But the name of a man in those ranks was to be made illustrious amongst pitying and tender-hearted men. The King, looking up, glanced rapidly along the two lines of faces to find one pitying look. His eyes rested upon one Gobeau, a man with a frightful name, but possessed of a far better heart. “I pray you give this paper to my wife.” Gobeau hesitated, and looked from the King to his comrades, from his comrades back to Louis. “You may read it—if you will. ’Tis but my wishes, which I trust the Commune may read.” The man Gobeau asked the consent of his comrades, and then took the paper. The morning was very cold, and to complete the resemblance between the fates of the two beheaded Kings, Charles I of England, and Louis XVI of France, exactly as Charles’s valet put a cloak round his master, so that he should not appear to tremble at the scaffold, so Cléry, knowing nothing of the parallel, put a cloak about his master. Both kings were beheaded towards the end of January. “I do not require a cloak,” he said. “Give me my hat.” As he took it, he shook the faithful Cléry’s hand. Then, turning to Santerre, and looking him full in the face, he said, “I am ready.” Santerre and his troop rather followed than escorted him. The King passed down the staircase slowly, and without any signs of tremor. Now, it is in descending a staircase that a man, convulsed by agitation, is almost sure to stumble. The King did not make one false step. Reaching the foot of the steps, the King encountered one Mathey. “Citizen Mathey,” said Louis, “you offended me very cruelly last night, and I replied angrily. For the sake of this hour, pray pardon me.” Mathey, instead of replying, pretended to turn his head away, and not see the King. However, it is only just to say, in some extenuation of the brutality of most of those to whom the King addressed himself during the last hour of his existence, that death was now so quickly dealt to any man whose words could be twisted into an expression of even pity for fallen royalty, that it was only at the risk of exposing life that a man could be humane in an answer to any question addressed to him by any one of the royal family. The King was now crossing the court-yard. He had achieved half the distance before his heart failed him; and, turning yearningly, he looked towards the tower within which the Queen was confined. A moment, and his face was towards the people glaring in at the gate. Once more he looked, as he passed out of the court-yard; then he, death, and eternity were alone! A carriage awaited him, an armed man standing each side the door. One of these men entered the carriage, and took a front seat; the King followed, and took the place of honor—the right, facing the horses. The Abbé Edgeworth followed, and sat beside Louis. The second gendarme now entered, and slammed and fastened the door, and the carriage was at once started.