pity, and the gaoler wept as he closed the door of the cell upon him.
The old man remained some moments without advancing a step, absorbed in
contemplation of his son. By the tawny gleam of his eye might be divined
that the soul of the man was moved at that instant by some dark project.
He seemed nevertheless struck by the-beauty of Gabriel's face. Three
months in prison had restored to his skin the whiteness that the sun had
turned brown; his fine dark hair fell in curls around his neck, his eyes
rested on his father with a liquid and brilliant gaze. Never had this
head been so beautiful as now, when it was to fall.

"Alas, my poor son!" said the old man, "there is no hope left; you must
die."

"I know it," answered Gabriel in a tone of tender reproach, "and it is
not that which most afflicts me at this moment. But you, too, why do you
wish to give me pain, at your age? Why did you not stay in the town?"

"In the town," the old man returned, "they have no pity; I cast myself at
the king's feet, at everybody's feet; there is no pardon, no mercy for
us."

"Well, in God's name, what is death to me? I meet it daily on the sea.
My greatest, my only torment is the pain that they are causing you."

"And I, do you think, my Gabriel, that I only suffer in seeing you die?
Oh, it is but a parting for a few days; I shall soon go to join you. But
a darker sorrow weighs upon me. I am strong, I am a man". He stopped,
fearing that he had said too much; then drawing near to his son, he said
in a tearful voice, "Forgive me, my Gabriel; I am the cause of your
death. I ought to have killed the prince with my own hand. In our