in long afterwards, "the least
idea about trials; and, worst of all, the reporter and clerk had
scarcely any more experience."[301] The examination of the prisoner was
curt in the extreme. He was asked his name, date and place of birth,
whether he had borne arms against France and was in the pay of England.
To the last questions he answered decisively in the affirmative, adding
that he wished to take part in the new war against France.

His replies were the same as he made in his preliminary examination,
which he closed with the written and urgent request for a personal
interview with Napoleon. To this request the court proposed to accede;
but Savary, who had posted himself behind Hulin's chair, at once
declared this step to be _inopportune_. The judges had only one chance
of escape from their predicament, namely, to induce the duke to
invalidate his evidence: this he firmly refused to do, and when Hulin
warned him of the danger of his position, he replied that he knew it,
and wished to have an interview with the First Consul.

The court then passed sentence, and, "in accordance with article
(blank) of the law (blank) to the following effect (blank) condemned
him to suffer death." Ashamed, as it would seem, of this clumsy
condemnation, Hulin was writing to Bonaparte to request for the
condemned man the personal interview which he craved, when Savary took
the pen from his hands, with the words: "Your work is done: the rest
is my business."[302] The duke was forthwith led out into the moat of
the castle, where a few torches shed their light on the final scene of
this sombre tragedy: he asked for a priest, but this was denied him:
he then bowed his head in prayer, lifted those noble features towards
the soldiers, begged them not to miss their aim, and fell, shot
through the heart. Hard by was a grave, which, in accordance with
orders received on the previous day, the governor had caused to be
made ready; into this the body was thrown pell-mell, and the earth
closed over the remains of the last scion of the warlike House of
Conde.

Twelve years later loving hands disinterred the bones and placed them
in the chapel of the castle. But even then the world knew not all the
enormity of the crime. It was reserved for clumsy apologists like
Savary to provoke replies and further investigations. The various
excuses which throw the blame on Talleyrand, and on everyone but the
chief actor, are sufficiently disposed of by the ex-Emp