“I understand you,” said the emperor, with perfect calmness.  “The law of October 3 was made to put down robbers:  this sentence is the work of murderers.”

Escobedo laid his hand on his revolver with a sudden exclamation.  Then, recovering himself, he said sarcastically:  “I suppose that a criminal must be allowed the right to vilify his judges.”

Maximilian turned his back on him, and Escobedo left the prison.

The execution had been ordered for the next morning, but was put off till the 19th, by order of Juarez.

Meantime the English and Prussian ambassadors hastened to Juarez, hoping to obtain mercy for the late emperor.  The French and Austrian courts, by telegraph, implored the mediation of the United States.  There was no American minister at that time in Mexico, but Mr. Seward sent telegraphic despatches to Juarez, pointing out that the execution of Maximilian would rouse the feelings of the civilized world against the Mexican Republic.

All was of no avail.  The idea of foreign intervention in the affairs of Mexico was so distasteful to the Mexicans that these pleadings on the late emperor’s behalf by foreign Governments only accelerated his fate.

During the night before his death, Maximilian asked his jailers for a pair of scissors.  He was refused.  Then he implored one of them to cut off a lock of his hair.  When that was done, he wrote the following pathetic letter to Carlotta:—­

MY BELOVED CARLOTTA,—­If God should permit you one of these days to get well enough to read these lines, you will know how sad has been my fate ever since your departure.  You took with you my happiness, my very life, and my good fortune.  Why did I not take your advice?  So many sad things have taken place, so many unexpected catastrophes and undeserved misfortunes have fallen on me, that I have now lost heart and hope, and look upon death as my good angel.  My death will be sharp and sudden, without pain.  I shall fall gloriously, like a soldier, like a conquered sovereign....  If you cannot, dearest, bear up under your load of sorrow, if God in His mercy soon reunites us by your death, I will bless His fatherly hand, which now seems very heavy upon me.  Adieu, adieu! 
                                              YOUR POOR MAX.

He kissed this letter, folded into it the light silky lock of his own hair, and placed it with other letters which he had written to his mother and friends.  They were all in French, and written in a clear, firm, regular hand.  His noble nature shone in every line.  They give the key to the irresistible personal sympathy he inspired in all who knew him.  His enemies were aware of this, and no judge or general who had ever known him sat on his court-martial.

As six o’clock was striking on the morning of June 19, the door of the prison was unbarred.  “I am ready,” said Maximilian.

As he stepped forth from the door of the convent, he exclaimed:  “What a beautiful morning!  I have always fancied I should like to die in sunshine,—­on a summer day.”