confidence, that his sentence was a mock one, and that he would be fired
at with blank cartridges.

It was a pious fraud. All but two of the twelve cartridges had bullets,
and he fell, riddled through and through. No Frenchman ever died with a
lighter heart, a better grace. He was superb, and the national honor
was saved.

Thrice happy Sicilian drum-major, if the story be true! That trust in
blank cartridges was his paradise.

* * * * *

Oh, it is uphill work to be a stoic when the moment comes and the tug!
But when the tug lasts for more than a moment--days and nights, days and
nights! Oh, happy Sicilian drum-major!

* * * * *

Pray? Yes, I will pray night and morning, and all day long, to whatever
there is left of inherited strength and courage in that luckless,
misbegotten waif, Peter Ibbetson; that it may bear him up a little while
yet; that he may not disgrace himself in the dock or on the gallows.

* * * * *

Repent? Yes, of many things. But of the thing for which I am here?
Never!

* * * * *