"Is he still alive?" said the host.
Without replying, Grimaud opened the man's doublet to feel if his heart beat, and at the same time the innkeeper approached the bed. Suddenly both started back with an exclamation of horror. A poniard was buried to the hilt in the left breast of the headsman.
What had passed between the priest and his penitent was as follows.
It has been seen that the monk showed himself little disposed to delay his journey in order to receive the confession of the wounded man; so little, indeed, that he would probably have endeavoured to avoid it by flight, had not the menaces of the Count de Guiche, and afterwards the presence of the servants, or perhaps his own reflections, induced him to perform to the end the duties of his sacred office.
On finding himself alone with the sufferer, he approached the pillow of the latter. The headsman examined him with one of those rapid, anxious looks peculiar to dying men, and made a movement of surprise.
"You are very young, holy father," said he.
"Those who wear my dress have no age," replied the monk severely.
"Alas, good father, speak to me more kindly! I need a friend in these my last moments."
"Do you suffer much?" asked the monk.