Lo! I am calm. All is finished-quite finished! I am relieved from the dreadful anxiety into which I was thrown by the Governor’s visit; for I confess I still felt hope. Now, thank Heaven! hope is gone.
Let me record what has happened. At half-past six the door of my cell was opened; an old man with white hair entered, dressed in a brown great-coat.
He unfastened it, and beneath I saw the black cassock and bands of a priest. He was not the usual Chaplain to the prison, and I thought this appeared ominous. He seated himself opposite to me, with a quiet smile; then shook his head, and raised his eyes to heaven. I understood him.
“My son!” said he, “are you prepared?”
I answered, in a low tone, “I am not prepared — but I am ready.”
Then my sight became troubled; a chill damp pervaded my frame. I felt the veins on my temples swelling, and a confused murmur in my ears.
Whilst I vacillated on my chair as though asleep, the old man continued speaking, — at least, so it appeared to me, for I think I remember seeing his lips move, and his hand raised.
The door opened again; the noise of the lock roused me from my reverie, and the Priest from his discourse. A person dressed in black entered, accompanied by the Governor of the prison, and bowed profoundly to me; he carried a roll of paper.
“Sir,” said he, with a courteous smile, “I have the honour to bring you a message from the Attorney-General.”
The first agitation was over; all my presence of mind returned, and I answered in a firm tone, “Read on, Sir.”
He then read a long. technically-expressed paper, the purport of which was the rejection of my plea. “The execution will be to-day,” added he; “we shall leave this for the Conciergerie Prison at half-past seven. My dear Sir, will you have the extreme goodness to accompany me at that hour?”
For some instants I had no longer listened to him; for while his eyes were fixed on the paper the Governor was occupied talking to the Priest; and I looked at the door which they had left half open!...Ah, hapless me! Four sentinels in the corridor. Again I was asked when I would be ready to go.
“When you please,” I said; “at your own time.”
“I shall have the honour of coming for you, then, in half an hour,” said he, bowing; and all the party withdrew.
Oh for some means of escaping, Good heavens! any means whatever! I must make my escape! I must! Immediately! By the doors, by the windows, by the roof! Even though in the struggle I should destroy myself!
Oh, rage! demons! malediction! It would take months to pierce this wall with efficient tools. And I have not one nail, nor one hour!