The monk grew pale, passed his hand across his forehead, and, rising from the bed, approached the door and bolted it. The headsman
thought that he was leaving him, and implored him to return.
"I am here," said the monk, resuming his seat. "Who were the five men who accompanied you?"
"One was an Englishman; the other four were French, and wore the uniform of the mousquetaires."
"Their names?" demanded the monk.
"I do not know them. But the four Frenchmen called the Englishman 'My lord.'"
"And the woman; was she young?"
"Young and beautiful, most beautiful, as she kneeled before me imploring mercy. I have never been able to understand how I had the courage to strike off that pale and lovely head."
The monk seemed to be under the influence of some violent emotion; his limbs trembled, and he appeared unable to speak. At last, mastering himself by a strong effort—"The name of this woman?" said he.
"I do not know it. She had been married twice, once in France and once in England."