"Sergeant, take those women out,
and the old man, and the boy, stand them in a line upon the gravel plot
there, and bring a file of musketeers." And the republican General again
began pacing up and down the room, as though he did not at all like the
position in which his patriotic zeal had placed him.
The poor women were dragged by their limbs out before the door,
screeching as they went, and filling the air with their loud, agonizing
cries. Momont walked after them, with his head hanging down, his knees
shaking, and his back bent double; but still he was walking himself; he
was still able to save himself the disgrace of being dragged out like
the women. When he got to the front door, he attempted to totter back,
but a republican soldier stopped him.
"My master! my dear master!" said Momont, "let me but kiss his hand, and
I will come back."
The soldier let him pass in, and the old man in a moment was at his
master's feet. "God bless you, Monseigneur!" said he, "God bless you!
Say one word of kindness to your servant, before he is shot for loving
his master and his King.
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