“Everything shall be done as you say, Athos.  Your hand, for perhaps we shall not see each other again.”

Athos put his arm around Aramis’s neck and embraced him.

“For you,” he said.  “Now if I die, say to D’Artagnan that I love him as a son, and embrace him for me.  Embrace also our good and brave Porthos.  Adieu.”

“Adieu,” said Aramis.  “I am as sure now that the king will be saved as I am sure that I clasp the most loyal hand in the world.”

Aramis parted from Athos, went down from the scaffold in his turn and took his way to the hotel, whistling the air of a song in praise of Cromwell.  He found the other two friends sitting at table before a good fire, drinking a bottle of port and devouring a cold chicken.  Porthos was cursing the infamous parliamentarians; D’Artagnan ate in silence, revolving in his mind the most audacious plans.

Aramis related what had been agreed upon.  D’Artagnan approved with a movement of the head and Porthos with his voice.

“Bravo!” he said; “besides, we shall be there at the time of the flight.  What with D’Artagnan, Grimaud and Mousqueton, we can manage to dispatch eight of them.  I say nothing about Blaisois, for he is only fit to hold the horses.  Two minutes a man makes four minutes.  Mousqueton will lose another, that’s five; and in five minutes we shall have galloped a quarter of a league.”

Aramis swallowed a hasty mouthful, gulped a glass of wine and changed his clothes.

“Now,” said he, “I’m off to the bishop’s.  Take care of the executioner, D’Artagnan.”

“All right.  Grimaud has relieved Mousqueton and has his foot on the cellar door.”

“Well, don’t be inactive.”

“Inactive, my dear fellow!  Ask Porthos.  I pass my life upon my legs.”

Aramis again presented himself at the bishop’s.  Juxon consented the more readily to take him with him, as he would require an assistant priest in case the king should wish to communicate.  Dressed as Aramis had been the night before, the bishop got into his carriage, and the former, more disguised by his pallor and sad countenance than his deacon’s dress, got in by his side.  The carriage stopped at the door of the palace.

It was about nine o’clock in the morning.

Nothing was changed.  The ante-rooms were still full of soldiers, the passages still lined by guards.  The king was already sanguine, but when he perceived Aramis his hope turned to joy.  He embraced Juxon and pressed the hand of Aramis.  The bishop affected to speak in a loud voice, before every one, of their previous interview.  The king replied that the words spoken in that interview had borne their fruit, and that he desired another under the same conditions.  Juxon turned to those present and begged them to leave him and his assistant alone with the king.  Every one withdrew.  As soon as the door was closed: 

“Sire,” said Aramis, speaking rapidly, “you are saved; the London executioner has vanished.  His assistant broke his leg last night beneath your majesty’s window —­ the cry we heard was his —­ and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol.”