The trumpets and drums continued sounding.

Freya, bound and intensely pale, smiled as though she were drunk.

The early morning breeze waved the plumes of her hat.
When the twelve fusileers advanced placing themselves in a horizontal line eight yards distant, all of them aiming toward her heart, she appeared to wake up.

She shrieked, her eyes abnormally dilated by the horror of the reality that so soon was to take place.

Her cheeks were covered with tears.