“From the wounded man’s room,” replied the host.
“What wounded man?”
“The former executioner of Bethune, who has just been brought in here, assassinated by Spaniards, and who is now being confessed by an Augustine friar.”
“The old executioner of Bethune,” muttered Grimaud; “a man between fifty-five and sixty, tall, strong, swarthy, black hair and beard?”
“That is he, except that his beard has turned gray and his hair is white; do you know him?” asked the host.
“I have seen him once,” replied Grimaud, a cloud darkening his countenance at the picture so suddenly summoned to the bar of recollection.
At this instant a second cry, less piercing than the first, but followed by prolonged groaning, was heard.
The three listeners looked at one another in alarm.
“We must see what it is,” said Grimaud.
“It sounds like the cry of one who is being murdered,” murmured the host.