"We had better get a carriage and see the President as soon as
possible. I'll undertake to send Lemoine back to Paris, or to put him
on board one of the French ironclads. But there is no time to be lost.
We can probably get a carriage in the square."
They found a carriage and drove as quickly as they could to the
residence of the President. At first they were refused admittance, but
finally they were allowed to wait in a small room while their message
was taken to Balmeceda. An hour passed, but still no invitation came to
them from the President. The manager sat silent in a corner, while
Dupré paced up and down the small room, torn with anxiety about his
friend. At last an officer entered, and presented them with the
compliments of the President, who regretted that it was impossible for
him to see them that night. The officer added, for their information,
by order of the President, that Lemoine was to be shot at daybreak. He
had been tried by court-martial and condemned to death for sedition.
The President regretted having kept them waiting so long, but the
court-martial had been sitting when they arrived, and the President
thought that perhaps they would be interested in knowing the verdict.
With that the officer escorted the two dumb-founded men to the door,
where they got into their carriage without a word. The moment they were
out of earshot the manager said to the coachman--
"Drive as quickly as you can to the residence of the French Minister."
Every one at the French Legation had retired when these two panic-
stricken men reached there, but after a time the secretary consented to
see them, and, on learning the seriousness of the case, he undertook to
arouse his Excellency, and learn if anything could be done.
The Minister entered the room shortly after, and listened with interest
to what they had to say.
"You have your carriage at the door?" he asked, when they had finished
their recital.
"Yes."
"Then I will take it and see the President at once. Perhaps you will
wait here until I return."
Another hour dragged its slow length along, and they were well into the
second hour before the rattle of wheels was heard in the silent street.
The Minister came in, and the two anxious men saw by his face that he
had failed in his mission.
"I am sorry to say," said his Excellency, "that I have been unable even
to get the execution postponed. I did not understand, when I undertook
the mission, that M. Lemoine was a citizen of Chili. You see that fact
puts the matter entirely out of my hands. I am powerless. I could only
advise the President not to carry out his intentions; but he is to-
night in a most unreasonable and excited mood, and I fear nothing can
be done to save your friend. If he had been a citizen of France, of
course this execution would not have been permitted to take place; but,
as it is, it is not our affair. M. Lemoine seems to have been talking
with some indiscretion. He does not deny it himself, nor does he deny
his citizenship. If he had taken a conciliatory attitude at the court-
martial, the result might not have been so disastrous; but it seems
that he insulted the President to his face, and predicted that he
would, within two weeks, meet him in Hades. The utmost I could do, was
to get the President to sign a permit for you to see your friend, if
you present it at the prison before the execution takes place. I fear
you have no time to lose. Here is the paper."
Dupré took the document, and thanked his Excellency for his exertions
on their behalf. He realised that Lemoine had sealed his own fate by
his independence and lack of tact.
The two dejected men drove from the Legation and through the deserted
streets to the prison. They were shown through several stone-paved
rooms to a stone-paved courtyard, and there they waited for some time
until the prisoner was brought in between two soldiers. Lemoine had
thrown off his coat, and appeared in his shirt sleeves. He was not
manacled or bound in any way, there being too many prisoners for each
one to be allowed the luxury of fetters.
"Ah," cried Lemoine when he saw them, "I knew you would come if that
old scoundrel of a President would allow you in, of which I had my
doubts. How did you manage it?"
"The French Minister got us a permit," said Dupré.
"Oh, you went to him, did you? Of course he could do nothing, for, as I
told you, I have the misfortune to be a citizen of this country. How
comically life is made up of trivialities. I remember once, in Paris,
going with a friend to take the oath of allegiance to the French
Republic."
"And did you take it?" cried Dupré eagerly.
"Alas, no! We met two other friends, and we all adjourned to a café and
had something to drink. I little thought that bottle of champagne was
going to cost me my life, for, of course, if I had taken the oath of
allegiance, my friend, the French Minister, would have bombarded the
city before he would have allowed the execution to go on."
"Then you know to what you are condemned," said the manager, with tears
in his eyes.
"Oh, I know that Balmeceda thinks he is going to have me shot; but then
he always was a fool, and never knew what he was talking about. I told
him if he would allow you two in at the execution, and instead of
having a whole squad to fire at me, order one expert marksman, if he
had such a thing in his whole army, to shoot me through the heart, that
I would show you, Dupré, how a man dies under such circumstances, but
the villain refused. The usurper has no soul for art, or anything else,
for that matter. I hope you won't mind my death. I assure you I don't
mind it myself. I would much rather be shot than live in this
confounded country any longer. But I have made up my mind to cheat old
Balmeceda if I can, and I want you, Dupré, to pay particular attention,
and not to interfere."
As Lemoine said this he quickly snatched from the sheath at the
soldier's side the bayonet which hung at his hip. The soldiers were
standing one to the right, and one to the left of him, with their hands
interlaced over the muzzles of their guns, whose butts rested on the
stone floor. They apparently paid no attention to the conversation that
was going on, if they understood it, which was unlikely. Lemoine had
the bayonet in his hands before either of the four men present knew
what he was doing.
Grasping both hands over the butt of the bayonet, with the point
towards his breast, he thrust the blade with desperate energy nearly
through his body. The whole action was done so quickly that no one
realised what had happened until Lemoine threw his hands up and they
saw the bayonet sticking in his breast. A look of agony came in the
wounded man's eyes, and his lips whitened. He staggered against the
soldier at his right, who gave way with the impact, and then he
tottered against the whitewashed stone wall, his right arm sweeping
automatically up and down the wall as if he were brushing something
from the stones. A groan escaped him, and he dropped on one knee. His
eyes turned helplessly towards Dupré, and he gasped out the words--
"My God! You were right--after all."
Then he fell forward on his face and the tragedy ended.
[Illustration: "MY GOD, YOU WERE RIGHT AFTER ALL!"]