e just,
He has witnessed my penitent tears;
He has stilled my remorse, He has armed me with trust,
He has pitied and calmed all my fears.

My enemies, scoffing, have said in their rage:
"Let him die, be his mem'ry accursed!"
Saith the merciful Father, my grief to assuage,
"Their hatred hath now done its worst.

"I have heard thy complaints, and I know that the ban
Of remorse hath e'en brought thee so low;
I can pity the soul of the penitent man
That was weak in this valley of woe;

"I will crown thy lost name with the just acclaim
Of the slow-judging righteous years;
Their pity and justice in time shall proclaim
Thine honor; then layoff thy fears!"

I bless thee, O God! who hast deigned to restore
Mine honor that Thou hast made whole
From shame and remorse; as I enter Death's door
To Thee I commend my poor soul!

To the banquet of life, an unfortunate guest,
I came for a day, and I go--
I die in my vigor; I sought not to rest
In the grave where the weary lie low.

Farewell to thee, earth! farewell, tender verdure
Of woodland! Farewell, sunny shore!
Green fields that I love, azure skies, smiling Nature,
Farewell! I shall see thee no more.

May thy beauty still gladden the friends that I love,
Whom I long for--but stern fate denies;
May they pass full of years, though I wait them above;
May a last loving hand close their eyes.

The voice was silent; no doubt the last verse was finished. Amelie, who
would not interrupt the last meditations of the doomed men, and who had
recognized Gilbert's beautiful ode written on a hospital bed the night
before his death, now signed to the jailer to open the door. Pere
Courtois, jailer as he was, seemed to share the young girl's emotion,
for he put the key in the lock and turned it as softly as he could. The
door opened.

Amelie saw at a glance the whole interior of the cell, and the persons
in it.

Valensolle was standing, leaning against the wall, and still holding the
book from which he had just read the lines that Amelie had overheard.
Jayat was seated near a table with his head resting on his hands.
Ribier was sitting on the table itself. Near him, but further back,
Sainte-Hermine, his eyes closed as if in sleep, was lying on the bed. At
sight of the young girl, whom they knew to be Amelie, Ribier and Jayat
rose. Morgan did not move; he had heard nothing.

Amelie went