“And what shall I do in Scotland? A war of partisans, unworthy of a king.”
“The example of Robert Bruce will absolve you, sire.”
“No, no! I have fought too long; they have sold me, they shall give me up, and the eternal shame of treble treason shall fall on their heads.”
“Sire,” said Athos, “perhaps a king should act thus, but not a husband and a father. I have come in the name of your wife and daughter and of the children you have still in London, and I say to you, ‘Live, sire,’—it is the will of Heaven.”
The king raised himself, buckled on his belt, and passing his handkerchief over his moist forehead, said:
“Well, what is to be done?”
“Sire, have you in the army one regiment on which you can implicitly rely?”
“Winter,” said the king, “do you believe in the fidelity of yours?”
“Sire, they are but men, and men are become both weak and wicked. I will not answer for them. I would confide my life to them, but I should hesitate ere I trusted them with your majesty’s.”
“Well!” said Athos, “since you have not a regiment, we are three devoted men. It is enough. Let your majesty mount on horseback and place yourself in the midst of us; we will cross the Tyne, reach Scotland, and you will be saved.”