"Henri de Montmorenci," replied the young soldier.

"De Montmorenci!" cried the baron. "That is a noble and historic name.
The house of Montmorenci has been well represented in the field."

"_And on the scaffold_!" added Henri, with deep emotion.

"The scaffold!" exclaimed the baron. "Yes, yes; I remember now a
dreadful tragedy. But _he_ suffered unjustly."

"No matter," answered Henri. "The ignominious punishment remains a
stain upon our escutcheon. Men will point to me as the son of a
condemned and executed traitor. Could I forget for a moment the
tragedy which has rendered my poor mother an animated image of death,
the finger of the world would recall my wandering thoughts to the
horrors of the fact. The scaffold, with all its bloody paraphernalia,
would rise up before me."

"Henri, you are too sensitive," said the baron. "The best and bravest
of France (alas for our history!) have closed their lives upon the
scaffold. I believe your father innocent. If it were otherwise, you
have redeemed the honor of your race. You deserve my daughter's
hand--take her and be happy."

"Make her the companion of my agony! Never."

"Come with me," said the baron; "her smiles shall dispel these gloomy
fantasies."

"No, no! urge me not," said the young guardsman. "Let me return to my