“Now, sire,” resumed Aramis, “listen to me. Do not forget for a single instant that we are watching over your safety; observe the smallest gesture, the least bit of song, the least sign from any one near you; watch everything, hear everything, interpret everything.”
“Oh, chevalier!” cried the king, “what can I say to you? There is no word, though it should come from the profoundest depth of my heart, that can express my gratitude. If you succeed I do not say that you will save a king; no, in presence of the scaffold as I am, royalty, I assure you, is a very small affair; but you will save a husband to his wife, a father to his children. Chevalier, take my hand; it is that of a friend who will love you to his last sigh.”
Aramis stooped to kiss the king’s hand, but Charles clasped his and pressed it to his heart.
At this moment a man entered, without even knocking at the door. Aramis tried to withdraw his hand, but the king still held it. The man was one of those Puritans, half preacher and half soldier, who swarmed around Cromwell.
“What do you want, sir?” said the king.
“I desire to know if the confession of Charles Stuart is at an end?” said the stranger.
“And what is it to you?” replied the king; “we are not of the same religion.”
“All men are brothers,” said the Puritan. “One of my brothers is about to die and I come to prepare him.”
“Bear with him,” whispered Aramis; “it is doubtless some spy.”
“After my reverend lord bishop,” said the king to the man, “I shall hear you with pleasure, sir.”