The Cura obeyed the summons of the French commandant, the manacles were removed from the wrists of the captives, and the priest retired to a corner of the kitchen, apart from all besides, to shrive the condemned offender. Scarcely ten minutes passed, before Velasquez rose from his knees, and, with a face that bespoke a perfect resignation to his fate, stepped back to the place where his fellow-sufferer, the Student, was standing, still holding the empty wine-cup in his hand. The Cura motioned Martinez to retire--he obeyed; the shrift was short, and, in five minutes, the Student rejoined his companion in misfortune. “Are the prisoners ready?” said Colonel La Coste to the priest. Both the partidas returned a steady--“Yes.” The Frenchman waved his arm, and, with a voltigeur on either side, the condemned guerillas left the kitchen of the posada for the court-yard. I followed in the crowd--in fact, I was not regarded as a prisoner. I mingled with the chasseurs, and, in the interest which the coming event occasioned, I seemed to be forgotten altogether. We entered the fatal enclosure--and although the villagers had been summoned to witness the execution, not a dozen of the peasantry were to be seen; and, on their affrighted countenances, horror and indignation were apparent. In the centre of the court-yard, twenty voltigeurs were drawn up in double files, with ordered arms, and commanded by a lieutenant. A dead wall was directly opposite, at the distance of twelve paces; and thither the Spaniards were conducted by their escort. Colonel La Coste took his stand on the right of the firing party, some half dozen paces from the subordinate officer that commanded it; and, on either side, the chasseurs and peasantry formed a line of lookers-on. The Colonel advanced two steps, as the Cura kissed and blessed the sufferers for the last time. “Wilt thou be free?--you know the terms,” he said, addressing the elder of the partidas. “No!” was calmly answered. “Enough!--your blood be on your own head, and not on mine.” Turning to the second he thus continued:-- “Young man, pause--death is bitter! thou hast many a day of life and happiness before thee, if thou wilt but choose wisely.” “I have chosen!” was the calm reply. “And now permit me an indulgence--a few last words. I see the faces of deadly enemies around me, and, on the blenched countenances of some dastard Spaniards, who stoop and kiss the foot that presses on their necks, I look in vain for sympathy; but the very walls around me will find a tongue, and the last message of ‘The Student’ will be correctly carried to his friend, the Empecinado. Tell him I died a true and faithful Spaniard. Tell him, that my friend and I were slaughtered in cold blood, and that we expect at his hands ample and immediate vengeance! Proceed!--art thou ready, Velasquez?”