The drummer of the guard held a lantern to Lisle’s face, and his scarlet coat, when it appeared in the light, caused every brow to lour. The countenance of the duke turned pale when he beheld him. His eyes glistened like those of a serpent, as he gazed alternately upon him and Virginia, who in an agony of horror sunk down at his feet, close to the body of the gallant Irishman, whose features were now becoming rigid in death. He had expired almost immediately after receiving the thrust of the Spaniard’s sword. At that moment a soldier came hastily forward, saying that the corporal of the guard lay murdered in the turret from which the prisoners had escaped, and a volley of threats and execrations broke from the men of the 105th, who crowded round. "Aha!" said the Gascon major, pressing forward. "Is it thus you slay the soldiers of the Emperor? You shall smart for this night’s work, _Monsieur Ribaud_!" "Do you dare to apply such an epithet to me?" replied Lisle furiously, spurning the Gascon with his foot, and struggling to free his arms, which were tightly grasped by the soldiers. "Bind up his eyes, some of ye, and let him be instantly shot! Give not a moment for prayer or supplication. We will have life for life,—blood for blood!" cried the Spaniard. "Base renegade! I scorn your malice, and defy you to terrify me," cried Louis, regardless of all consequences, and from despair gathering a courage which gained him the admiration of the French, though it won from them no mercy. The little major was foaming with exasperation at the insult he had received, and made no longer any intercessions. The private soldiers, who were enraged at the death of their comrade, eyed him likewise in malignant silence. Virginia was borne away senseless, and Lisle gazed sadly after her, until he was startled by the sharp words of command given coolly by a Serjeant to six soldiers, who were picked out to become his executioners. For a moment his heart grew sick and sunk within him, when he thought of his home and of those brave comrades who were only a few miles distant. But he scorned to ask mercy from the duke, from the father of Virginia, who by the light of a huge lantern (which cast a dull flickering light on the dark groups of armed soldiers, and still darker walls of the fortress) watched the preparations made by the firing-party with steady gravity and coolness.