“To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my sorrows and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest.  There is in this prison a toad.  He was tamed by a man (peace to his memory!) who tenanted this cell before me.  He has been my friend and companion for nearly two years of sad imprisonment.  He has sat by my bedside, fed from my hand, and shared all my confidence.  He is ugly, but he has beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a brute, but I wish the men of France were in this respect more his superiors!  He is very faithful.  May you never have a worse friend!  He feeds upon insects, which I have been accustomed to procure for him.  Be kind to him; he will repay it.  Like other men, I bequeath what I would take with me if I could.

“Fellow-sufferer, adieu!  GOD comfort you as He has comforted me!  The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys of the next life are eternal.  Think sometimes on him who commends his friend to your pity, and himself to your prayers.

“This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B——.”

Monsieur the Viscount’s last will and testament was with difficulty squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones.  Then he hid it where the priest had hidden his bequest long ago, and then lay down to dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last.

The next day was one of anxious suspense.  In the evening, as usual, a list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought into the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it.  It was brought to him.  First on the list was Antoine!  Halfway down was his own name, “Louis de B——­,” and a little lower his fascinated gaze fell upon names that stirred his heart with such a passion of regret as he had fancied it would never feel again, “Henri de St. Claire, Valerie de St. Claire.”

Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her calm voice to echo in his ears. “It has been in my mind all to-day.  There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest.”

There!  He buried his face and prayed.

He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler appeared with Antoine!  The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror.  He had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the Viscount.  It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at daybreak, and his request was granted.

Antoine’s entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount’s thoughts.  No more selfish reflections now.  He must comfort this poor creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause.  Antoine’s first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear witness that the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the blessing and not the curse of Monsieur le Cure, whose powerful presence seemed to haunt him still.  On this score he was soon set at rest, and then came the old, old story.  He had been but a bad man.  If his life were to come over again, he would do differently.  Did Monsieur the Viscount think that there was any hope?