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." The Marquis put his hand on the grey hairs of the old butler, and moved his lips, but he said nothing: the power of speech for the time failed him; the energy he had displayed, and the excitement he had felt, had been too much for him, and he was unable to reply aloud to the blessing of his faithful servant.
"God bless you, Momont," said Agatha, calmly, as she stood close to her father, still holding to his coat, and supporting his head against her body.

"Let your last thoughts be of the Saviour who died for you, and so shall your death be only the end of all your troubles." He was not allowed to remain longer on his knees, but was hurried back to the spot where the women were awaiting their doom.

The soldiers could not get them to stand; they were crouching down on the ground in all positions, one or two with their heads almost buried in the earth, one or two kneeling, and still screaming for mercy.