A Judge, a Commissioner, a Magistrate, — I know not what was his rank, — has just been here.
I intreated him to procure my pardon; I begged it with clasped hands, and dragging myself on my knees at his feet.
He asked, with a fatal smile, if that were all I had to say to him?
“My pardon, my pardon!” I repeated. “Oh, for mercy’s sake, five minutes more! Who knows, my pardon may come. It is so horrible at my age to die in this manner. Reprieves have frequently arrived even at the last moment! And to whom would they show mercy, sir, if not to me?”
That detestable Executioner! He came in to tell the Judge that the execution was ordered for a certain hour, which hour was at hand, and that he was answerable for the event.
“Oh, for mercy’s sake! Five minutes to wait for my pardon,” cried I, “or I will defend myself!”
The Judge and the Executioner went out. I am alone, — at least with only two gendarmes present.
That horrible throng, with its hyena cry! Who knows but that I shall escape from it, that I shall be saved? If my pardon, — it is impossible but that they will pardon me! Hark! I hear some one coming upstairs!
FOUR O’CLOCK.