“It is true,” exclaimed Madame de Bohun, corroboratively, “and yet short of the truth: he had one arm withdrawn from the sleeve, and within it he took my own, and led me into the apartment of his young daughter-in-law.” It was within an hour of the evening period for locking up, when the wife of Balthazar entered the room with but scant attention to ceremony, and telling Edmond as she passed him, that she had just well-beaten her husband for his cruelty towards the “little king” of the prison, she advanced towards Madame de Charry and whispered something in her ear. With all her courage, the fair creature slightly trembled; but she arose, begged the Chevalier Fabien to play out her cards, and promised speedily to return. An inquiring look was directed to her by all the company, but she gave it no reply, either by word or gesture. She left the cell, accompanied by the gaoler’s wife, and followed by Edmond. The latter, in speechless fear, saw her descend to the courtyard between two gendarmes. The wicket was locked upon him, but from the window he beheld her rudely pushed into a building in which the revolutionary tribunal was wont to hold its bloody sittings. The “little king” burst into tears, a weakness of which he became half-ashamed when he felt the arm of the gaoler’s wife passed round his neck, and heard words of condolence fall from the lips of the subduer of the prison tyrant. From this period they stood in utter silence for a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time they saw Madame de Charry brought out from the building and made to enter a cart, which was driven and backed up to the steps expressly to receive her. At the sound of a broken glass and a boy’s scream, her face, pale and dignified, was turned to the window, through which Edmond had thrust his head. She smiled the sweet smile of a dying saint, and the radiancy of a martyr seemed to glow around her as she pointed to heaven, and with her eyes still fixed on the boy, uttered the words, “Espérance! Adieu!” In another moment the cart received two more victims, and, with its load of courageous misery, soon after disappeared beneath the archway that led to the exterior of the prison. Before the chimes of the cathedral had struck the next quarter, three lives had been sacrificed, and Monsieur de Fabien had just won the game with his cousin’s cards. “Citizen Fabien!” roared the voice of Balthazar at the door of the cell. “May I not speak a word with Madame de Charry before you lock us up for the night?” said the Chevalier. “The Citoyenne Charry has been dead these ten minutes,” answered the brute with his usual bluntness, “and Citizen Fabien will never be locked up here again.” “Bah!” said the Chevalier, who not only felt sick, but looked so.