trial that I had really become callous, as they say a man's back does
after a certain number of strokes from the "cat"--certain it was that I
knew the worst, and acquiesced in it with a surprised sense of actual
relief, and found it in me to feel it not unbearable.

Such, at least, was my mood that night. I made the most of it. It was
almost happiness by comparison with what I had gone through. I remember
eating with a heartiness that surprised me. I could have gone straight
from my dinner to the gallows, and died with a light heart and a good
grace--like a Sicilian drum-major.

I resolved to write the whole true story to the Duchess of Towers, with
an avowal of my long and hopeless adoration for her, and the expression
of a hope that she would try to think of me only as her old playfellow,
and as she had known me before this terrible disaster. And thinking of
the letter I would write till very late, I fell asleep in my cell, with
two warders to watch over me; and then--Another phase of my inner
life began.

* * * * *

Without effort, without let or hindrance of any kind, I was at the
avenue gate.

The pink and white may, the lilacs and laburnums were in full bloom, the
sun made golden paths everywhere. The warm air was full of fragrance,
and alive with all the buzz and chirp of early summer.

I was half crying with joy to reach the land of my true dreams again, to
feel at home once more--_chez moi! chez moi!_