for which he
had striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How
blessed--how undeservedly blessed--was his fate! Who or what was he
that after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory
should be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to
look back upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the
everlasting doors were open. A few more hours, and then--! and as
Monsieur the Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears
that trickled from his fingers were literally tears of joy.

He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay
down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur's Crapaud's fiery
eyes. And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness,
to take the form and features of the face of the priest, and to gaze
at him with unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some
familiar piece of music, awoke the words that had been written on the
fly-leaf of the little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over
and over again--

"_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur_!"

(Remember the Saviour!)

In that remembrance he fell asleep.

Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then
it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too
long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have
resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was,
he awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him.
Surely the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an
early hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The
hours of suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a
key rattled into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared
with a jug of milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down.

"A good appetite to you, citizens."

Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is
it? Is the execution deferred?"

"The execution has taken place at last," said the other,
significantly; "_Robespierre is dead!_" and he vanished.

Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers,
and flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them
rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face,
his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed
almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on to the pallet, dra