Mole
uttered dull moans, but when Coconnas let go of him to attend to the
turnkey, and when he was supported only by the two women his legs gave
way, and in spite of the effort of Marguerite, who was wildly sobbing,
he fell back in a heap, and a piercing shriek which he could not
restrain echoed pitifully throughout the vaults of the chapel, which
vibrated long after.

"You see," said La Mole, painfully, "you see, my queen! Leave me; give
me one last kiss and go. I did not confess, Marguerite, and our secret
is hidden in our love and will die with me. Good-by, my queen, my
queen."

Marguerite, herself almost lifeless, clasped the dear head in her arms,
and pressed on it a kiss which was almost holy.

"You Annibal," said La Mole, "who have been spared these agonies, who
are still young and able to live, flee, flee; give me the supreme
consolation, my dear friend, of knowing you have escaped."

"Time flies," said the jailer; "make haste."

Henriette gently strove to lead Annibal to the door. Marguerite on her
knees before La Mole, sobbing, and with dishevelled hair, looked like a
Magdalene.

"Flee, Annibal," said La Mole, "flee; do not give our enemies the joyful
spectacle of the death of two innocent men."

Coconnas quietly disengaged himself from Henriette, who was leading him
to the door, and with a gesture so solemn that it seemed majestic said:

"Madame, first give the five hundred crowns we promised to this man."

"Here they are," said Henriette.

Then turning to La Mole, and shaking his head sadly:

"As for you, La Mole, you do me wrong to think for an instant that I
could leave you. Have I not sworn to live and die with you? But you are
suffering so, my poor friend, that I forgive you."

And seating himself resolutely beside his friend Coconnas leaned forward
and kissed his forehead.

Then gently, as gently as a mother would do to her child, he drew the
dear head towards him, until it rested on his breast.

Marguerite was numb. She had picked up the dagger which Coconnas had
just let fall.

"Oh, my queen," said La Mole, extending his arms to her, and
understanding her thought, "my beloved queen, do not forget that I die
in order to destroy the slightest suspicion of our love!"

"But what can I do for you, then," cried Marguerite, in despair, "if I
cannot die with you?"

"You can make death sweet to me," replied La Mole; "you can come to me
with smiling lips."

Marguerite advanced and clasp