These heart-breaking scenes began even before the departure of the officer, and generally lasted the entire night until the hour of final adieu; but if the prisoner designated was alone and without family, he came forward with a firm step, stoically accepted his sentence of death, and hummed a lively air as he returned to the crowd where a dozen unknown, but friendly, hands were extended as if to encourage and strengthen him.

Dolores had been a sympathetic witness of many such scenes, and that evening she was neither more nor less moved than on previous occasions.

The eyes and the heart soon become accustomed to anything. But suddenly she trembled. Those near her saw her totter and turn pale. She had just heard the officer call the name of Antoinette de Mirandol. She glanced around her but did not see her friend. Antoinette was with Philip, outside the door. She did not reply to her name. The clerk repeated it in a still louder voice.

"Antoinette de Mirandol," he repeated a third time.

Dolores stepped forward.

"Here I am," said she. "Pardon me, I did not hear at first."

"Are you Citoyenne Mirandol?"

"The same."

This generous response, twice repeated, caused a murmur of admiration, surprise and consternation among those who knew Dolores. She did not hear it, but her eyes glowed with heroic resolve as, with a firm hand, she took the act of accusation extended to her, and slowly returned to her place.

The name of Antoinette to which she had just responded was the last upon the sad list.

"All whose names I have called will be tried to-morrow morning at ten o'clock."

With these words, the messenger of the Tribunal withdrew. Then came a sigh of relief from those who had not been summoned.

The friends of Dolores a.s.sembled around her.

"Unfortunate child, what have you done?" asked one.

"Are you, then, so anxious to die?"

"Why did you go forward when it was not your name that he called?"

She glanced calmly at her questioners; then, in a voice in which entreaty was mingled with the energy that denotes an immutable resolve, she said:

"I beg that no one will interfere in this matter, or make me unhappy by endeavoring to persuade me to reconsider my decision. Above all, I earnestly entreat you to keep my secret."

No one made any response. The wish she had expressed was equivalent to a command; and as such, deeds of heroism were not uncommon, the one which she had performed so bravely, and which would cost her her life, was forgotten in a few moments by her companions in misfortune, who were naturally absorbed in the question as to when their own turn was to come.

Dolores pa.s.sed through the little group that had gathered around her, each person stepping aside with a grave bow to make way for her, and rejoined Antoinette and Philip, who knew nothing of what had taken place. When she appeared before them no trace of emotion was visible upon her face, and she had concealed the fated paper beneath the fichu that covered her bosom. She chatted cheerfully with her friends until the sound of the drum warned the prisoners that they must retire to their cells. Then, she smilingly extended her hand to Philip.

"Good-night!" she said, simply.

And taking Antoinette's arm in hers, she led her back to the cell they occupied in common. Antoinette entered first, leaving Dolores alone an instant in the main corridor. The latter turned and swiftly retraced her steps. She was seeking Aubry, the jailer. She soon met him. He, too, was ignorant of all that had occurred.

"Where are you going?" he inquired, in a half-good-natured, half-grumbling tone.

"I was looking for you," Dolores replied. "I must send a message to Coursegol this very night."

"I am not sure that I can get permission to leave the prison."

"You must," she eagerly rejoined. "It is absolutely necessary that I see Coursegol to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. If he comes later, he will not find me here."

And as Aubry looked at her in astonishment, she added:

"I am to appear to-morrow before the Tribunal."

"You! I hoped they had forgotten you."

"Hush! not a word to any one, above all, to the young girl who shares my cell. If you have any regard for me, give my message to Coursegol.

You will do a good deed for which you shall be rewarded."

She left the kind-hearted jailer without another word, and hastened back to the cell where Antoinette was awaiting her.

Dolores pa.s.sed the night in a profound and peaceful slumber and awoke with a heart overflowing with pure and holy joy at the thought that she was about to heroically crown a life devoted to duty and to abnegation.

She did not underrate the sacrifice she was to make; but she knew that the death would not be without moral grandeur, and even while she comprehended that she had exceeded the limit of the obligations which duty imposed upon her, she felt no agitation, no regret.

She rose early and arrayed herself with more than usual care. The dress she selected was of gray cashmere. Her shoulders were covered with a silk fichu of the same color, knotted behind at the waist. Upon her head she wore one of the tall, plumed felt hats in fashion at the time, and from which her golden hair descended in heavy braids upon her white neck. Never had she been more beautiful. The light of immortality seemed to beam in her lovely face; and the serenity of her heart, the enthusiasm that inspired her and the fervor of her religious faith imparted an inexpressible charm to her features. When her toilet was completed, she knelt, and for an hour her soul ascended in fervent aspiration to the G.o.d in whom she had placed her trust. Her heart was deeply touched: but there were no tears in her eyes.

"Death," she thought, "is only a journey to a better life. In the unknown world to which my soul will take flight, I shall rejoin those whom I love and who have gone before: the Marquis, whose benevolence sheltered me from misery and want; his wife, who lavished all a mother's tenderness upon me; my mother, herself, who died soon after giving me birth. For those I leave behind me I shall wait on high, watching over them, and praying for their peace and happiness."

These consoling thoughts crowded in upon her as if to strengthen her in her last moments by hopes which render the weakest natures strong and indomitable, even before the most frightful suffering. She rose calm and tranquil, and approached Antoinette's bedside. She was sleeping soundly.

Dolores looked at her a moment with loving, pitying eyes.

"May my death a.s.sure your happiness," she murmured, softly; "and may Philip love you as fondly as I have loved him!"

She left the cell. In the corridor, she met Aubry, who was in search of her.

"Your friend Coursegol is waiting for you below," he said, sadly.

"Oh! thank you," she quickly and cheerfully rejoined.

She hastened down. Coursegol was there. He was very pale, his face was haggard, and his eyes were terribly swollen. Warned the evening before by Aubry, the poor man had spent the entire night in the street, crouching against the wall of the prison, weeping and moaning while he waited for the hour when he could see Dolores.

"What do I hear, mademoiselle," he exclaimed, on meeting her. "You are summoned before the Tribunal! Oh! it is impossible. There must be some mistake. They can accuse you of no crime, nor can they think of punishing you as if you had been an emigre or a conspirator."

"Nevertheless, I received a summons yesterday and also a paper containing the charge against me."

"Alas, alas!" groaned Coursegol, "why did you not listen to me? Why have you not made use of the order I procured for you? You would now be at liberty and happy."

"But Antoinette had no means of escape."

"And what do I care for Mademoiselle de Mirandol? She is nothing to me, while you are almost my daughter. If you die, I shall not survive you. I have accomplished miracles to insure your escape from prison. I also flattered myself that I had a.s.sured your life's happiness, but by your imprudence you have rendered all my efforts futile. Oh, G.o.d is not just!"

"Coursegol, in pity say no more!"

But he would not heed her. He was really beside himself, and he continued his lamentations and reproaches with increasing violence, though his voice was choked with sobs. He gesticulated wildly; he formed a thousand plans, each more insane than the preceding. Now, he declared his intention of forcibly removing Dolores; now he declared he would appeal to the judges for mercy; again he swore that Vauquelas should interfere in her behalf. But the girl forbade any attempt to save her.

"No, my good Coursegol," she said; "the thought of death does not appall me; and those who mourn for me will find consolation in the hope of meeting me elsewhere."

"And do you think this hope will suffice for me?" cried Coursegol.