wooden wall which I could penetrate and the spring lock of the
door had been closed. There were no traces to show who was my
companion in misfortune. Closing the two loose planks behind me
I returned to my own cell and waited there with all the courage
which I could command for the summons which would probably be my
death knell.

It was a long time in coming, but at last I heard the sound of
feet once more in the passage, and I nerved myself to listen to
some other odious deed and to hear the cries of the poor victim.
Nothing of the kind occurred, however, and the prisoner was
placed in the cell without violence. I had no time to peep
through my hole of communication, for next moment my own door was
flung open and my rascally gondolier, with the other assassins,
came into the cell.

"Come, Frenchman," said he. He held his blood- stained knife in
his great, hairy hand, and I read in his fierce eyes that he only
looked for some excuse in order to plunge it into my heart.
Resistance was useless. I followed without a word. I was led up
the stone stair and back into that gorgeous chamber in which I
had left the secret tribunal. I was ushered in, but to my
surprise it was not on me that their attention was fixed. One of
their own number, a tall, dark young man, was standing before
them and was pleading with them in low, earnest tones. His voice
quivered with anxiety and his hands darted in and out or writhed
together in an agony of entreaty. "You cannot do it! You cannot
do it!" he cried.

"I implore the tribunal to reconsider this decision."