“But before we get there, you will be torn to pieces.”

“Never mind me, only go on.”

“The horses will kick.”

“Take hold of the tail of the last; a horse never kicks when you hold him so.”

Ernanton gave way in spite of himself to the mysterious influence of this lad, and seized the tail of the horse, while the page clung to him.  And thus, through the crowd, waving like the sea, leaving here a piece of a cloak, and there a fragment of a doublet, they arrived with the horses at a few steps from the scaffold.

“Have we arrived?” asked the young man, panting.

“Yes, happily!” answered Ernanton, “for I am exhausted.”

“I cannot see.”

“Come before me.”

“Oh, no! not yet.  What are they doing?”

“Making slip knots at the ends of the cords.”

“And he—­what is he doing?”

“Who?”

“The condemned.”

“His eyes turn incessantly from side to side.”

The horses were near enough to enable the executioner to tie the feet and hands of the criminal to the harness.  Salcede uttered a cry when he felt the cord in contact with his flesh.

“Monsieur,” said the Lieutenant Tanchon to him politely, “will it please you to address the people?” and added in a whisper, “a confession will save your life.”

Salcede looked earnestly at him, as though to read the truth in his eyes.

“You see,” continued Tanchon, “they abandon you.  There is no other hope in the world but what I offer you.”

“Well!” said Salcede, with a sigh, “I am ready to speak.”

“It is a written and signed confession that the king exacts.”

“Then untie my hands, and give me a pen and I will write it.”

They loosened the cords from his wrists, and an usher who stood near with writing materials placed them before him on the scaffold.  “Now,” said Tanchon, “state everything.”

“Do not fear; I will not forget those who have forgotten me;” but as he spoke, he cast another glance around.

While this was passing, the page, seizing the hand of Ernanton, cried, “Monsieur, take me in your arms, I beg you, and raise me above the heads of the people who prevent me from seeing.”

“Ah! you are insatiable, young man.”

“This one more service; I must see the condemned, indeed I must.”

Then, as Ernanton still hesitated, he cried, “For pity’s sake, monsieur, I entreat you.”

Ernanton raised him in his arms at this last appeal, and was somewhat astonished at the delicacy of the body he held.  Just as Salcede had taken the pen, and looked round as we have said, he saw this young lad above the crowd, with two fingers placed on his lips.  An indescribable joy spread itself instantaneously over the face of the condemned man, for he recognized the signal so impatiently waited for, and which announced that aid was near.  After a moment’s hesitation, however, he took the paper and began to write.