Charles rose and turned toward Parry, whom he saw pale and with his temples dewed with moisture.

“Well, my dear Parry,” said he, “what is the matter, and what can affect you in this manner?”

“Oh, my king,” said Parry, with tears in his eyes and in a tone of supplication, “do not look to the left as we leave the hall.”

“And why, Parry?”

“Do not look, I implore you, my king.”

“But what is the matter?  Speak,” said Charles, attempting to look across the hedge of guards which surrounded him.

“It is —­ but you will not look, will you? —­ it is because they have had the axe, with which criminals are executed, brought and placed there on the table.  The sight is hideous.”

“Fools,” said Charles, “do they take me for a coward, like themselves?  You have done well to warn me.  Thank you, Parry.”

When the moment arrived the king followed his guards out of the hall.  As he passed the table on which the axe was laid, he stopped, and turning with a smile, said: 

“Ah! the axe, an ingenious device, and well worthy of those who know not what a gentleman is; you frighten me not, executioner’s axe,” added he, touching it with the cane which he held in his hand, “and I strike you now, waiting patiently and Christianly for you to return the blow.”

And shrugging his shoulders with unaffected contempt he passed on.  When he reached the door a stream of people, who had been disappointed in not being able to get into the house and to make amends had collected to see him come out, stood on each side, as he passed, many among them glaring on him with threatening looks.

“How many people,” thought he, “and not one true friend.”

And as he uttered these words of doubt and depression within his mind, a voice beside him said: 

“Respect to fallen majesty.”

The king turned quickly around, with tears in his eyes and heart.  It was an old soldier of the guards who could not see his king pass captive before him without rendering him this final homage.  But the next moment the unfortunate man was nearly killed with heavy blows of sword-hilts, and among those who set upon him the king recognized Captain Groslow.

“Alas!” said Charles, “that is a severe chastisement for a very trifling fault.”

He continued his walk, but he had scarcely gone a hundred paces, when a furious fellow, leaning between two soldiers, spat in the king’s face, as once an infamous and accursed Jew spit in the face of Jesus of Nazareth.  Loud roars of laughter and sullen murmurs arose together.  The crowd opened and closed again, undulating like a stormy sea, and the king imagined that he saw shining in the midst of this living wave the bright eyes of Athos.

Charles wiped his face and said with a sad smile:  “Poor wretch, for half a crown he would do as much to his own father.”

The king was not mistaken.  Athos and his friends, again mingling with the throng, were taking a last look at the martyr king.