"Now I am ready," she said to Coursegol. "Death may come."
"So young and so beautiful, and to die!" he exclaimed, sadly.
"Are you going to bewail my fate?" she inquired, with a smile. "It is unnecessary, for I am very happy."
"It is the thought of the sacrifice you have accomplished that renders you thus happy!"
"Hush!" she said, quickly. "Who has spoken to you of a sacrifice? It must never be mentioned. Antoinette and Philip must never know that I died in place of another."
"A saint might utter words like those," he murmured. Then beholding her cheerful, courageous and inspired with the holy enthusiasm of the martyrs, he added: "I am glad to die with you. You will open the portals of Heaven for me; and I will cling so closely to you, pure soul, that they will let me follow you in."
Thus were these two souls elevated to the grandest heroism by the very simplicity of their devotion. There was certainly not a drop of noble blood in the veins of either of them, and yet they went to meet death valiantly, like saints.
It was three o'clock, and a lovely winter's day. The sky was clear and the sun radiant.
"We have fine weather for our journey to the scaffold," thought Coursegol.
Dolores was absorbed in prayer. Her heart ascended to God in fervent supplication that He would bless her sacrifice, and make it redound to the peace and happiness of the two beloved friends that were left behind. Suddenly, several men entered the hall: the executioner and his assistants. Moans and cries of terror arose from the condemned.
"Already!" exclaimed a young woman, who had until now borne herself courageously.
She fainted. She was half-dead with fear when she was carried up the steps of the guillotine an hour later. Dolores lost none of her composure on beholding the executioner. She quietly removed her hat; and while the three assistants cut off the hair of the prisoners around her, she unbound the magnificent golden tresses which enveloped her like a rippling veil. There was a universal shudder when the scissors despoiled that charming head of its superb adornment; and Coursegol could not repress an exclamation of wrath at this act of barbarity. Dolores checked him with a gesture.
"I would like to have my hair," she said to the assistant executioner, pointing to the tresses lying upon the floor.