"Make ready!"
Half-way to the gate, Dossonville stumbled and went down, sprawling. Instantly he was up, but catching at the arms of his guards, who, trying to shake him off, cried:
"Let go, there, or I'll stab you."
"Citoyen," answered Dossonville with an exclamation of pain—"Citoyen, I have turned my ankle. Support me!"
"Come, come, no nonsense!"
"Citoyen, it is because I do not wish to appear to shrink. Remember that I am a Frenchman; I desire only to die bravely. Give me your support."
"Give it to him!" growled the other.
"Citoyen, I thank you; unfortunately, we shall not meet again."
The one who had spoken continued gruffly:
"When you pass through the gate keep your hands behind your back; you'll suffer less."