ion to fulfil it. That is the only thing you must remember
now."

She uttered these words in a sweet and penetrating voice, and with an
energy that calmed and silenced both of them. She spoke of the chief
duties of life, of the necessity of resignation, devotion and
self-denial.

"I wish to carry with me to the grave," she added, "the assurance that
you will console each other after my death by loving each other in
remembrance of me."

And they promised all that she asked, for it was impossible to resist so
much grace, so much eloquence and so much humility. Then she took from
her pocket the order of release which Coursegol had obtained through
Vauquelas. She handed this to Philip.

"There is your freedom," she resumed. "With the assistance of Bridoul,
who will aid you in Coursegol's stead, this paper will enable you to
escape from prison. You will be conducted to a safe retreat where you
can await the fall of these wicked men and the triumph of truth and of
virtue. That hour will surely come; for the future does not belong to
the violent and audacious; it is for the meek, the generous, the good."

She conversed with them an hour longer, then begged them to leave her.
She desired to prepare for death. Antoinette's sobs and Philip's despair
increased in violence.

"Have pity on me!" she entreated. "Before I go, I will call you to bid
you a last farewell."

They left her. She remained alone with the other prisoners who had been
condemned to death. Among them was the priest of whom we have already
spoken; the same who had consoled and blessed her. He was seated in a
corner of the room and many of the poor creatures, whose moments on
earth were now numbered, had knelt before him to confess their sins and
receive absolution. Dolores followed the example of her companions in
misfortune. Purified by suffering and sanctified by the approach of
death, her full confession revealed such nobility of character that the
worthy priest was filled with admiration.

"Now I am ready," she said to Coursegol. "Death may come."

"So young and so beautiful, and to die!" he exclaimed, sadly.

"Are you going to bewail my fate?" she inquired, with a smile. "It is
unnecessary, for I am very happy."

"It is the thought of the sacrifice you have accomplished that renders
you thus happy!"

"Hush!" she said, quickly. "Who has spoken to you of a sacrifice? It
must never be mentioned. Antoinette and Philip must never know that I
died in