n would
have been that for which he begged.

And yet I could not in cold blood drive my knife into his body, although
I knew how I should have prayed for such a mercy had I been in his
place. But a sudden thought crossed my mind. In my pocket I held
that which would give an instant and a painless death. It was my own
safeguard against torture, and yet this poor soul was in very pressing
need of it, and he had deserved well of France. I took out my phial and
emptied it into the cup of wine. I was in the act of handing it to him
when I heard a sudden clash of arms outside the door.

In an instant I put out my light and slipped behind the window-curtains.
Next moment the door was flung open and two Spaniards strode into the
room, fierce, swarthy men in the dress of citizens, but with muskets
slung over their shoulders. I looked through the chink in the curtains
in an agony of fear lest they had come upon my traces, but it was
evident that their visit was simply in order to feast their eyes upon my
unfortunate compatriot.

One of them held the lantern which he carried up in front of the dying
man, and both of them burst into a shout of mocking laughter. Then the
eyes of the man with the lantern fell upon the flagon of wine upon the
table. He picked it up, held it, with a devilish grin, to the lips of
Hubert, and then, as the poor wretch involuntarily inclined his head
forward to reach it, he snatched it back and took a long gulp himself.
At the same instant he uttered a loud cry, clutched wildly at his own
throat, and fell stone-dead upon the floor. His comrade stared at him in
horror and amazement. Then, overcome by his own superstitious fears, he
gave a yell of terror and rushed madly from the room. I heard his feet
clattering wildly on the cobble-stones until the sound died away in the
distance.

The lantern had been left burning upon the table, and by its light I
saw, as I came out from behind my curtain, that the unfortunate Hubert's
head had fallen forward upon his chest and that he also was dead. That
motion to reach the wine with his lips had been his last. A clock ticked
loudly in the house, but otherwise all was absolutely still. On the wall
hung the twisted form of the Frenchman, on the floor lay the motionless
body of the Spaniard, all dimly lit by the horn lantern. For the first
time in my life a frantic spasm of terror came over me. I had seen ten
thousand men in every conceivable degree of mutilation stre