Belle Rose: A Romance of the Cloak and Sword — page 132: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

120 A WOMAN’S HAND. Twenty cannoneers were waiting for the condemned. All were mournful, and all lowered their eyes when Belle- Rose appeared, accompanied by the priest who kept on the right side of him. The lieutenant himself appeared touched and bit his mustache. Belle-Rose saluted the offi- cer first, then the soldiers, whose ranks opened to receive him. The signal was given, and the troop took up its march. The sergeant wore a vest of white moire with golden net-work which contracted his waist and enhanced his good looks; his head was bare, and his hair, which he wore very long, hung in curls around his neck. Half of the company was drawn up outside of the barrack of the cannoneers, under the orders of the first lieutenant. It ranged itself in line and took up the way to the ramparts. A profound silence reigned in the ranks. From time to time, a soldier coughed and carried his hand to his eyes. Belle-Rose smiled at his comrades. The streets through which the cortege advanced were full of people; they were to be seen everywhere—along the houses, before the doors, at the windows, upon the shop-steps. All eyes sought the condemned man, a thousand exclamations came from the midst of the crowd, pity was to be read upon every face. Belle-Rose walked with a steady gait, and his face was calm and proud; a melancholy smile hovered around his mouth. At the turn of the street the priest pointed to the sky; the soldier raised his eyes. The procession ad- vanced slowly in the midst of the crowd which swelled each minute. It reached the city gate and took its way toward a drilling field, where a thousand or twelve hun. dred men were drawn up in line of battle. Monsieur de Naucrais was on horseback at the head of his company. The arms sparkled in the sun, and the whole population of Cambrai covered the ramparts and the approaches of the drilling field. When the procession appeared outside the gates, the drums beat, the officers drew their swords, and the troop shouldered arms. Belle-Rose raised his fore- head, bowed for a moment under the weight of recollec- tions, and threw a firm glance at the ranks of the soldiers. Just as his escort entered the fatal inclosure, a confused noise rose up from the midst of the crowd, a thousand heads were agitated, and distant cries were heard. The crowd which came from Cambrai rushed forward, and waves beat against the detachment in charge of Belle- se. ‘*Pardon! pardon!’’ the crowd cried, and this word alone rose above the tumult, comicbook