Misfortune had done its heavenly work, and had ennobled the face of Coconnas, as death was about to render divine his soul.
"Are we nearly there?" asked La Mole. "I can stand no more, my friend. I feel as if I were going to faint."
"Wait! wait! La Mole, we are passing by the Rue Tizon and the Rue Cloche Percée; look! look!"
"Oh! raise me, raise me, that I may once more gaze on that happy abode."
Coconnas raised his hand and touched the shoulder of the executioner, who sat at the front of the tumbril driving.
"Maître," said he, "do us the kindness to stop a moment opposite the Rue Tizon."
Caboche nodded in assent, and drew rein at the place indicated.
Aided by Coconnas, La Mole raised himself with an effort, and with eyes blinded by tears gazed at the small house, silent and mute, deserted as a tomb. A groan burst from him, and in a low voice he murmured:
"Adieu, adieu, youth, love, life!"
And his head fell forward on his breast.