“Help me to dress.”
“If you will first help me to get up.”
“What a misfortune!” sounded from the antechamber.
“Shall we arm ourselves?” said the king.
“We had better go first and see what is the matter.”
And almost immediately they went out by the secret door into the gallery. “I begin to guess,” said Chicot; “your unlucky prisoner has hanged himself.”
“Oh, no; it cannot be that.”
“So much the worse.”
“Come on;” and they entered the duke’s chamber.
The window was open, and the ladder still hung from it. Henri grew as pale as death.