most sacred, to remember that the noblest
privilege of any sovereign is the privilege of
granting mercy; that the first of Christian
duties is the duty of forgiving. She heard
me unmoved. Seeing that entreaties were
thrown away, I ventured, at my own proper
hazard, on reminding her that she was not
living now in her own kingdom of Sweden,
but that she was the guest of the King of
France, and lodged in one of his own palaces;
and I boldly asked her, if she had calculated
the possible consequences of authorising the
killing of one of her attendants inside the
walls of Fontainebleau, without any preliminary
form of trial, or any official notification
of the offence that lie had committed. She
answered me coldly, that it was enough that
she knew the unpardonable nature of the
offence of which Monaldeschi had been
guilty; that she stood in a perfectly independent
position towards the King of France;
that she was absolute mistress of her own
actions, at all times and in all places; and
that she was accountable to nobody under
Heaven for her conduct towards her subjects
and servants, over whose lives and liberties
she possessed sovereign rights, which no
consideration whatever should induce her to
resign.

Fearful as I was of irritating her, I still
ventured on reiterating my remonstrances.
She cut them short by hastily signing to me
to leave her. As she dismissed me, I thought
I saw a slight change pass over her face;
and it occurred to me that she might not
have been indisposed at that moment to
grant some respite, if she could have done so
without appearing to falter in her resolution,
and without running the risk of letting
Monaldeschi escape her. Before I passed
the door, I attempted to take advantage of
the disposition to relent which I fancied I
had perceived in her; but she angrily reiterated
the gesture of dismissal before I had
spoken half-a-dozen words; and, with a
heavy heart, I yielded to necessity, and
left her.

On returning to the gallery, I found the
three men standing round the Marquis, with
their sword-points on the floor, exactly as I
had left them.

"Is he to live or to die?" they asked when
I came in.

There was no need for me to reply in
words; my face answered the question. The
Marquis groaned heavily, but said nothing.
I sat myself down on a stool, and beckoned
to him to come to me, and begged him, as
well as my terror and wretchedness would
let me, to think of repentence, and to prepare
for another world. He began his confession
kneeling at my feet, with his head on my
knees. After continuing it for some time,
he suddenly started to his feet with a scream
of terror. I contrived to quiet him, and to
fix his thoughts again on heavenly things.
He completed his confession, speaking
sometimes in Latin, sometimes in French,
sometimes in Italian, according as he could best
explain himself in the agitation and misery
which now possessed him.

Just as he had concluded, the Queen's
chaplain entered the gallery. Without waiting
to receive absolution, the unhappy Marquis
rushed away from me to the chaplain,
and, still clinging desperately to the hope of
life, he besought him to intercede with the
Queen. The two talked together in low
tones, holding each other by the hand.
When their conference was over, the chaplain
left the gallery again, taking with him the
chief of the three executioners who were
appointed to carry out the Queen's deadly
purpose. After a short absence, this man
returned without the chaplain. "Get your
absolution," he said briefly to the Marquis,
"and make up your mind to die."

Saying these words, he seized Monaldeschi,
pressed him back against the wall at the end
of the gallery, just under the picture of Saint
Germain; and, before I could interfere, or
even turn aside from the sight, aimed at the
Marquis's right side with his sword.
Monaldeschi caught the blade with his hand,
cutting three of his fingers in the act. At
the same moment the point touched his side
and glanced off. Upon this, the man who
had struck at him exclaimed, "He has
armour under his clothes," and, at the same
moment, stabbed Monaldeschi in the face.
As he received the wound, he turned round
towards me, and cried out loudly, "My
father! My father!"

I advanced towards him immediately; and,
as I did so, the man who had wounded him
retired a little, and signed to his two companions
to withdraw also. The Marquis, with
one knee on the ground, asked pardon of
God, and said certain last words in my ear.
I immediately gave him absolution, telling
him that he must atone for his sins by suffering
death, and that he must pardon those
who were about to kill him. Having heard
my words, he threw himself forward on the
floor, and, as he fell, one of the three
executioners who had not assailed him as yet,
struck at his head, and wounded him on the
surface of the skull.

The Marquis sank on his face; then raised
himself a little, and signed to the men to
kill him outright, by striking him on the
neck. The same man who had last wounded
him obeyed by cutting two or three times at
his neck, without, however, doing him any
great injury. For it was indeed true that he
wore armour under his clothes, which armour
consisted of a shirt of mail weighing nine or
ten pounds, and rising so high round his
neck, inside his collar, as to defend it successfully
from any chance blow with a sword.

Seeing this, I came forward to exhort the
Marquis to bear his sufferings with patience,
for the remission of his sins. While I was
speaking, the chief of the three executioners