The Man in the Mask.
The snow was falling thick and icy. Aramis was the next to come in and to discover Athos almost insensible. But at the first words he uttered the comte roused himself from the kind of lethargy in which he had sunk.
"Well," said Aramis, "beaten by fate!"
"Beaten!" said Athos. "Noble and unhappy king!"
"Are you wounded?" cried Aramis.
"No, this is his blood."
"Where were you, then?"
"Where you left me -- under the scaffold."
"Did you see it all?"
"No, but I heard all. God preserve me from another such hour as I have just passed."
"Then you know that I did not leave him?"
"I heard your voice up to the last moment."
"Here is the order he gave me and the cross I took from his hand; he desired they should be returned to the queen."
"Then here is a handkerchief to wrap them in," replied Athos, drawing from his pocket the one he had steeped in the king's blood.
"And what," he continued, "has been done with the poor body?"
"By order of Cromwell royal honors will be accorded to it.
The doctors are embalming the corpse, and when it is ready it will be placed in a lighted chapel."
"Mockery," muttered Athos, savagely; "royal honors to one whom they have murdered!"
"Well, cheer up!" said a loud voice from the staircase, which Porthos had just mounted. "We are all mortal, my poor friends."
"You are late, my dear Porthos."
"Yes, there were some people on the way who delayed me. The wretches were dancing. I took one of them by the throat and three-quarters throttled him. Just then a patrol rode up.
Luckily the man I had had most to do with was some minutes before he could speak, so I took advantage of his silence to walk off."
"Have you seen D'Artagnan?"
"We got separated in the crowd and I could not find him again."
"Oh!" said Athos, satirically, "I saw him. He was in the front row of the crowd, admirably placed for seeing; and as on the whole the sight was curious, he probably wished to stay to the end."
"Ah Comte de la Fere," said a calm voice, though hoarse with running, "is it your habit to calumniate the absent?"
This reproof stung Athos to the heart, but as the impression produced by seeing D'Artagnan foremost in a coarse, ferocious crowd had been very strong, he contented himself with replying:
"I am not calumniating you, my friend. They were anxious about you here; I simply told them where you were. You didn't know King Charles; to you he was only a foreigner and you were not obliged to love him."
So saying, he stretched out his hand, but the other pretended not to see it and he let it drop again slowly by his side.
"Ugh! I am tired," cried D'Artagnan, sitting down.
"Drink a glass of port," said Aramis; "it will refresh you."
"Yes, let us drink," said Athos, anxious to make it up by hobnobbing with D'Artagnan, "let us drink and get away from this hateful country. The felucca is waiting for us, you know; let us leave to-night, we have nothing more to do here."
"You are in a hurry, sir count," said D'Artagnan.
"But what would you have us to do here, now that the king is dead?"
"Go, sir count," replied D'Artagnan, carelessly; "you see nothing to keep you a little longer in England? Well, for my part, I, a bloodthirsty ruffian, who can go and stand close to a scaffold, in order to have a better view of the king's execution -- I remain."
Athos turned pale. Every reproach his friend uttered struck deeply in his heart.
"Ah! you remain in London?" said Porthos.
"Yes. And you?"
"Hang it!" said Porthos, a little perplexed between the two, "I suppose, as I came with you, I must go away with you. I can't leave you alone in this abominable country."
"Thanks, my worthy friend. So I have a little adventure to propose to you when the count is gone. I want to find out who was the man in the mask, who so obligingly offered to cut the king's throat."
"A man in a mask?" cried Athos. "You did not let the executioner escape, then?"
"The executioner is still in the cellar, where, I presume, he has had an interview with mine host's bottles. But you remind me. Musqueton!"
"Sir," answered a voice from the depths of the earth.
"Let out your prisoner. All is over."
"But," said Athos, "who is the wretch that has dared to raise his hand against his king?"
"An ******* headsman," replied Aramis, "who however, does not handle the axe amiss."
"Did you not see his face?" asked Athos.
"He wore a mask."
"But you, Aramis, who were close to him?"
"I could see nothing but a gray beard under the fringe of the mask."
"Then it must be a man of a certain age."
"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, "that matters little. When one puts on a mask, it is not difficult to wear a beard under it."
"I am sorry I did not follow him," said Porthos.
"Well, my dear Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "that's the very thing it came into my head to do."
Athos understood all now.
"Pardon me, D'Artagnan," he said. "I have distrusted God; I could the more easily distrust you. Pardon me, my friend."
"We will see about that presently," said D'Artagnan, with a slight smile.
"Well, then?" said Aramis.
