Foreign News: Expiation

At 5:30 o’clock in the morning, an hour before the earth had turned to kiss the first faint rays of sunlight, a man was awakened in Paris.

A priest advanced—”I mock religion,” cried the man. “I don’t want the aid of priests. If I am going to hell I will know it soon. … But you, Monsieur l’Abbé—you’re a good sort—I like you.” They embraced.

A drink was offered him. He refused. Turning to his would-be Good Samaritan, he said: “You’ve been a better man than the President of the Republic”

A few moments later the man found himself on a little platform. “Let everything go to hell,” he cried, “Let everything go to hell, but my mother and my lawyer. Vive Jaurès! Vive l’Anarchie! Vive Germaine Berthon! Vive les Russes!”

Turning to his attorney, he kissed him on both checks and a moment later ejaculated: “Don’t forget the little wreath of blue flowers—not red ones.”

A quarter of a minute—a click— “Vive l’Anarchie!” cried the man—zip! —then a dull thud.

Marcelian del Val had paid the price upon the guillotine for having shot and killed three police officials last Spring in Toulon.