the hope and despair of those who are about
to die.

He knew the terrible laws that govern a court-martial. The next day--in
a few hours--at dawn, perhaps, they would take him from his cell, place
him in front of a squad of soldiers, an officer would lift his sword,
and all would be over.

Then what was to become of his wife and his son?

His agony on thinking of these dear ones was terrible. He was alone; he
wept.

But suddenly he started up, ashamed of his weakness. He must not
allow these thoughts to unnerve him. He was determined to meet death
unflinchingly. Resolved to shake off the profound melancholy that was
creeping over him, he walked about his cell, forcing his mind to occupy
itself with material objects.

The room which had been allotted to him was very large. It had once
communicated with the apartment adjoining; but the door had been walled
up for a long time. The cement which held the large blocks of stone
together had crumbled away, leaving crevices through which one might
look from one room into the other.

M. d'Escorval mechanically applied his eye to one of these interstices.
Perhaps he had a friend for a neighbor, some wretched man who was to
share his fate. He saw no one. He called, first in a whisper, then
louder. No voice responded to his.

"If _I_ could only tear down this thin partition," he thought.

He trembled, then shrugged his shoulders. And if he did, what then? He
would only find himself in another apartment similar to his own, and
opening like his upon a corridor full of guards, whose monotonous tramp
he could plainly hear as they passed to and fro.

What folly to think of escape! He knew that every possible precaution
must have been taken to guard against it.

Yes, he knew this, and yet he could not refrain from examining his
window. Two rows of iron bars protected it. These were placed in such a
way that it was impossible for him to put out his head and see how far
he was above the ground. The height, however, must be considerable,
judging from the extent of the view.

The sun was setting; and through the violet haze the baron could discern
an undulating line of hills, whose culminating point must be the land of
the Reche.

The dark masses of foliage that he saw on the right were probably the
forests of Sairmeuse. On the left, he divined rather than saw, nestling
between the hills, the valley of the Oiselle and Escorval.

Escorval, that lovely retreat where he had know