He is of my
country; he is of my Order. I will appeal to your Emperor; he will
accord me his life the instant I ask it. Give me only an hour's
reprieve--a few moments' space to speak to your chiefs, to seek out your
general--"
"It is impossible, monsieur."
The curt, calm answer was inflexible; against the sentence and its
execution there could be no appeal.
Cecil laid his hand upon his old friend's shoulders.
"It will be useless," he murmured. "Let them act; the quicker the
better."
"What! you think I would look on and see you die?"
"Would to Heaven you had never known I lived----"
The officer made a gesture to the guard to separate them.
"Monsieur, submit to the execution of the law, or I must arrest you."
Lyonnesse flung off the detaining hand of the guard, and swung round so
that his agonized eyes gazed close into the adjutant's immovable face,
which before that gaze lost its coldness and its rigor, and changed to
a great pity for this stranger who had found the friend of his youth in
the man who stood condemned to perish there.
"An hour's reprieve; for mercy's sake, grant that!"
"I have said, it is impossible."
"But you do not dream who is--"
"It matters not."
"He is an English noble, I tell you--"
"He is a soldier who has broken the law; that suffices."
"O Heaven! have you no humanity?"
"We have justice."
"Justice! If you have justice, let your chiefs hear his story; let
his name be made known; give me an hour's space to plead for him.
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