Alfred; or, The Adventures of a French Gentleman — page 84: what you’re looking at

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‘' ALFRED; OR ADVENTURES 67 venomous thing, and stared in stupid astonishment, mingled with horror, upon the speaker. An universal groan burst from all those who recog- nized the volunteer—disgust, alarm, anger, were depicted upon the countenances of the galley-slaves; for it was Edouard that now stood forward as the executioner of his benefactor | «“ The monster!” cried Belle-Rose: ‘ Francois is lost!” ‘¢ The Governor hesitates,” said De Rosann; “ there is yet hope.” ‘¢ A fellow like that would eat his own father,” interrupted Cham- pignon, “ if he were only served up with a sauce piquante.” « Alas! hope is vain,” remarked the experienced Belle-Rose: “ the Governor as yet scarcely believes his own ears—his own eyes ; but when his astonishment is past, he dares not refuse to accept Edouard’s services: Francois must die!” «¢ And become meat for worms!” added Champignon. “ See, see!’ cried Belle-Rose, after a pause—*“ the wretch advances towards the scaffold: in five minutes all will be over.” «¢ Silence!” exclaimed the Governor, who had recovered his usual presence of mind, and had prepared to terminate the melancholy cere- mony with as much despatch as possible. In a few moments Edouard was seen upon the platform of the guil- lotine, awaiting the arrival of his victim. The countenance of the vile youth had not lost one atom of its usual colour ; nor did his hands appear to tremble as he touched the strings that restrained the fatal knife in its position between the summits of the two poles Old Francois was led up the steps—for he could not walk alone. He appeared already more dead than alive: this last blow had struck him dumb. He had endea- voured to support the knowledge of the damning fact of Edouard’s having sworn away his life; but now that the same individual was the one who had volunteered—freely volunteered to snap the last thread of a feeble existence—-an existence he himself had been the accursed means of abridging—the idea was too much for mortal man to sustain with reason. Once, and once only, did Francois essay to speak, when upon the platform of the scaffold; but his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and refused utterance to a syllable. He suffered himself to be bound to the narrow plank: it was Edouard who adjusted the harsh eords with a blood-thirsty coolness and a skilful precision that would have astonished even the absent executioner. A breathless silence again pervaded all around—every eye was fixed upon the awful scene—every heart felt oppressed—every bosom throbbed—the priests whispered their last consolation in the ears of the departing man—the plank was lowered —Edouard’s hand grasped the string—the knife fell with a whizzing sound—and the criminal’s head rolled into the basket prepared to receive it. The silence that had reigned immediately before the execution, was not broken by a soul, till a few minutes after it. It resembled the still- ness of the atmosphere, which succeeds a loud burst of thunder, in the mirthful month of June. At length that dread tranquillity ceased ; and hisses, and groans, and loud cries speedily formed a strong contrast. The convicts discoursed amongst themselves; in vain the authorities endeavoured to impose silence—the commands of the inspectors were wtally disregarded. A terrible idea seemed to have taken possession COMMICMOOOKS» CO