nseigneur," continued he in a hollow voice, and choking with emotion,
"it is a terrible thing to kill a man who is before you
defenseless--smiling on his murderer. I thought myself courageous and
strong; but it must be thus with every conspirator who undertakes what I
have done. In a moment of excitement, of pride, of enthusiasm, or of
hatred, we take a fatal vow; then there is a vast extent of time between
us and our victim; but the oath taken, the fever is calmed, the
enthusiasm cools, the hatred diminishes. Every day brings us nearer the
end to which we are tending, and then we shudder when we feel what a
crime we have undertaken. And yet inexorable time flows on; and at every
hour which strikes, we see our victim take another step, until at length
the interval between us disappears, and we stand face to face. Believe
me, monseigneur, the bravest tremble--for murder is always murder. Then
we see that we are not the ministers of our consciences, but the slaves
of our oaths. We set out with head erect, saying 'I am the chosen one:'
we arrive with head bowed down, saying, 'I am accursed.'"

"There is yet time, monsieur."

"No, no; you well know, monseigneur, that fate urges me onward. I shall
accomplish my task, terrible though it be. My heart will shudder, but my
hand will still be firm. Yes, I tell you, were it not for my friends,
whose lives hang on the blow I am about to strike, were there no Helene,
whom I should cover with mourning, if not with blood, oh, I would prefer
the scaffold, even the scaffold, with all its shame, for that does not
punish, it absolves."

"Come," said the duke, "I see that though you tremble, you will act."

"Do not doubt it, monseigneur; pray for me, for in half an hour all will
be over."

The duke gave an involuntary start; however, approving Gaston's
determination, he once more mixed with the crowd.

Gaston found an open window with a balcony. He stepped out for a moment
to cool the fever in his veins, but it was in vain; the flame which
consumed him was not to be extinguished thus.

He heard one o'clock strike.

"Now," he murmured, "the time is come, and I cannot draw back. My God,
to thee I recommend my soul--Helene, adieu!"

Then, slowly but firmly, he went to the door, and pressing the button,
it opened noiselessly before him.

A mist came before his eyes. He seemed in a new world. The music sounded
like a distant and charming melody. Around him breathed the sweetly
perfu