a friend.

When M. Pirot came before the marquise, she had just left the dock, where
she had been for three hours without confessing anything, or seeming in
the least touched by what the president said, though he, after acting the
part of judge, addressed her simply as a Christian, and showing her what
her deplorable position was, appearing now for the last time before men,
and destined so soon to appear before God, spoke to her such moving words
that he broke down himself, and the oldest and most obdurate judges
present wept when they heard him. When the marquise perceived the doctor,
suspecting that her trial was leading her to death, she approached him,
saying:

"You have come, sir, because----"

But Father Chavigny, who was with M. Pirot; interrupted her, saying:

"Madame, we will begin with a prayer."

They all fell on their knees invoking the Holy Spirit; then the marquise
asked them to add a prayer to the Virgin, and, this prayer finished, she
went up to the doctor, and, beginning afresh, said:

"Sir, no doubt the president has sent you to give me consolation: with
you I am to pass the little life I have left. I have long been eager to
see you."

"Madame," the doctor replied, "I come to render you any spiritual office
that I can; I only wish it were on another occasion."

"We must have resolution, sir," said she, smiling, "for all things."

Then turning to Father Chavigny, she said:

"My father, I am very grateful to you for bringing the doctor here, and
for all the other visits you have been willing to pay me. Pray to God
for me, I entreat you; henceforth I shall speak with no one but the
doctor, for with him I must speak of things that can only be discussed
tete-a-tete. Farewell, then, my father; God will reward you for the
attention you have been willing to bestow upon me."

With these words the father retired, leaving the marquise alone with the
doctor and the two men and one woman always in attendance on her. They
were in a large room in the Montgomery tower extending, throughout its
whole length. There was at the end of the room a bed with grey curtains
for the lady, and a folding-bed for the custodian. It is said to have
been the same room where the poet Theophile was once shut up, and near
the door there were still verses in his well-known style written by his
hand.

As soon as the two men and the woman saw for what the doctor had come,
they retired to the end of the room, leaving the ma