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Updated: June 16, 2025


In less than an hour the scuffle had grown into an insurrection: the whole district was in a state of siege. And, on the barricade, was Christophe, unrecognizable, shouting his revolutionary song, which was taken up by a score of voices. Olivier had been carried to Amelie's. He was unconscious. He had been laid on a bed in the dark back-shop.

The thought of Amélie's gloom cast a shadow over the project, and she could not yet quite face it. She wandered back to the sitting-room, and, thinking of Amélie's last words, she stood for some time and looked at herself in the large mirror which rose from mantelpiece to cornice, enclosed in cascades of gilt.

The two postulantes seemed impressed with the spirit that, to their fancies, lingered in the cell of their kinswoman, Mere Madelaine. They bent their gentle necks to the heaviest yoke of spiritual service which their Superior would consent to lay upon them. Amelie's inflexible will made her merciless towards herself.

She was proud of Pierre, while she trembled at the resolution which she read in his countenance of demanding as a soldier, and not as a suppliant, the restoration of Le Gardeur to his family. Amelie's second visit to the Palace had been as fruitless as her first.

Mere Esther interceded strongly with the Lady Superior, who was jealous of the influence of Pierre with her young novice. At length Amelie's prayers overcame her scruples. He was told one day that Amelie was dying, and wished to see him for the last time in this world. Amelie was carried in a chair to the bars to receive her sorrowing lover.

When they reached it he hesitated a moment, then he touched Amelie's arm, saying as he did so: "Mademoiselle de Montrevel, forgive me for causing you so much pain, but it is useless for you to go to Paris." "Because the appeal has been rejected and the execution takes place to-morrow, I suppose you mean," said Amelie. The jailer in his astonishment stepped back a pace.

Amelie's father, dying on the battle-field, had, with his latest breath, commended the care of his children to the love and friendship of La Corne St. Luc. "Well, Amelie, blessed are they who do not promise and still perform. I must try and meet my dear boy, so do not quite place me among the impossibles. Good-by, my Lady. Good-by, Amelie." The old soldier gaily kissed his hand and rode away.

"What care I, Amelie, so long as Angelique is not weak and fickle to me?" answered he; "but she will think her tardy lover is both weak and fickle unless I put in a speedy appearance at the Maison des Meloises!" He rose up as if to depart, still holding his sister by the hand. Amelie's tears flowed silently in the darkness.

A dozen voices began to shout: "Say nothing!" but the ushers, at a sign from the judge, cried out imperatively: "Silence!" Amelie's heart turned deadly cold. A cold sweat poured from her forehead. Her knees gave way and trembled under her. "Bring in the prisoners," said the judge, imposing silence by a look as the usher had with his voice.

Amelie's eyes fastened upon her at once. "O my God!" she murmured, "grant that I be mistaken." "Madame," said the judge, "the prisoners are about to be brought in. Have the goodness to point out the one who, when the Geneva diligence was stopped, paid you those attentions." A shudder ran through the audience. They felt that some fatal trap had been laid for the prisoners.

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