"Bring in the prisoner," and Governor Harel fetched d'Enghien from his bed. He stood before his judges with a grave composure, and not a question shook him. "Interrogated as to plots against the Emperor's life, taxed with projects of assassination, he answered quietly that insinuations such as these were insults to his birth, his character, and his rank."[4] Footnote 4: _Histoire du Donjon de Vincennes._ The inquiry finished, the Duke demanded with insistence to see the First Consul. Savary, Napoleon's aide-de-camp, whispered the council that the Emperor wished no delay in the affair,[5] and the prisoner was withdrawn. Footnote 5: It is moderately certain at this day that everyone representing Napoleon in this miserable affair of d'Enghien _mis_-represented him from first to last. Some twenty minutes later a gardener of the château, Bontemps by name, was turned out of bed in a hurry to dig a grave in the trenches against the Pavilion de la Reine; and the officer commanding the guard had orders to furnish a file of soldiers. D'Enghien sat composedly in his room against the council-chamber, writing up his diary for his wife, and wondering whether leave would be given him to hunt on the morrow. Enters, once more, Governor Harel, a lantern in his hand. It was on the stroke of midnight. "Would monsieur le duc have the kindness to follow?" It is still on record that the governor was pale, looked troubled, and spoke with much concern. He led the way that conducted to the Devil's Tower. The stairs from that tower descended straight into the trenches. At the head of the staircase, looking into the blackness beyond, the Duke turned and said to his conductor: "Are you taking me to an _oubliette_? I should prefer, _mon ami_, to be shot." "Monsieur," said Harel, "you must follow me,—and God grant you courage!" "It is a prayer I never yet needed to put up," responded d'Enghien calmly, and he followed to the foot of the stairs. "Shoulder arms!" A lantern glimmering at either end of the file of soldiers shewed d'Enghien his fate. As the sentence of death was read, he wrote in pencil a message to his wife, folded and gave it to the officer in command of the file, and asked for a priest. There was no priest in residence at the château, he was told. "And time presses!" said the Duke. He prayed a moment, covering his face with his hands. As he raised his head, the officer gave the word to fire.