"Do as you like. I shall drain the chalice to the dregs."
The scaffold steps were high and slippery, and he had the priest's arm for support, but on the top step he escaped, so to say, from the spiritual guide, and went to the further end of the platform.
He was flushed in the face, and had never appeared more hale or animated.
The drums began to beat, but he imposed silence by a look as, with a lusty voice, he said:
"I die innocent of all the crimes imputed to me. I forgive the authors of my death, and I pray God that this blood shall not fall on France."
"Strike up, drums!" roared a voice long believed to be Santerre's, but was that of Beaufranchet, Count Oyat, illegitimate son of Louis XV., and a courtesan, the prisoner's natural uncle.
The drums beat, and the king stamped his foot in vain.
"Do your duty!" yelled the pikemen to the executioners, who threw themselves on the king.
He returned with slow steps under the knife, of which he had designed the proper shape only a year ago.
He glanced at the priest who was praying at a corner of the scaffold.