"What could have induced you to break your oaths?" "The impossibility of resisting the torture of loss of sleep. I resisted for five nights, on the sixth I asked for death, which was sleep. They would not give it to me. I sought a means to take my own life; but my jailers had taken their precautions so well that I could find none. On the seventh night I yielded. I promised to make disclosures on the morrow if they would let me sleep; but they insisted that I should speak at once. It was then in despair, insane from want of sleep, held up by the two men who prevented me from sleeping, I stammered the four names of M. de Valensolles, M. de Barjols, M. de Jayat, and M. de Ribier." One of the monks drew from his pocket the record which they had taken from the registry, and held it before the prisoner's eyes. "That is it," said the latter. "And do you recognize your signature?" asked the monk. "I recognize it," replied the young man. "Have you any excuse to offer?" asked the monk. "None," replied the young man. "I knew when I wrote my signature at the bottom of that page that I was signing my death-warrant. But I wanted to sleep." "Have you any favor to ask before you die?" "One." "What is it?" "I have a sister whom I love and who adores me. Being orphans, we were educated together; we grew up side by side, and have never been parted. I should like to write to my sister." "You are free to do so. But at the end of your letter you must write the postscript that we shall dictate to you." "Thanks," said the young man, rising and bowing. "Will you untie my hands," he added, "so that I may write." The wish was granted. Morgan, who had been the one to question him, pushed the paper, pen, and ink toward him. The young man wrote a page with a hand that did not tremble. "I have finished, gentlemen," said he; "will you dictate the postscript?" Morgan approached and laid one finger on the paper while the prisoner wrote. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Yes," replied the young man. "I die because I have broken a sacred oath; consequently I acknowledge that I deserve death. If you wish to give my body Christian burial, it will be placed to-night in the market-place at Bourg. The dagger which will be found implanted in my breast will indicate that I do not die the victim of cowardly assassination, but of a just vengeance." Morgan then drew from beneath his robe a dagger of which both handle and blade were forged from a single piece of metal. It was shaped in the form of a cross so that the condemned could kiss it in his last moments instead of a crucifix. "If you wish, sir," said Morgan, "we will accord you the favor of striking your own death-blow. Here is the dagger. Is your hand sure enough?" The young man pondered an instant. Then he said: "No, I fear that I should fail." "Very well," said Morgan, "affix the address to your letter." The young man folded the letter and wrote: "Mademoiselle Diane de Fargas, Nîmes."