He hesitated, so I added, full of rage that I had failed to learn the secret of her fate,—
"Follow, if you would avoid the disgrace of being dragged."
"Tête Dieu!" he exclaimed, and smote his forehead.
We stepped from the ruined sugar-mill into the full blaze of the sunshine, and on the green luxuriant grass that grew under the foliage of a citron-grove. All Nature seemed so sunny and beautiful, that I felt a momentary compunction on witnessing the farewell glance he cast around him—a farewell to light, to life, and to the future; for he could not have a shadow of hope, on seeing eight of my comrades in line resting on their muskets, and close by Tom Telfer, standing shovel in hand beside a newly-made grave—a hole of ominous aspect, six feet by two, which he had just dug by my directions. While he tied a handkerchief over the eyes of Rouvigny, I ordered the party to load with blank cartridge, and his frame shuddered when he heard the ramrods go home with a dull sound on the powder; but knowing the trick we were to play, they all loaded carefully.
Our prisoner knelt down near the pretended grave, and folded his arms without a word of prayer or entreaty; while the Chevalier Dutriel lighted a fresh cigar, and looked on with perfect indifference, for he had an undisguised hatred for his newly-made republican colonel, and had seen too many of his friends perish thus in the citadel of St. Pierre, to be startled by such an episode. He deemed it merely an act of retribution.
In a low voice I offered Rouvigny his life for the secret of Eulalie's fate; but received no reply.
"Fire!" I exclaimed.
At twenty paces eight muskets were discharged full at his head. When the smoke cleared away, to my astonishment and alarm we saw him lying flat on his face, with the ammunition-paper whirling about him. Dreading some terrible mistake, we all rushed forward and lifted him. Not a ball had been fired; he was without even a scratch, but hung in our grasp—stone dead!