where the executioner rolled upon him to despatch him.  A strange event terrified the people as much as the horrible spectacle.  M. de Cinq-Mars’ old servant held his horse as at a military funeral; he had stopped at the foot of the scaffold, and like a man paralyzed, watched his master to the end, then suddenly, as if struck by the same axe, fell dead under the blow which had taken off his master’s head.

“I write these sad details in haste, on board a Genoese galley, into which Fontrailles, Gondi, Entraigues, Beauvau, Du Lude, myself, and others of the chief conspirators have retired.  We are going to England to await until time shall deliver France from the tyrant whom we could not destroy.  I abandon forever the service of the base Prince who betrayed us.

“Montresor”

“Such,” continued Corneille, “has been the fate of these two young men whom you lately saw so powerful.  Their last sigh was that of the ancient monarchy.  Nothing more than a court can reign here henceforth; the nobles and the senates are destroyed.”

“And this is your pretended great man!” said Milton.  “What has he sought to do?  He would, then, create republics for future ages, since he destroys the basis of your monarchy?”

“Look not so far,” answered Corneille; “he only seeks to reign until the end of his life.  He has worked for the present and not for the future; he has continued the work of Louis XI; and neither one nor the other knew what they were doing.”

The Englishman smiled.

“I thought,” he said, “that true genius followed another path.  This man has shaken all that he ought to have supported, and they admire him!  I pity your nation.”

“Pity it not!” exclaimed Corneille, warmly; “a man passes away, but a people is renewed.  This people, Monsieur, is gifted with an immortal energy, which nothing can destroy; its imagination often leads it astray, but superior reason will ever ultimately master its disorders.”

The two young and already great men walked, as they conversed, upon the space which separates the statue of Henri IV from the Place Dauphine; they stopped a moment in the centre of this Place.

“Yes, Monsieur,” continued Corneille, “I see every evening with what rapidity a noble thought finds its echo in French hearts; and every evening I retire happy at the sight.  Gratitude prostrates the poor people before this statue of a good king!  Who knows what other monument another passion may raise near this?  Who can say how far the love of glory will lead our people?  Who knows that in the place where we now are, there may not be raised a pyramid taken from the East?”