"Hush, my dear," replied Madame de Rémur soothingly. "Chevalier, look to the poor child; she is hysterical." The chevalier gently drew the countess aside, then took Madame de Rémur's hand and silently bending over it, put it to his lips.
"Take your place in the line, citizeness," called out a gendarme, and Madame de Rémur stood with the others.
"André de Blois!"
As de Blois' name was called, a shrill cry echoed through the room, and Mademoiselle de Bellœil fell back into the chair from which she had just risen. She did not swoon, but sat like one in a dream, staring with wide-open eyes.
The count stepped to her side.
"Adèle," he said, bending down and speaking in a low voice, "give me one of those roses you are wearing on your breast." Mechanically she took the flower from her bosom and put it in his hand. He placed it over his heart. "It shall be here to the last," he said softly; "now farewell;" and he pressed a kiss upon her cold lips.
"Maurice de Lacheville."
A man crouched down behind a group of prisoners, and all heads were turned in his direction.
"Maurice de Lacheville, you are called," said a gendarme, going up to him and seizing him by the arm with no gentle grasp.
"There is some mistake," cried de Lacheville pitiably.