"You know that we are forbidden to take any letters from political prisoners who are condemned to death; but anything else, yes." "I do not wish to give you any trouble on that score. Here is my compatriot Charles, who, as you have already promised, is to accompany me to the place of execution; he will undertake to deliver something to my family; let it be, not a letter, but an article that has belonged to me--my old foraging cap, for instance." The count named his cap in the same careless tone he would have employed in speaking of any other article of his apparel, and the captain did not hesitate to grant his request. "Is that all?" he asked. "Faith, yes," answered the count, "and it is time. My feet are growing cold, and there is nothing in the world I dislike so much as cold feet. Come, captain; for you are coming with us, I presume." "It is my duty." The count bowed, smilingly pressed little Charles's hand, and looked inquiringly at the captain to know what direction to take. "This way," said the captain, placing himself at the head of the squad. They followed him, passing through a postern gate into a second court, upon the ramparts of which sentinels were pacing back and forth. At the end was a tall wall riddled with balls at about the height of a man's head. "Ah! there it is," said the prisoner; and he went toward the wall of his own accord. Four steps from it he stopped. "Here we are," said the captain. "Clerk, read the sentence to the condemned man." After the reading the count bowed his head, as if to acknowledge its justice. Then he said: "I beg your pardon, captain; I have a few words to say by myself." The captain and the soldiers drew aside. The count put the elbow of his right arm in his left hand, leaned his forehead upon his right hand, shut his eyes, and remained motionless, his lips moving silently. He was praying. There is something holy about a man who is about to die, and who is praying, which even the most unbelieving respect. Not a word, not a smile, not a jest, disturbed the count's last communion with God. When he raised his head his face wore a smile; he embraced his young compatriot, and, like Charles I., his last injunction was: "Remember!" Charles bowed his head, weeping. Then the count said in a firm voice: "Attention!" The soldiers fell into two ranks at ten paces from him, the captain and Charles placing themselves at either side. The condemned man, as if he did not wish to give the order to fire while his head was still covered, took off his foraging cap and tossed it carelessly aside. It fell at Charles's feet. "Are you ready?" asked the count. "Yes," replied the soldiers. "Present arms! Ready! Fire!--Long live the k--"