he rest of my life
for you, monseigneur, and for him."

"That cannot be," said the regent.

"Why not, monseigneur?"

"Because this very day, this very hour, I have been asked for your hand,
and have promised it."

"You have promised my hand, monseigneur; and to whom?"

"Read," said the regent, taking an open letter from his desk, and
presenting it to the young girl.

"Raoul's writing!" cried Bathilde; "what does this mean?"

"Read," repeated the regent.

And in a choking voice, Bathilde read the following letter:--

"'MONSEIGNEUR--I have deserved death--I know it, and I
do not ask you for life. I am ready to die at the day
and hour appointed; but it depends on your highness to
make this death sweeter to me. I love a young girl whom
I should have married if I had lived; grant that she
may be my wife before I die. In leaving her forever
alone and friendless in the world, let me at least have
the consolation of giving her the safeguard of my name
and fortune. On leaving the church, monseigneur, I will
walk to the scaffold. This is my last wish, my sole
desire. Do not refuse the prayer of a dying man.

"'RAOUL D'HARMENTAL.'

"Oh, monseigneur," said Bathilde, sobbing, "you see that while I thought
of him, he thought of me. Am I not right to love him, when he loves me
so much?"

"Yes," said the regent, "and I grant his request, it is just; may it, as
he says, sweeten his last moments."

"Monseigneur," cried the young girl, "is that all you grant him?"

"You see," said the regent, "he is just; he asks nothing else."

"Oh, it is cruel! it is frightful! to see him again, and lose him
directly; his life, monseigneur, his life, I beg; and let me never see
him again--better so."

"Mademoiselle," said the regent, in a tone which admitted of no reply,
and writing some lines on a paper which he sealed, "here is a letter to
Monsieur de Launay, the governor of the Bastille; it contains my
instructions with regard to the prisoner. My captain of the guards will
go with you, and see that my instructions are followed."

"Oh! his life, monseigneur, his life; on my knees, and in the name of
Heaven, I implore you."

The regent rang the bell; a valet entered.

"Call Monsieur the Marquis de Lafare," he said.

"Oh, monseigneur, you are cruel," said Bathilde, rising; "at least
permit me then to die with him. We will not be separated, even on the
scaffold; we wi