so severe a sentence."

A few hours later the instruments of torture were got ready. He was told
that this part of his punishment would be remitted if he would confess
his crimes and the names of his accomplices. He replied:

"I have no more to say. I know what terrible torture awaits me, I know I
must die to-day, but I have nothing to confess."

He made no resistance when his knees and legs were bound, and endured
the torture courageously. Only, in a moment of agony, he exclaimed:

"Accursed money! has thou reduced me to this?"

Thinking that pain would overcome his resolution, the presiding
magistrate bent towards him, and said:

"Unhappy man! confess thy crime, since death is near at hand."

He recovered his firmness, and, looking at the magistrate, replied:

"I know it, monseigneur; I have perhaps not three hours to live."

Thinking that his apparently feeble frame could not endure the last
wedges, the executioner was ordered to stop. He was unbound and laid on
a mattress, and a glass of wine was brought, of which he only drank
a few drops; after this, he made his confession to the priest. For,
dinner, they brought him soup and stew, which he ate eagerly, and
inquiring of the gaoler if he could have something more, an entree
was brought in addition. One might have thought that this final repast
heralded, not death but deliverance. At length three o'clock struck the
hour appointed for leaving the prison.

According to the report of credible persons whom we have consulted,
Paris on this occasion presented a remarkable appearance, which those
who saw it were never able to forget. The great anthill was troubled to
its very lowest depth. Whether by accident or design, the same day had
been fixed for a function which ought to have proved a considerable
counter attraction. A great festival in honour of a German prince was
given on the Plaine de Grenelle, at which all the court was present; and
probably more than one great lady regretted missing the emotions of the
Place de Greve, abandoned to the rabble and the bourgeoisie. The rest of
the city was deserted, the streets silent, the houses closed. A stranger
transported suddenly into such a solitude might have reasonably thought
that during the night the town had been smitten by the Angel of Death,
and that only a labyrinth of vacant buildings remained, testifying to
the life and turmoil of the preceding day. A dark and dense atmosphere
hung over the abandoned tow