him hanged," Mr. Lancy
said.

"An order came at midnight that he should be shot," was Gabord's reply,
producing the order, and handing it over.

The officer contemptuously tossed it back, and now, a little more
courteous, ordered me against the wall, and I let my cloak fall to the
ground. I was placed where, looking east, I could see the Island of
Orleans, on which was the summer-house of the Seigneur Duvarney. Gabord
came to me and said, "M'sieu', you are a brave man"--then, all at once
breaking off, he added in a low, hurried voice, "'Tis not a long flight
to heaven, m'sieu'!" I could see his face twitching as he stood looking
at me. He hardly dared to turn round to his comrades, lest his emotion
should be seen. But the officer roughly ordered him back. Gabord coolly
drew out his watch, and made a motion to me not to take off my cloak
yet.

"'Tis not the time by six minutes," he said. "The gentleman is to be
shot to the stroke--aho!" His voice and manner were dogged. The officer
stepped forward threateningly; but Gabord said something angrily in an
undertone, and the other turned on his heel and began walking up and
down. This continued for a moment, in which we all were very still and
bitter cold--the air cut like steel--and then my heart gave a great
leap, for suddenly there stepped into the yard Doltaire. Action seemed
suspended in me, but I know I listened with singular curiosity to the
shrill creaking of his boots on the frosty earth, and I noticed that the
fur collar of the coat he wore was all white with the frozen moisture of
his breath, also that tiny icicles hung from his eyelashes. He came down
the yard slowly, and presently paused and looked at Gabord and the young
officer, his head laid a little to one side in a quizzical fashion, his
eyelids drooping.

"What time was monsieur to be shot?" he asked of Captain Lancy.

"At seven o'clock, monsieur," was the reply.

Doltaire took out his watch. "It wants three minutes of seven," said
he. "What the devil means this business before the stroke o' the hour?"
waving a hand towards me.

"We were waiting for the minute, monsieur," was the officer's reply.

A cynical, cutting smile crossed Doltaire's face. "A charitable trick,
upon my soul, to fetch a gentleman from a warm dungeon and stand him
against an icy wall on a deadly morning to cool his heels as he
waits for his hour to die! You'd skin your lion and shoot him
afterwards--voila!" All this time he h