Aramis parted from Athos, went down from the scaffold in his turn and took his way to the hotel, whistling the air of a song in praise of Cromwell. He found the other two friends sitting at table before a good fire, drinking a bottle of port and devouring a cold chicken. Porthos was cursing the infamous parliamentarians; D'Artagnan ate in silence, revolving in his mind the most audacious plans.
Aramis related what had been agreed upon. D'Artagnan approved with a movement of the head and Porthos with his voice.
"Bravo!" he said; "besides, we shall be there at the time of the flight. What with D'Artagnan, Grimaud and Musqueton, we can manage to dispatch eight of them. I say nothing about Blaisois, for he is only fit to hold the horses. Two minutes a man makes four minutes. Musqueton will lose another, that's five; and in five minutes we shall have galloped a quarter of a league."
Aramis swallowed a hasty mouthful, gulped a glass of wine and changed his clothes.
"Now," said he, "I'm off to the bishop's. Take care of the executioner, D'Artagnan."
"All right. Grimaud has relieved Musqueton and has his foot on the cellar door."
"Well, don't be inactive."
"Inactive, my dear fellow! Ask Porthos. I pass my life upon my legs."
Aramis again presented himself at the bishop's. Juxon consented the more readily to take him with him, as he would require an assistant priest in case the king should wish to communicate. Dressed as Aramis had been the night before, the bishop got into his carriage, and the former, more disguised by his pallor and sad countenance than his deacon's dress, got in by his side. The carriage stopped at the door of the palace.
It was about nine o'clock in the morning.
Nothing was changed. The ante-rooms were still full of soldiers, the passages still lined by guards. The king was already sanguine, but when he perceived Aramis his hope turned to joy. He embraced Juxon and pressed the hand of Aramis. The bishop affected to speak in a loud voice, before every one, of their previous interview. The king replied that the words spoken in that interview had borne their fruit, and that he desired another under the same conditions. Juxon turned to those present and begged them to leave him and his assistant alone with the king. Every one withdrew. As soon as the door was closed:
"Sire," said Aramis, speaking rapidly, "you are saved; the London executioner has vanished. His assistant broke his leg last night beneath your majesty's window -- the cry we heard was his -- and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol."
"But the Comte de la Fere?" asked the king.
"Two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace and strike three times on the floor. He will answer you."
The king did so, and the moment after, three muffled knocks, answering the given signal, sounded beneath the floor.
"So," said Charles, "he who knocks down there ---- "
"Is the Comte de la Fere, sire," said Aramis. "He is preparing a way for your majesty to escape. Parry, for his part, will raise this slab of marble and a passage will be opened."
"Oh, Juxon," said the king, seizing the bishop's two hands in his own, "promise that you will pray all your life for this gentleman and for the other that you hear beneath your feet, and for two others also, who, wherever they may be, are on the watch for my safety."
"Sire," replied Juxon, "you shall be obeyed."
Meanwhile, the miner underneath was heard working away incessantly, when suddenly an unexpected noise resounded in the passage. Aramis seized the poker and gave the signal to stop; the noise came nearer and nearer. It was that of a number of men steadily approaching. The four men stood motionless. All eyes were fixed on the door, which opened slowly and with a kind of solemnity.
A parliamentary officer, clothed in black and with a gravity that augured ill, entered, bowed to the king, and unfolding a parchment, read the sentence, as is usually done to criminals before their execution.
"What is this?" said Aramis to Juxon.
Juxon replied with a sign which meant that he knew no more than Aramis about it.
"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.
"Was not your majesty warned that it was to take place this morning?"
"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the London executioner?"
"The London executioner has disappeared, your majesty, but a man has offered his services instead. The execution will therefore only be delayed long enough for you to arrange your spiritual and temporal affairs."
A slight moisture on his brow was the only trace of emotion that Charles evinced, as he learned these tidings. But Aramis was livid. His heart ceased beating, he closed his eyes and leaned upon the table. Charles perceived it and took his hand.
"Come, my friend," said he, "courage." Then he turned to the officer. "Sir, I am ready. There is but little reason why I should delay you. Firstly, I wish to communicate; secondly, to embrace my children and bid them farewell for the last time. Will this be permitted me?"
"Certainly," replied the officer, and left the room.
Aramis dug his nails into his flesh and groaned aloud.
"Oh! my lord bishop," he cried, seizing Juxon's hands, "where is Providence? where is Providence?"
"My son," replied the bishop, with firmness, "you see Him not, because the passions of the world conceal Him."
"My son," said the king to Aramis, "do not take it so to heart. You ask what God is doing. God beholds your devotion and my martyrdom, and believe me, both will have their reward. Ascribe to men, then, what is happening, and not to God. It is men who drive me to death; it is men who make you weep."
"Yes, sire," said Aramis, "yes, you are right. It is men whom I should hold responsible, and I will hold them responsible."
"Be seated, Juxon," said the king, falling upon his knees.
"I have now to confess to you. Remain, sir," he added to Aramis, who had moved to leave the room. "Remain, Parry. I have nothing to say that cannot be said before all."
Juxon sat down, and the king, kneeling humbly before him, began his confession.
