'Oh Lord, You see that I am innocent of the crimes ascribed to me; but I sinned against You when I attempted to destroy myself, and for this I am justly punished. I receive from the hands of this man, placed in my way by Your unfathomable Providence, the death that I wished to inflict upon myself. I bless You, in Your justice, for You will avenge my memory and punish the real traitors.'

After pronouncing these words in a very distinct voice, Lally asked Charles Henri Sanson to come forward.

'Young man,' he said, 'free me of these bonds.'

'Monsieur le Comte, your hands must remain bound behind your back.'

'Is it, then, necessary to tie my hands in order to cut off my head? I have seen death often enough as near as now, and do they think I am going to resist?'

'Monsieur le Comte, it is the custom.'

'Then help me to take off this vest and give it to your father.'

Charles Henri obeyed, and took off the vest, which was-made of a valuable golden tissue of India. Each button was a large ruby of the finest water. After this, the Count laid his head on the block, and said, with nervous animation :

'And now, you can strike!'

Charles Henri raised his weapon, and let it fall on the old man's neck. But the hair, which had not been cut, but only raised, obstructed the blade, and the head did not fall.

The blow was so violent that Lally was struck down to the earth. But he sprang to his feet in a moment, and he glared at Jean-Baptiste Sanson with a lamentable expression of indignation and reproach.

At this sight, the old executioner rushed towards his sɔn, and, suddenly recovering his former strength, he took the bloody sword from his hands, and before the cry of horror which rose from the crowd subsided, Lally's head was rolling on the scaffold.

The old nobleman's last prayer was partly granted. The trial of the Count de Lally-Tollendal was revised and his memory was solemnly rehabilitated.

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CHAPTER XIII.

THE CHEVALIER DE LA BARRE.

AFTER rusting for seven-and-thirty years, the political scaffold had just been erected again for Lally-Tollendal; and the sword of justice had scarcely been restored to the scabbard, when it had again to be drawn against another nobleman, as interesting for youth and courage as for the disproportion between the offence and the punishment.

Towards the end of June 1766, Charles Henri Sanson received an order to start immediately for Abbeville to carry out a capital sentence. The despatch, and the pressing terms in which it was couched, surprised him. very much.

A few days before, the Parliament had rejected the appeal of the young Chevalier de la Barre, sentenced by the Presidial of Abbeville to be burnt after being decapitated, for singing obscene songs concerning the Virgin and the Saints. The culprit was not twenty; the most distinguished barristers of Paris declared that the proceedings which had preceded the sentence were monstrous; and it was openly said that the Parliament had confirmed the judgment in order to give satisfaction to

the clergy, whom the edict of proscription against the Jesuits had alarmed. No one thought that the sentence could be executed, and it was generally believed that the King would use his privilege of reprieve.

Nevertheless, the injunctions received by my grandfather were so formal, that he lost no time in setting out for Abbeville. As soon as he arrived in that town, the cradle of his family, he put himself at the disposal of the criminal lieutenant. Fearing that his profession might excite the repugnance of some of the persons who lived in the house of this magistrate, Charles Henri Sanson gave his name to the servant, saying that he would wait in the courtyard for an answer. He was not a little surprised when he saw the magistrate appear in person, and, instead of the polite but cold greeting he was accustomed to receive, welcoming him with demonstrations of great satisfaction. He was a tall and lanky man; a low forehead, a hooked nose, and greenish eyes concealed under bushy eyebrows gave him a not very prepossessing appearance in spite of the jubilation depicted on his countenance.

My grandfather bowed low; but, before he could explain the purpose of his visit, the criminal lieutenant told him that he knew he came about the Chevalier de la Barre; that the King had turned a deaf ear to all petitions for the young man's life; that the execution was to take place on the following day; and with the most objectionable familiarity he furnished Charles Henri with all the details of the trial and of the crime, laying stress on the justice of the former and the enormity of the

latter, sneering at the extreme indulgence of the Parliament, which had mitigated some clauses of the sentence, and repeating several times: 'It is a great culprit, a very great culprit, you have to punish, sir; and you should be proud and happy to have to avenge the King of kings, so grievously outraged by this ruffian.'

Accustomed as he was to the dignity of Parisian magistrates, Charles Henri Sanson could hardly credit his senses. After the criminal lieutenant of Abbeville had given him his instructions, he went to the house which had been assigned to him as an abode, thinking on the way that he was again about to serve as the instrument of an iniquity.

The facts which had brought about the conviction of the Chevalier de la Barre were these: In 1747 a kind of calvary in the Italian style had been erected on the new bridge of Abbeville; it was adorned with an image of Jesus Christ. On the morning of August 7, 1765, it was remarked that the cross had been mutilated during the night. One of the arms of the image was broken, the crown of thorns torn off, and the face of the statue was besmeared with mud.

This took place at a time of religious effervescence; the trial of Lavalette, the edict of eviction against the Jesuits, the attacks of philosophers, and parliamentary agitation had led astray the most sincere Catholics who thought their religious independence was threatened. The sacrilegious offence which had been committed in their town produced deep commotion among the inhabit