The executioner takes up the head; shows it to the people; and then
places it at one corner of the scaffold, opposite that of Talhouet.

"Who next?" asks Waters.

"It matters little," answers a voice, "provided that Monsieur de
Pontcalec be the last, according to his sentence."

"I, then," said Montlouis, "I." And he springs upon the scaffold. But
there he stops, his hair bristling; at a window before him he has seen
his wife and his children.

"Montlouis! Montlouis!" cries his wife, with the despairing accent of a
breaking heart, "Montlouis! look at us!"

At the same moment all eyes were turned toward that window. Soldiers,
citizens, priests, and executioners look the same way. Gaston profits by
the deathlike silence which reigns around him--springs to the scaffold,
and grasps the staircase--and mounts the first steps.

"My wife! my children!" cries Montlouis, wringing his hands in despair;
"oh! go, have pity upon me!"

"Montlouis!" cries his wife, holding up afar the youngest of his sons,
"Montlouis, bless your children, and one day, perhaps, one of them will
avenge you."

"Adieu! my children, my blessing on you!" cries Montlouis, stretching
his hands toward the window.

These mournful adieux pierce the night, and reverberate like a terrible
echo in the hearts of the spectators.

"Enough," says Waters, "enough." Then turning to his assistants:

"Be quick!" says he, "or the people will not allow us to finish."

"Be easy," says Montlouis; "if the people should rescue me, I would not
survive them."

And he pointed with his finger to the heads of his companions.

"Ah, I had estimated them rightly, then," cried Gaston, who heard these
words, "Montlouis, martyr, pray for me."

Montlouis turned round, he seemed to have heard a well-known voice; but
at the very moment the executioner seized him, and almost instantly a
loud cry told Gaston that Montlouis was like the others, and that _his_
turn was come.

He leaped up; in a moment he was on the top of the ladder, and he in his
turn looked down from the abominable platform upon all that crowd. At
three corners of the scaffold were the heads of Talhouet, Du Couedic,
and Montlouis.

But there arose then a strange emotion in the people. The execution of
Montlouis, attended by the circumstances we have narrated, had upset the
crowd. All the square, heaving and uttering murmurs and imprecations,
seemed to Gaston some vast sea with life in every wave. At this