were present the Attorney General, the Public Prosecutor, his
deputy, the Governor of the prison, and behind these, M. Havard,
Deibler, and his two assistants.

The little company passed through the corridors to the third floor,
where the condemned cells are.

The warder Nibet came forward with his bunch of keys in his hand.

Deibler looked at the Public Prosecutor.

"Are you ready, sir?" and as that gentleman, who was very white, made a
sign of assent, Deibler looked at the Governor of the prison.

"Unlock the cell," the Governor ordered.

Nibet turned the key noiselessly and pushed open the door.

The Public Prosecutor stepped forward. He had hoped to find the
condemned man asleep, and so have had a moment's respite before
announcing the fatal news. But he drew back; for the man was awake and
dressed, sitting ready on his bed with mad, haggard eyes.

"Gurn," said the Public Prosecutor. "Be brave! Your appeal has been
rejected!"

The others, standing behind him, were all silent, and the words of the
Public Prosecutor fell like a knell. The condemned man, however, had not
stirred, had not even seemed to understand: his attitude was that of a
man in a state of somnambulism. The Public Prosecutor was surprised by
this strange impassivity and spoke again, in strangled tones.

"Be brave! Be brave!"

A spasm crossed the face of the condemned man, and his lips moved as
though he were making an effort to say something.

"I'm not----" he murmured.

But Deibler laid his hands upon the man's shoulders and cut the horrid
moment short.

"Come now!"

The chaplain came forward in his turn.

"Pray, my brother," he said; "do you wish to hear mass?"

At the touch of the executioner the prisoner had trembled; he rose, like
an automaton, with dilated eyes and twitching face. He understood what
the chaplain said and took a step towards him.

"I--not----"

M. Havard intervened, and spoke to the chaplain.

"Really, sir, no: it is time."

Deibler nodded approval.

"Let us be quick; we can proceed; the sun has risen."

The Public Prosecutor was still bleating "Be brave! Be brave!"

Deibler took the man by one arm, a warder took him by the other, and
between them they half-carried him to the office for his last toilette.
In the little room, dimly lighted by a winking lamp, a chair had been
set close to a table. The executioner and his assistant pushed the
condemned man into the chair, and Deibler took up a pair of