that angels may bear thee to Paradise!"...

When Margherita appeared, every one exclaimed: "Oh, how beautiful she
is! She is so young!"

Then tears flowed. Many a silken handkerchief hid the eyes of fair
ladies, and many a hand, accustomed to a sword, tried to retard tears.

Every one looked towards Lucio to see if he would not wave a white
handkerchief--the signal of pardon.

Translated through the French by Esther Singleton, for the