"Adèle," he said, bending down and speaking in a low voice, "give me one of those roses you are wearing on your breast." Mechanically she took the flower from her bosom and put it in his hand. He placed it over his heart. "It shall be here to the last," he said softly; "now farewell;" and he pressed a kiss upon her cold lips. "Maurice de Lacheville." A man crouched down behind a group of prisoners, and all heads were turned in his direction. "Maurice de Lacheville, you are called," said a gendarme, going up to him and seizing him by the arm with no gentle grasp. "There is some mistake," cried de Lacheville pitiably. "There is no mistake, your name is here." "I say, there must be some mistake. My arrest was a mistake. I was promised"-- "Into the line with you," was the gruff interruption. "Many would claim there was a mistake if it would avail them to say so." "But in my case it is true," pleaded de Lacheville. "Send word to Robespierre; he promised"-- "Into the line, I tell you!" cried the exasperated gendarme. "There is no mistake; your name is written here. You go with the rest." "One moment, one little moment," implored the wretched marquis in an agony of fear. "Oh, messieurs the gendarmes, if you will but hear me, I have an important communication to make." All this time he was fighting desperately as the two officers of the law dragged him toward the door. "Silence, idiot!" yelled the angry captain, "or I will have you bound and gagged. Take example from these women who put you to shame." "Idiot that I was," cried de Lacheville, "why did I ever return from a place of safety? None but a fool would have trusted the word of Robespierre." "Bind him," ordered the captain. With a strength no one would have believed that he possessed, de Lacheville threw off those who held him. "Stand back!" he shouted wildly, as the officers endeavored to seize him. He drew an object quickly from his pocket. "Take care, Jean. He has a weapon," cried one. There was a report of a pistol, and the marquis fell forward to the floor. A murmur of horror filled the prison hall. Women fainted, and men turned away their heads. The gendarmes hastened to bend over him. "I believe he is dead, captain," said one after a brief examination. "Carry him out with the others just the same," ordered the captain. "Pierre, continue with the list." "Bertrand de Tourin." "Here." "Adèle de Belloeil." There was a cry of joy in the answer:-- "I am here. The Blessed Virgin has heard my prayer;" and Mademoiselle de Belloeil stepped forward. "André, I come with you; we shall go together where they can never separate us." And she threw herself into the arms of her lover. "About face--fall in--forward! march." The heavy door closed, and those who had been called were led away, while those remaining in the prison went quietly to their cells, to recommence the same life on the morrow until the next roll-call.