But, while she was thus endeavoring to console them, her own tears mingled with theirs. She took them both in her arms, and clasped them to her heart in a close embrace. "Love each other always, and do not forget me." These were her last words of counsel. Coursegol approached. Philip opened his arms. "Coursegol," said he, "you are a man and an old soldier. Death has no terrors for you; you will lose none of your calmness. Take good care of her to the last, will you not?" "That she might not be compelled to go alone was why I resolved to die with her," replied Coursegol, simply. "Dolores, give me your blessing." It was Antoinette who spoke. "Yes, my sister, I bless thee!" And Dolores extended her hand over the grief-stricken head of her friend. "En route! en route!" This cry was uttered by a stentorian voice. The moment of parting had come. One last kiss was exchanged. "Farewell, farewell! We shall meet again in Heaven!" And Dolores tore herself from their clinging arms. Coursegol followed her, but not so quickly that he failed to see Antoinette swoon with a cry of heart-broken anguish, and Philip spring forward to support her. A cart was awaiting the victims in the court-yard of the prison. The twelve who were doomed to death took their places in it with their hands bound behind their backs. A number of soldiers on horseback and some on foot acted as an escort. They fell into line and the little procession started. From the Conciergerie to the Place de la Revolution the cart was followed by a hooting, jelling crowd of men, women and children, who sang coarse songs and hurled insults in the faces of their victims. These last seemed insensible to the indignities heaped upon them. On one side of the cart an aged man and a youth were seated side by side. Crowded close one against the other, they did not, along the entire route, once cease to cry: "Vive le Roi!" One of their companions, a Republican, accused of _Moderantisme_, regarded them with an air of ironical compassion. A priest stood in the centre of the cart, surrounded by three women, reciting prayers and canticles with them. Dolores, who was leaning upon Coursegol's shoulder, seemed to be entirely unconscious of what was passing around her. Grief, cold, fatigue and the rough jolting of the vehicle had reduced her to a condition of pitiable weakness. Coursegol was distressed to see her in this state, and to be powerless to succor her. He did not think of himself; he thought only of her. When they came in sight of the Place de la Revolution, where the terrible guillotine towered up grim and ghastly against the horizon, Dolores trembled, and, closing her eyes, whispered: "I am afraid!" "Oh! my dearest little one, do not lose courage," said Coursegol, with all a father's tenderness. "I am here, but I can do nothing to save you from these horrors. But be brave and hopeful. Only a moment more and we shall find peace in the grave and in the arms of our blessed Lord."