must be done to divert his thoughts. But in vain he
racked his brain for an idea. He could think of nothing. What could he
propose to a man about to die? For such as he, the flower has no longer
perfume, woman has no longer beauty. Then suddenly a thought flashed
across his brain.

"How would a game of chess--" he began, timidly.

"An excellent idea!" cried Don Gusman, recalled to himself by this
singular proposal. "A farewell game of chess."

"You consent?"

"Most readily; but where are the chessmen, my friend?"

"Am I not always provided with the instruments of war?" said Ruy Lopez,
smiling. Then he pulled forward the two stools and set out upon the
table a microscopic set of chessmen. "Our Lady pardon me!" he continued.
"I often pass my spare time in the confessional in working out some
problem."

The chessmen being set out, the players took their seats, and were soon
absorbed in the excitement of the game.

This strange contest, between a priest and a condemned prisoner, made a
picture worthy of the brush of Rembrandt or Salvator Rosa. The light
which streamed from the arched windows fell upon the pale, noble
features of Don Gusman, and upon the venerable head of Ruy Lopez.

The emotions of the two players were very different. Ruy Lopez played
with a preoccupation which was not usual to him, and which rendered him
much inferior to his ordinary strength. Don Gusman, on the contrary,
stimulated by excitement, played with more than his ordinary skill. At
this moment his noble Castilian blood did not fail him, for never had
the Duke given better proof of the clearness of his mind. Such a flash
of intellect must be compared to the last flickers of the failing lamp,
or to the last song of the dying swan.

Don Gusman suddenly attacked his adversary with an impetuosity which
nearly gained him a certain victory; but Ruy Lopez, recalled to himself
by this vigorous effort, defended himself bravely. The game became more
and more complicated. The Bishop strove to gain a mate which he saw, or
believed he saw, at hand, whilst Don Gusman played with the eagerness of
certain victory. Everything was forgotten, and time passed unnoticed.
The chess-board was their universe, and a life of anxiety was in each
move.

The minutes, the quarters, the half-hours flew by, and the fatal hour
arrived at last.

A distant sound struck on their ears; it grew nearer, it increased, and
the door swinging open gave admittance to Calavar a