Then the full horror of the situation burst forth upon St. Just; the man who faced him was the Duc d'Enghien. Doubtless his own fate would be the same!
And now an officer approached the man whose course was all but run; and St. Just could see that the Duc was addressing him with vehemence; nay, in the clear still air, he could hear his very words.
"Sir, I protest against this outrage, in the face of God and man. Your ruler must be mad to do that which will raise all Europe against him."
But the officer shook his head and refused to allow him to proceed. Meanwhile, the firing party had been drawn up in line, their muskets in position. The officer in command stepped back, then raised his sword.
There was a sharp cry and, at the same moment, the crack of musketry. The murdered Royalist reeled, spun half round, clutching convulsively at his throat with both hands, in his death agony, and fell backward into the grave.
Sick at heart at the bloody spectacle he had just witnessed, St. Just strove to avert his gaze, but a compelling fascination seemed to chain him to the window. The officer gave some directions to the men. Those with spades advanced and began to throw in the soil. The foul deed that horrified all Europe was accomplished.
The filling of the grave was soon completed, and the footsteps of the last actors in the grisly drama died away, and all that remained to mark the tragedy that had been enacted was a slight mound upon the ground, watched by a little dog—his master's favorite—that, ever and anon, sent up a piteous howl to note its sense of its bereavement.
Then St. Just, no longer supported by excitement, felt his knees begin to totter, and a deadly sickness overtake him; he clutched at the iron bars to hold him up, but his grasp was feeble, and gradually it relaxed.
He swayed to and fro; then fell fainting to the floor.
THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON.