to free himself from the comte's
hand, his son fell back aghast and livid with fear. He saw by the
fearful look, the inexorable demeanour of his father, that he had no
pity to expect from him.

"My father!" he exclaimed.

"You must die!"

"I repent!"

"It is too late. Hark! They are forcing in the door!"

"I will expiate my faults!"

"They are entering! Must I then kill you with my own hand?"

"Pardon!"

"The door gives way! You will then have it so!"

And the comte placed the muzzle of the weapon against Florestan's
breast.

The noise without announced that the door of the cabinet could not long
resist. The vicomte saw he was lost. A sudden and desperate resolution
lighted up his countenance. He no longer struggled with his father, and
he said to him, with equal firmness and resignation:

"You are right, my father! Give me the pistol! There is infamy enough on
my name! The life in store for me is frightful, and is not worth the
trouble of a struggle. Give me the pistol! You shall see if I am a
coward!" and he put forth his hand to take the pistol. "But, at least,
one word,--one single word of consolation,--pity,--farewell!" said
Florestan; and his trembling lips, his paleness, his agitated features,
all betokened the terrible emotion of this frightful moment.

"But what if he were, indeed, my son!" thought the comte, with terror,
and hesitating to hand him the deadly instrument. "If he were my son I
ought to hesitate before such a sacrifice."

A loud cracking of the cabinet door announced that it was being forced.

"My father, they are coming! Oh, now I feel that death is indeed a
benefit. Yes, now I thank you! But, at least, your hand,--and forgive
me!"

In spite of his sternness, the comte could not repress a shudder, as he
said, in a voice of emotion:

"I forgive you."

"My father, the door opens; go to them, that, at least, they may not
even suspect you. Besides, if they enter here, they will prevent me from
completing,--adieu!"

The steps of several persons were heard in the next room. Florestan
placed the muzzle of the pistol to his heart. It went off at the instant
when the comte, to avoid the horrid sight, turned away his head, and
rushed out of the salon, whose curtains closed upon him.

At the sound of this explosion, at the sight of the comte, pale and
haggard, the commissary stopped short at the threshold of the door,
making a sign to his agents to pause also.

Informed by Boyer