bsorbed in his thoughts, he saw his whole life
pass before him, from the inn where he had started to the palace he had
reached; no doubt his adventurous career unrolled itself before him like
some golden dream, some brilliant fiction, some tale from the Arabian
Nights.

His life gleamed athwart the storm like a rainbow, and like a rainbow's,
its two extremities were lost in clouds--the clouds of birth and death.
At last he roused himself from this inward contemplation, and lifted a
pale but tranquil face. Then he went to the glass and arranged his hair.
His strange characteristics never left him. The affianced of Death, he
was adorning himself to meet his bride.

Four o'clock struck.

Murat went to the door himself and opened it.

General Nunziante was waiting for him.

"Thank you, general," said Murat. "You have kept your word. Kiss me,
and go at once, if you like."

The general threw himself into the king's arms, weeping, and utterly
unable to speak.

"Courage," said Murat. "You see I am calm." It was this very calmness
which broke the general's heart. He dashed out of the corridor, and left
the castle, running like a madman.

Then the king walked out into the courtyard.

Everything was ready for the execution.

Nine men and a corporal were ranged before the door of the council
chamber. Opposite them was a wall twelve feet high. Three feet away
from the wall was a stone block: Murat mounted it, thus raising himself
about a foot above the soldiers who were to execute him. Then he took out
his watch,[Madame Murat recovered this watch at the price of 200 Louis]
kissed his wife's portrait, and fixing his eyes on it, gave the order to
fire. At the word of command five out of the nine men fired: Murat
remained standing. The soldiers had been ashamed to fire on their king,
and had aimed over his head. That moment perhaps displayed most
gloriously the lionlike courage which was Murat's special attribute. His
face never changed, he did not move a muscle; only gazing at the soldiers
with an expression of mingled bitterness and gratitude, he said:

"Thank you; my friends. Since sooner or later you will be obliged to aim
true, do not prolong my death-agonies. All I ask you is to aim at the
heart and spare the face. Now----"

With the same voice, the same calm, the same expression, he repeated the
fatal words one after another, without lagging, without hastening, as if
he were giving an accustomed co