tly, and was swallowed up
in the safety of distance. He smiled at the mealman's hesitation, even
while he said to himself: "This ends it--ends it!"

He said it with no great sinking of heart, with no fear. It was the
solution of all; it was his only way to honour.

The soldiers were halted a little distance from the two; and the
officer commanding, after a dull mechanical preamble, in the name of
the Government, formally called upon Valmond and Lagroin to surrender
themselves, or suffer the perils of resistance.

"Never!" broke out Lagroin, and, drawing his sword, he shouted: "Vive
Napoleon! The Old Guard never surrenders!"

Then he made as if to rush forward on the troops. "Fire!" called the
officer.

Twenty rifles blazed out. Lagroin tottered back, and fell at the feet of
his master.

Raising himself, he clasped Valmond's knee, and, looking up, said
gaspingly:

"Adieu, sire! I love you; I die for you." His head fell at his Emperor's
feet, though the hands still clutched the knee.

Valmond stood over his body, one leg on either side, and drew a pistol.

"Surrender, monsieur," said the officer, "or we fire!"

"Never! A Napoleon knows how to die!" was the reply, and he raised his
pistol at the officer.

"Fire!" came the sharp command.

"Vive Napoleon!" cried the doomed man, and fell, mortally wounded.

At that instant the Cure, with Medallion, came hurrying round the corner
of the church.

"Fools! Murderers!" he said to the soldiers. "Ah, these poor children!"

Stooping, he lifted up Valmond's head, and Medallion felt Lagroin's
pulseless heart.

The officer picked up Valmond's pistol. A moment afterwards he looked at
the dying man in wonder; for he found that the weapon was not loaded!

CHAPTER XVII

"How long, Chemist?"

"Two hours, perhaps."

"So long?"

After a moment he said dreamily: "It is but a step."

The Little Chemist nodded, though he did not understand. The Cure
stooped over him.

"A step, my son?" he asked, thinking he spoke of the voyage the soul
takes.

"To the Tuileries," answered Valmond, and he smiled. The Cure's brow
clouded; he wished to direct the dying man's thoughts elsewhere. "It
is but a step--anywhere," he continued; and looked towards the Little
Chemist. "Thank you, dear monsieur, thank you. There is a silver
night-lamp in my room; I wish it to be yours. Adieu, my friend."

The Little Chemist tried to speak, but could not. He stooped and kissed
Valmond's