It was an exhortation to them to endure with fortitude the lot that had befallen them; to meet death when it came without fear, as they could do so without dishonor; to strengthen their courage by looking to him, who would always give them an example of what they should be. The last words he spoke were in a plainer dialect, and almost these: “Throw no glance on the past. We are where we are,--we are where God, in his wisdom and for his own ends, has placed us. If this cause be just, our martyrdom is a blessed one; if it be not so, our death is our punishment. And never forget that you are permitted to meet it from the same spot where our glorious monarch went to meet his own.” A cry of “Vive le Roi!” half stifled by sobs of emotion, broke from the listeners, as they rose and pressed around him. There he stood in the midst, while like children they came to kiss his hand, to hear him speak one word, even to look on him. Their swarthy faces, where hardship and suffering had left many a deep line and furrow, beamed with smiles as he turned towards them; and many a proud look was bent on the rest by those to whom he addressed a single word. One I could not help remarking above the others,--a slight, pale, and handsome youth, whose almost girlish cheek the first down of youth was shading. George leaned his arm round his neck, and called him by his name, and in a voice almost tremulous from emotion: “And you, Bouvet de Lozier, whose infancy wanted nothing of luxury and enjoyment, for whom all that wealth and affection could bestow were in abundance,--how do you bear these rugged reverses, my dear boy?” The youth looked up with eyes bathed in tears; the hectic spot in his face gave way to the paleness of death, and his lips moved without a sound. “He has been ill,--the count has,” said a peasant, in a low voice. “Poor fellow!” said George; “he was not meant for trials like these; the cares he used to bury in his mother's lap met other consolations than our ruder ones. Look up, Bouvet, my man, and remember you are a man.” The youth trembled from head to foot, and looked fearfully around, as if dreading something, while he clutched the strong arm beside him, as though for protection. “Courage, boy, courage!” said George. “We are together here; what can harm you?” Then dropping his voice, and turning to the rest, he added, “They have been tampering with his reason; his eye betrays a wandering intellect. Take him with you, Claude,--he loves you; and do not leave him for a moment.” The youth pressed George's fingers to his pale lips, and with his head bent down and listless gait, moved slowly away.