“And why, Parry?”
“Do not look, I implore you, my king.”
“But what is the matter? Speak,” said Charles, attempting to look across the hedge of guards which surrounded him.
“It is—but you will not look, will you?—it is because they have had the axe, with which criminals are executed, brought and placed there on the table. The sight is hideous.”
“Fools,” said Charles, “do they take me for a coward, like themselves? You have done well to warn me. Thank you, Parry.”
When the moment arrived the king followed his guards out of the hall. As he passed the table on which the axe was laid, he stopped, and turning with a smile, said:
“Ah! the axe, an ingenious device, and well worthy of those who know not what a gentleman is; you frighten me not, executioner’s axe,” added he, touching it with the cane which he held in his hand, “and I strike you now, waiting patiently and Christianly for you to return the blow.”
And shrugging his shoulders with unaffected contempt he passed on. When he reached the door a stream of people, who had been disappointed in not being able to get into the house and to make amends had collected to see him come out, stood on each side, as he passed, many among them glaring on him with threatening looks.
“How many people,” thought he, “and not one true friend.”
And as he uttered these words of doubt and depression within his mind, a voice beside him said: