"I am not fit to die! Oh, forgive me, Maurice, as you hope for forgiveness yourself! Maurice! Maurice!" She strove to get towards him, to clutch at his wrist, at his sleeve, but he stood with his hand on his sword, gazing at her with a face which was all wreathed and contorted with merriment.

At the sight of that dreadful mocking face the prayers froze upon her lips.

As well pray for mercy to the dropping stone or to the rushing stream.

She turned away, and threw back the mantle which had shrouded her features.
"Ah, sire!" she cried.

"Sire! If you could see me now!" And at the cry and at the sight of that fair pale face, De Catinat, looking down from the window, was stricken as though by a dagger; for there, standing beside the headsman's block, was she who had been the most powerful, as well as the wittiest and the fairest, of the women of France--none other than Francoise de Montespan, so lately the favourite of the king..