speak."

And so our meetings and our partings do now end! The sorrows we gave
each other; the poor joys we faithfully shared, and all our lovings and
our sufferings, and confused toilings under the earthly Sun, are over.
Thou good soul, I shall never, never through all ages of Time, see thee
any more!

Never! O Reader, knowest thou that hard word?

For nearly two hours this agony lasts; then they tear themselves
asunder. "Promise that you will see us on the morrow." He promises: Ah
yes, yes; yet once; and go now, ye loved ones; cry to God for yourselves
and me! It was a hard scene, but it is over. He will not see them on the
morrow. The Queen, in passing through the anteroom, glanced at the
Cerberus Municipals; and, with woman's vehemence, said through her
tears, "_Vous etes tous des scelerats!_" ("You are all scoundrels!")

King Louis slept sound, till five in the morning, when Clery, as he had
been ordered, awoke him. Clery dressed his hair. While this went
forward, Louis took a ring from his watch, and kept trying it on his
finger: it was his wedding-ring, which he is now to return to the Queen
as a mute farewell. At half-past six, he took the Sacrament; and
continued in devotion, and conference with Abbe Edgeworth. He will not
see his Family: it were too hard to bear.

At eight, the Municipals enter: the King gives them his Will, and
messages and effects; which they, at first, brutally refuse to take
charge of: he gives them a roll of gold pieces, a hundred and
twenty-five louis; these are to be returned to Malesherbes, who had lent
them. At nine, Santerre says the hour is come. The King begs yet to
retire for three minutes. At the end of three minutes, Santerre again
says the hour is come. "Stamping on the ground with his right foot,
Louis answers: '_Partons_' ('Let us go')." How the rolling of those
drums comes in through the Temple bastions and bulwarks, on the heart of
a queenly wife; soon to be a widow! He is gone then, and has not seen
us? A Queen weeps bitterly; a King's Sister and Children. Over all these
Four does Death also hover: all shall perish miserably save one; she, as
Duchesse d'Angouleme, will live--not happily.

At the Temple Gate were some faint cries, perhaps from voices of pitiful
women: "_Grace! Grace!_" Through the rest of the streets there is
silence as of the grave. No man not armed is allowed to be there: the
armed, did any even pity, dare not express it, each man overawed by all
hi