"You are right," said the captain. "Unbind the prisoner."
Two men stepped forward; but Charles had already darted toward the count and freed his hands.
"Ah!" exclaimed the count, stretching out his arms, and shaking himself beneath his mantle, "how good it feels to be free."
"And now?" asked the captain.
"I want to give the word of command."
"You shall give it. And then?"
"I should like to send some souvenir to my family."
"You know that we are forbidden to take any letters from political prisoners who are condemned to death; but anything else, yes."
"I do not wish to give you any trouble on that score. Here is my compatriot Charles, who, as you have already promised, is to accompany me to the place of execution; he will undertake to deliver something to my family; let it be, not a letter, but an article that has belonged to me—my old foraging cap, for instance."
The count named his cap in the same careless tone he would have employed in speaking of any other article of his apparel, and the captain did not hesitate to grant his request.