"Rouse thee-rouse thee, la Mole! We are passing by the Rue Tizon and the Rue Cloche-Percée. Look, look!" "Oh, raise me-raise me, that I may once again behold that blissful abode!"

Coconnas touched the executioner on the shoulder, as he sat on the tumbril and drove the horse.

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Maître," he said, "do us the kindness to pause a moment in front of the Rue Tizon."

Caboche bowed his head in token of assent, and stopped.

La Mole raised himself with a vast effort, aided by Coconnas, and gazed, with tearful eyes, at the small house, now closed and silent as the tomb: a groan burst from his over charged breast, and he said, in a low voice

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Courage," said Coconnas-"we may, perchance, find all this above!"

"Do you think so?" murmured la Mole.

"I think so, because the priest told me so, and more especially because I hope so. But do not faint, my dear friend, or these wretches will laugh at us."

Caboche heard these last words, and whipping his horse with one hand, he extended the other (unseen by any one) to Coconnas. It contained a small sponge saturated with a powerful stimulant, which after having smelt and rubbed over his brow, la Mole felt himself revived and re-animated, and he kissed the reliquary suspended from his neck.

When they reached the quay they saw the scaffold, which was elevated considerably above the ground.

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My friend," said la Mole, "I would fain die first." Coconnas again touched the headsman's shoulder.

"Maître," said Coconnas, "my friend has suffered more than I have, and he says he should suffer all the more to see me die first; and if I were to die before him, he would have no one to support him on the scaffold."

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Good, good!" said Caboche, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand-"be easy, it shall be as you desire."

"And with one blow, eh?" said the Piedmontese, in a low

tone.

"Yes, with one blow!" ""Tis well!"

The tumbril stopped. They had arrived. Coconnas put on his hat.

A murmur like that of the waves of the sea reached the ears of la Mole. He tried to rise, but his strength failed him, and Caboche and Coconnas were compelled to support him under his arms.

The place was paved with heads, and the steps of the Hotel de Ville seemed an amphitheatre peopled with spectators: each window was filled with animated countenances..

When they saw the handsome young man who could no longer support himself on his legs, bruised and broken, make an effort to reach the scaffold, a vast sound was heard, like a cry of universal desolation: the men groaned, and the women uttered plaintive sighs.

"He was one of the grandest dons at the court," said one. "How handsome he is! How pale he looks!" said the "He is the one who would not confess!"

women.

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My dearest friend," said la Mole-"I cannot support myself. Carry me!"

Stay a moment," replied Coconnas.

He made a sign to the executioner, who moved aside: then stooping, he lifted la Mole in his arms, as if he had been an infant, and went up the steps to the scaffold with unfaltering foot, bore his burthen firmly on to the platform, and put him down amidst the shoutings and applause of the vast multitude.

Coconnas returned the greeting by raising his hat from his head, and then threw it down on the scaffold beside him.

"Look round," said la Mole; "do you see them anywhere?" Coconnas glanced deliberately around him, and when his eyes reached a certain spot, paused. Then, without removing his look, he touched his friend on the shoulder, saying

"Look, look, at the window of that little tower!"

With his other hand he pointed out to la Mole the small building which still exists at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie and the Rue Monton-a remnant of past ages. Two females, clothed in black, were leaning on each other, somewhat retired from the window.

"Ah!" said la Mole, "I had but one fear, and that was to die without again seeing her. I have beheld her again, and now I can die.'

And with his eyes steadfastly fixed on the small window, he lifted the reliquary to his lips, and covered it with kisses. Coconnas saluted the two women with as much grace as if he were in a drawing room, and they replied to the two devoted men by shaking their handkerchiefs bathed in tears.

Caboche then touched Coconnas on his shoulder, and looking at him very,significantly, the Piedmontese replied"Yes, yes!"

Then turning to la Mole, he said to him

"One last embrace, dear friend, and die like a man! That, beloved la Mole, will be no hardship for you, who are so brave."

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"Ah," replied la Mole, "there will be no merit in me to die well, suffering the torments I do."

The priest approached, and extended a crucifix to la Mole, who smiled, and pointed to the reliquary he held in his hand. "No matter," replied the priest-"still pray for strength from Him who suffered what you are about to suffer." La Mole kissed the feet of the crucifix.

"I am ready," said la Mole.

"Can you hold your head upright?" asked Caboche, coming with his drawn sword behind la Mole, who was now on his knees.

"I hope so," was the reply.

"Then all will go

well.'

"But you," said la Mole, "will not forget what I requested of you; this reliquary will open the doors for you." "Make yourself quite easy; and now try and hold your head perfectly straight."

La Mole held his neck erect, and looking towards the little tower, said:

"Adieu, Marguerite! bless"

He could not finish; with one stroke of his keen and flashing sword, Caboche severed from the body the head of la Mole, which rolled to Coconnas' feet.

The body fell gently back, as if going to rest.

"Thanks, good friend, thanks," said Coconnas, extending his hand for the third time to the executioner.

One

cry arose from the lips of a thousand human beings; and amongst them, Coconnas fancied he heard a shriek more piercing than all the rest.

"My son," said the priest to Coconnas, "have you nothing you would confess to God?"

"Ma foi! no father," replied the Piedmontese, "all I had to say, I said yesterday to you."

Then turning to Caboche, he said:

"Now then, headsman, my last friend, one more service!" Before he knelt, he turned on the multitude a look so calm, so full of resignation, that a murmur of admiration came to soothe his ear and flatter his pride. Then taking in his hands the head of his dear friend, and impressing a last kiss on the purple lips, he gave one more look towards the little tower, and kneeling down, still holding the beloved head in his hands, he cried

"Now!"

He had scarcely uttered the word than Caboche with a sweep of his arm had cut his head from his body.

"It is time it was all over," said the worthy creature, trembling all over-" poor, poor fellow!"

He took with some difficulty from the clenched fingers of la Mole the reliquary of gold, and threw his cloak over the sad remains, which the tumbril had yet to convey to his sinister abode.

The spectacle was over: the crowd dispersed.

CHAPTER LXI.

THE HEADSMAN'S TOWER.

NIGHT spread her mantle over the city, still shuddering under the recollection of this spectacle, the details of which passed from mouth to mouth and made sorrowful each family repast.

In contrast to the city, which was silent and mournful, the Louvre was joyous, noisy, and illuminated. There was a grand fête at the palace-a fête commanded by Charles IX.; a fête, which he had ordered for that evening at the same time ho had ordered the execution for the morning.

The queen of Navarre had received on the previous evening the king's orders to be present, and in the hope that la

Mole and Coconras would escape in the night, in consequence of all measures being taken for their safety, she had promised her brother to comply with his desire.

But when she had lost all hope, after the terrible scene in the chapel-after she had, from a last impulse of that deep love which was the most decided and enduring of her life, been present at the execution, she had firmly resolved that neither prayers nor threats should compel her to go to a boisterous festival at the Louvre the same day on which she had witnessed so terrible a scene at the Grève

The king had on this day exhibited another proof of that power of will, which no one, perhaps, ever displayed more energetically than Charles IX.

In bed for a fortnight, week as a dying man, ghastly as a corpse, he yet arose at five o'clock, and was attired in his gayest habiliments, although during his toilette he had fainted three times.

About eight o'clock he inquired after his sister, if any one had seen her, and if they knew where she was. No one could answer satisfactorily, for the queen had gone to her apartments about eleven o'clock, and refused admittance to everybody.

But there was no refusal for Charles. Leaning on the arm of M. de Nancey, he proceeded to the queen of Navarre's apartments, and entered suddenly by the secret door. Although he expected a melancholy sight, and had prepared for it, that which he beheld was even more distressing than he had anticipated.

Marguerite, half dead, was lying on a sofa, her head buried in the cushions, neither weeping nor praying; ever since her return she had been groaning in bitterest anguish.

At the other corner of the chamber, Henriette de Nevers, that daring bold woman, lay stretched on the carpet, without consciousness.

Charles desired Nancey to await him in the corridor, and entered, pale and trembling.

Neither of the women saw him: Gillonne, alone, who was at the moment endeavouring to revive Henriette, rose ca her knee and looked terrified at the king, who made a sign with his hand, whereupon she rose, courtsied reverentially and retired

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