She rose early and arrayed herself with more than usual care. The dress she selected was of gray cashmere. Her shoulders were covered with a silk fichu of the same color, knotted behind at the waist. Upon her head she wore one of the tall, plumed felt hats in fashion at the time, and from which her golden hair descended in heavy braids upon her white neck. Never had she been more beautiful. The light of immortality seemed to beam in her lovely face; and the serenity of her heart, the enthusiasm that inspired her and the fervor of her religious faith imparted an inexpressible charm to her features. When her toilet was completed, she knelt, and for an hour her soul ascended in fervent aspiration to the God in whom she had placed her trust. Her heart was deeply touched: but there were no tears in her eyes. "Death," she thought, "is only a journey to a better life. In the unknown world to which my soul will take flight, I shall rejoin those whom I love and who have gone before: the Marquis, whose benevolence sheltered me from misery and want; his wife, who lavished all a mother's tenderness upon me; my mother, herself, who died soon after giving me birth. For those I leave behind me I shall wait on high, watching over them, and praying for their peace and happiness." These consoling thoughts crowded in upon her as if to strengthen her in her last moments by hopes which render the weakest natures strong and indomitable, even before the most frightful suffering. She rose calm and tranquil, and approached Antoinette's bedside. She was sleeping soundly. Dolores looked at her a moment with loving, pitying eyes. "May my death assure your happiness," she murmured, softly; "and may Philip love you as fondly as I have loved him!" She left the cell. In the corridor, she met Aubry, who was in search of her. "Your friend Coursegol is waiting for you below," he said, sadly. "Oh! thank you," she quickly and cheerfully rejoined. She hastened down. Coursegol was there. He was very pale, his face was haggard, and his eyes were terribly swollen. Warned the evening before by Aubry, the poor man had spent the entire night in the street, crouching against the wall of the prison, weeping and moaning while he waited for the hour when he could see Dolores. "What do I hear, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, on meeting her. "You are summoned before the Tribunal! Oh! it is impossible. There must be some mistake. They can accuse you of no crime, nor can they think of punishing you as if you had been an Emigre or a conspirator." "Nevertheless, I received a summons yesterday and also a paper containing the charge against me." "Alas, alas!" groaned Coursegol, "why did you not listen to me? Why have you not made use of the order I procured for you? You would now be at liberty and happy." "But Antoinette had no means of escape."