of her father, where she brake out into hysterical laughter in the very face of the sordid Bomberg.
Blandine neither spoke a word, nor shed a tear, nor uttered even a single cry. But her presence gave courage to the well-disposed; the five poor men, Kehlmark's favourites, repented of their base compliance with public feeling, and now carried on their shoulders Kehlmark and Guidon, whose bodies were entwined in one common agony. The rough men wept tears of repentance.
Blandine walked before them to the château. To avoid carrying the wounded men upstairs they prepared a bed for them on the billiard table. The friends recovered consciousness almost simultaneously. Opening their eyes, their gaze fell on Conradin and Frederick of Baden. Then they looked at one another, smiled to each other, remembered the slaughter, closely embraced, and with joined hands awaited the moment of their last breath.
"And me," murmured Blandine, "wilt thou not say a word of farewell to me, Henry! Think how much I have loved thee!"
Kehlmark turned towards her.
"Ah!" he muttered, "to be able to
