ir and put it in his letter. Just then
General Nunziante came in; Murat went to him and held out his hand.

"General," he said, "you are a father, you are a husband, one day you
will know what it is to part from your wife and sons. Swear to me that
this letter shall be delivered."

"On my epaulettes," said the general, wiping his eyes. [Madame Murat
never received this letter.]

"Come, come, courage, general," said Murat; "we are soldiers, we know how
to face death. One favour--you will let me give the order to fire, will
you not?"

The general signed acquiescence: just then the registrar came in with the
king's sentence in his hand.

Murat guessed what it was.

"Read, sir," he said coldly; "I am listening."

The registrar obeyed. Murat was right.

The sentence of death had been carried with only one dissentient voice.

When the reading was finished, the king turned again to Nunziante.

"General," he said, "believe that I distinguish in my mind the instrument
which strikes me and the hand that wields that instrument. I should never
have thought that Ferdinand would have had me shot like a dog; he does
not hesitate apparently before such infamy. Very well. We will say no
more about it. I have challenged my judges, but not my executioners.
What time have you fixed for my execution?"

"Will you fix it yourself, sir?" said the general.

Murat pulled out a watch on which there was a portrait of his wife; by
chance he turned up the portrait, and not the face of the watch; he gazed
at it tenderly.

"See, general," he said, showing it to Nunziante; "it is a portrait of
the queen. You know her; is it not like her?"

The general turned away his head. Murat sighed and put away the watch.

"Well, sire," said the registrar, "what time have you fixed?"

"Ah yes," said Murat, smiling, "I forgot why I took out my watch when I
saw Caroline's portrait."

Then he looked at his watch again, but this time at its face.

"Well, it shall be at four o'clock, if you like; it is past three
o'clock. I ask for fifty minutes. Is that too much, sir?"

The registrar bowed and went out. The general was about to follow him.

"Shall I never see you again, Nunziante?" said Murat.

"My orders are to be present at your death, sire, but I cannot do it."

"Very well, general. I will dispense with your presence at the last
moment, but I should like to say farewell once more and to embrace you."

"I will be near, sire."