"Until now we have been enduring a period of waiting, we have been asking ourselves if it will have an effect upon us—but now we have no more doubt. The effect has begun!
"'Present arms!'
"All together we render honour to the dead woman—for one considers a person condemned as already dead. And the bugles begin to play the March—Do sol do do Sol do do, Mi mi mi—
"They play slowly—very softly and in the minor key.
"Harietta Boleski walks quickly, the sister can hardly keep by her side. She is tall, beautiful, very elegant. A large hat with floating lace veil thrown back and splendid earrings. A dark dress—pretty shoes.
"She looks at the troops and the piquet d'exécution a little disdainfully, and then she smiles gaily—it is almost a titter. The sister taps her gently on the shoulder, as if to recall her to a sense of order, but she makes one careless gesture and walks up to the post.
"The bugles are sounding plaintively, slowly and more slowly all the time.
"She pauses in front of us—and with us it is now, 'Does this make us feel something?' We must hold ourselves not to grow faint.
"To see this woman go by with the trumpets sounding ever. To say to ourselves that in sixty seconds she will be no more. There will be no life in that beautiful body. Ah! that is an emotion, believe me!
"Never has the great problem been brought more forcibly before my spirit.