He opened his eyes and faltered a few
words--they were the first he had uttered.
"Firmin!" he murmured, "Firmin!" It was the name of the baron's former
secretary, a man who had been absolutely devoted to his master, but who
had been dead for several years. It was evident that the baron's mind
was wandering. Still he had some vague idea of his terrible situation,
for in a stifled, almost inaudible voice, he added:
"Oh! how I suffer! Firmin, I will not fall into the hands of the Marquis
de Courtornieu alive. You shall kill me rather--do you hear me? I
command it."
This was all; then his eyes closed again, and his head fell back a dead
weight. One would have supposed that he had yielded up his last sigh.
Such was the opinion of the officers; and it was with poignant anxiety
they drew the abbe a little aside.
"Is it all over?" they asked. "Is there any hope?"
The priest sadly shook his head, and pointing to heaven:
"My hope is in God!" he said, reverently.
The hour, the place, the terrible catastrophe, the present danger, the
threatening future, all combined to lend a deep solemnity to the words
of the priest.
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