He continued to walk about with his arms folded during the whole evening, without seeming in the least disturbed; occasionally, indeed, his countenance softened, and a tear-drop gathered in his eye, but it was not permitted to linger there; and as if ashamed of showing the least want of firmness, he assumed redoubled inflexibility of countenance. I could not help admiring his manly fortitude and courage. I had no opportunity of speaking to him, without being intrusive; but in silence I watched the expression of his face, with a feeling I could hardly describe. It was reported that he was a brother of Marshal Soult: the truth of this I cannot pretend to affirm. He was, however, certainly a man of a noble mind and independent spirit. About midnight he lay down and slept soundly until near the hour of execution; his courage seemed to be now even more exalted. He cleaned himself with the greatest nicety, conversed with his fellow-prisoners cheerfully, and endeavoured, although without success, to infuse some courage into the poor Italians. The guard having arrived, he took leave of those prisoners who were confined with him; and to one, with whom he was more familiar than the others, he gave some private injunction, and on parting with him he said emphatically, ‘Remember, I die a Frenchman.’ He marched off to the place of execution with the same collected intrepidity he had before evinced, and I understood afterwards, that his demeanour on the ground where he was shot, was similar to that displayed while a prisoner. All admired his courage, and were sorry for his fate. CHAPTER III.