A low whispering conversation was kept up by the soldiers around me. They were grumbling at the long distance they had to march, as the “affair” might just as well have taken place on the glacis as two miles away. How different were _my_ feelings—how dear to me was now every minute, every second of existence; how my heart leaped at each turn of the way, as I still saw a space to traverse, and some little interval longer to live. “And, mayhap, after all,” muttered one dark-faced fellow, “we shall have come all this way for nothing. There can be no ‘fusillade’ without the general’s signature, so I heard the adjutant say; and who’s to promise that he’ll be at his quarters?” “Very true,” said another; “he may be absent, or at table.” “At table!” cried two or three together; “and what if he were?” “If he be,” rejoined the former speaker, “we may go back again for our pains! I ought to know him well; I was his orderly for eight months, when I served in the ‘Legers,’ and can tell you, my lads, I wouldn’t be the officer who would bring him a report, or a return to sign, once he had opened out his napkin on his knee; and it’s not very far from his dinner-hour now.” What a sudden thrill of hope ran through me! Perhaps I should be spared for another day. “No, no, we’re all in time,” exclaimed the sergeant; “I can see the general’s tent from this; and there he stands, with all his staff around him.” “Yes; and there go the other escorts—they will be up before us if we don’t make haste; quick-time, lads. Come along, mon cher,” said he, addressing me; “thou’rt not tired, I hope.” “Not tired!” replied I; “but remember, sergeant, what a long journey I have before me.” “_Pardieu!_ I don’t believe all that rhodomontade about another world,” said he gruffly; “the republic settled that question.” I made no reply. For such words, at such a moment, were the most terrible of tortures to me. And now we moved on at a brisker pace, and crossing a little wooden bridge, entered a kind of esplanade of closely-shaven turf, at one corner of which stood the capacious tent of the commander-in-chief, for such, in Moreau’s absence, was General Berthier. Numbers of staff-officers were riding about on duty, and a large traveling-carriage, from which the horses seemed recently detached, stood before the tent. We halted as we crossed the bridge, while the adjutant advanced to obtain the signature to the sentence. My eyes followed him till they swam with rising tears, and I could not wipe them away, as my hands were fettered. How rapidly did my thoughts travel during those few moments. The good old Père Michel came back to me in memory, and I tried to think of the consolation his presence would have afforded me; but I could do no more than think of them. “Which is the prisoner Tiernay?” cried a young aid-de-camp, cantering up to where I was standing. “Here, sir,” replied the sergeant, pushing me forward.