"Four heads!" exclaimed Pontcalec; "impossible." At this moment he recognized in one of the heads the pale and noble face of Gaston, which seemed to smile upon him even in death.
And he in his turn started back in terror.
"Oh, kill me then quickly!" he cried, groaning with impatience; "would you make me die a thousand times?"
During this interval, one of the commissioners had mounted the ladder, called by the chief executioner. He cast a glance upon Pontcalec.
"It is indeed the Baron de Pontcalec," said the commissioner; "perform your office."
"But," cried the executioner, "there are four heads there already."
"Well, then, his will make five; better too many than too few."
And the commissioner descended the steps, signing to the drums to beat.
Waters reeled upon the boards of his scaffold. The tumult increased. The horror was more than the crowd could bear. A long murmur ran along the square; the lights were put out; the soldiers, driven back, cried "To arms!" there was a moment of noise and confusion, and several voices exclaimed:
"Death to the commissioners! death to the executioners!" Then the guns of the fort, loaded with grape, were pointed toward the people.