“Then you know that I did not leave him?”
“I heard your voice up to the last moment.”
“Here is the order he gave me and the cross I took from his hand; he desired they should be returned to the queen.”
“Then here is a handkerchief to wrap them in,” replied Athos, drawing from his pocket the one he had steeped in the king’s blood.
“And what,” he continued, “has been done with the poor body?”
“By order of Cromwell royal honors will be accorded to it. The doctors are embalming the corpse, and when it is ready it will be placed in a lighted chapel.”
“Mockery,” muttered Athos, savagely; “royal honors to one whom they have murdered!”
“Well, cheer up!” said a loud voice from the staircase, which Porthos had just mounted. “We are all mortal, my poor friends.”
“You are late, my dear Porthos.”
“Yes, there were some people on the way who delayed me. The wretches were dancing. I took one of them by the throat and three-quarters throttled him. Just then a patrol rode up. Luckily the man I had had most to do with was some minutes before he could speak, so I took advantage of his silence to walk off.”