“Who is this man?”
“Brother,” she answered in the deepest distress, “it is the King!”
Philip shuddered.
“Just as I thought,” muttered Balsamo.
“He approaches me,” continued the medium, “he speaks, he takes me in his arms, he kisses me. Oh, brother!”
Tears rolled down the young captain’s cheeks while he grasped the sword handle which Balsamo had given him.
“Go on,” said the count in a more imperative tone than before.
“What a blessing! he is perplexed, he stops, he looks at me in terror—he flees—Andrea is saved!”
“Saved,” repeated Philip, who was breathlessly listening to her every word.
“Stay! I had forgotten the other, who lurks in the closet, with the bared knife in his hand—pale as death.”