the good and valiant, made the
miserable, vacillating culprit think that, after all, there could be no
cowardice in recommending one's soul to the God who gave it, and
breathing a repentant supplication for the past.

"Alas, alas!" cried she. "Why did I not attend to what the priest had to
say to me? It could not have done me any harm, and it might have given
me courage to face that dreadful afterwards, that makes death so
terrible."

"What! Again?" exclaimed the widow, with bitter contempt. "'Tis a pity
time does not permit of your becoming a nun! The arrival of your brother
Martial will complete your conversion; but that honest man and excellent
son will think it sinful to come and receive the last wishes of his
dying mother!"

As the widow uttered these last words, the huge lock of the prison was
heard to turn with a loud sound, and then the door to open.

"So soon!" shrieked Calabash, with a convulsive bound. "Surely the time
here is wrong,--it cannot be the hour we were told! Oh, mother! Mother!
Must we die at least two hours before we expected?"

"So much the better if the executioner's watch deceives me! It will put
an end to your whining folly, which disgraces the name you bear!"

"Madame," said an officer of the prison, gently opening the door, "your
son is here,--will you see him?"

"Yes," replied the widow, without turning her head.

Martial entered the cell, the door of which was left open that those
without in the corridor might be within hearing, if summoned by the old
soldier, who still remained with the prisoners.

Through the gloom of the corridor, lighted only by the faint beams of
the early morning, and the dubious twinkling of a single lamp, several
soldiers and gaolers might be seen, the former standing in due military
order, the later sitting on benches.

Martial looked as pale and ghastly as his mother, while his features
betrayed the mental agony he suffered at witnessing so afflicting a
sight. Still, spite of all it cost him, as well as the recollection of
his mother's crimes and openly expressed aversion for himself, he had
felt it imperatively his duty to come and receive her last commands. No
sooner was he in the dungeon than the widow, fixing on him a sharp,
penetrating look, said, in a tone of concentrated wrath and bitterness,
with a view to rouse all the evil passions of her son's mind:

"Well, you see what the good people are going to do with your mother and
sister!"

"Ah