“Not so; it is in such moments that I feel a touch of health and vigor once again. Go on, I beseech you.”
“I will speak of that which more immediately concerns us,” said the Abbé. “This wretched man stands for execution on Saturday. Let us try to save him. His guilt must have already had its expiation in years of remorse and suffering. Here is a petition I have drawn up to the Secretary of State. It has been signed by several of the jury who tried the cause. We want your name also to it Such a commutation as may sentence him to exile is all that we pray for.”
“Give me the pen; I 'll sign it at once.”
“There,—in that space,” said the' Abbé, pointing with his finger. “How your hand trembles! This cannot be like your usual writing.”
“Let me confirm it by my seal, then. You'll find it on the table yonder.”
D'Esmonde melted the wax, and stood beside him, while the youth pressed down the seal.
“Even that,” said the Abbé, “might be disputed. There 's some one passing in the corridor; let him hear you acknowledge it as your act and hand.” And, so saying, he hastened to the door, and made a sign to the waiter to come in. “Mr. Dalton desires you to witness his signature,” said he to the man.
“I acknowledge this as mine,” said Frank, already half exhausted by the unaccustomed exertion.
“Your name, there, as witnessing it,” whispered D'Esmonde; and the waiter added his signature.
“Have you hope of success, Abbé?” said Frank, faintly.