“I have told all I know,” said the marquise, “and there is no more I can say.”

“Repeat these words in a loud voice,” said the doctor, “so that everybody may hear.”

Then in her loudest voice the marquise repeated—­

“I have told all I know, and there is no more I can say.”

After this declaration, they were going to drive the tumbril nearer to the scaffold, but the crowd was so dense that the assistant could not force a way through, though he struck out on every side with his whip.  So they had to stop a few paces short.  The executioner had already got down, and was adjusting the ladder.  In this terrible moment of waiting, the marquise looked calmly and gratefully at the doctor, and when she felt that the tumbril had stopped, said, “Sir, it is not here we part:  you promised not to leave me till my head is cut off.  I trust you will keep your word.”

“To be sure I will,” the doctor replied; “we shall not be separated before the moment of your death:  be not troubled about that, for I will never forsake you.”

“I looked for this kindness,” she said, “and your promise was too solemn for you to think for one moment of failing me.  Please be on the scaffold and be near me.  And now, sir, I would anticipate the final farewell,—­for all the things I shall have to do on the scaffold may distract me,—­so let me thank you here.  If I am prepared to suffer the sentence of my earthly judge, and to hear that of my heavenly judge, I owe it to your care for me, and I am deeply grateful.  I can only ask your forgiveness for the trouble I have given you.”  Tears choked the doctor’s speech, and he could not reply.  “Do you not forgive me?” she repeated.  At her words, the doctor tried to reassure her; but feeling that if he opened his mouth he must needs break into sobs, he still kept silent.  The marquise appealed to him a third time.  “I entreat you, sir, forgive me; and do not regret the time you have passed with me.  You will say a De Profundus at the moment of my death, and a mass far me to-morrow:  will you not promise?”

“Yes, madame,” said the doctor in a choking voice; “yes, yes, be calm, and I will do all you bid me.”

The executioner hereupon removed the board, and helped the marquise out of the tumbril; and as they advanced the few steps towards the scaffold, and all eyes were upon them, the doctor could hide his tears for a moment without being observed.  As he was drying his eyes, the assistant gave him his hand to help him down.  Meanwhile the marquise was mounting the ladder with the executioner, and when they reached the platform he told her to kneel down in front of a block which lay across it.  Then the doctor, who had mounted with a step less firm than hers, came and knelt beside her, but turned in the other direction, so that he might whisper in her ear—­that is, the marquise faced the river, and the doctor faced the Hotel de Ville.  Scarcely had they taken their