as to be a heartrending spectacle offered by the queen
mother to the people of Paris.

On some straw in the tumbril, we have mentioned, which was making its
way through the streets, were two young men, bareheaded, and entirely
clothed in black, leaning against each other. Coconnas supported on his
knees La Mole, whose head hung over the sides of the tumbril, and whose
eyes wandered vaguely here and there.

The crowd, eager to see even the bottom of the vehicle, crowded forward,
lifted itself up, stood on tiptoe, mounted posts, clung to the angles of
the walls, and appeared satisfied only when it had succeeded in seeing
every detail of the two bodies which were going from the torture to
death.

It had been rumored that La Mole was dying without having confessed one
of the charges imputed to him; while, on the contrary, Coconnas, it was
asserted, could not endure the torture, and had revealed everything.

So there were cries on all sides:

"See the red-haired one! It was he who confessed! It was he who told
everything! He is a coward, and is the cause of the other's death! The
other is a brave fellow, and confessed nothing."

The two young men heard perfectly, the one the praises, the other the
reproaches, which accompanied their funeral march; and while La Mole
pressed the hands of his friend a sublime expression of scorn lighted up
the face of the Piedmontese, who from the foul tumbril gazed upon the
stupid mob as if he were looking down from a triumphal car.

Misfortune had done its heavenly work, and had ennobled the face of
Coconnas, as death was about to render divine his soul.

"Are we nearly there?" asked La Mole. "I can stand no more, my friend. I
feel as if I were going to faint."

"Wait! wait! La Mole, we are passing by the Rue Tizon and the Rue Cloche
Percee; look! look!"

"Oh! raise me, raise me, that I may once more gaze on that happy abode."

Coconnas raised his hand and touched the shoulder of the executioner,
who sat at the front of the tumbril driving.

"Maitre," said he, "do us the kindness to stop a moment opposite the Rue
Tizon."

Caboche nodded in assent, and drew rein at the place indicated.

Aided by Coconnas, La Mole raised himself with an effort, and with eyes
blinded by tears gazed at the small house, silent and mute, deserted as
a tomb. A groan burst from him, and in a low voice he murmured:

"Adieu, adieu, youth, love, life!"

And his head fell forward on his breast.

"Cou