did not positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral
certainty that left him no hope.

The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and, as he
entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar
faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him--a
tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had
a restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a
young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady
quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their
faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided
with himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged
the man who was conducting him for a moment's delay. The man
consented. France was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even
the executioners sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change.

As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he
saw her face--a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and
large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was
blanched with suffering; and, it is fair to say, in common with many
of them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never
for an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a
low voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!"

The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face
illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply,
"Monsieur le Vicomte?"

The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with
a look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount
were left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a
great deal, and could say very little. The moments went by, and hardly
a word had been spoken.

Valerie asked if he knew his fate.

"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can
be but one end in these days."

She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur,
I wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father--and
me."

Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the
desire of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast.

"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness,
Mademoiselle."

The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the
irritation of his tone.

"I think," she said,