“Sir,” said he to the priest, “I shall keep this cross in my hand till the last moment.  Take it from me when I am —­ dead.”

“Yes, sire,” said a voice, which Athos recognized as that of Aramis.

He then took his hat from his head and threw it on the ground.  One by one he undid the buttons of his doublet, took it off and deposited it by the side of his hat.  Then, as it was cold, he asked for his gown, which was brought to him.

All the preparations were made with a frightful calmness.  One would have thought the king was going to bed and not to his coffin.

“Will these be in your way?” he said to the executioner, raising his long locks; “if so, they can be tied up.”

Charles accompanied these words with a look designed to penetrate the mask of the unknown headsman.  His calm, noble gaze forced the man to turn away his head.  But after the searching look of the king he encountered the burning eyes of Aramis.

The king, seeing that he did not reply, repeated his question.

“It will do,” replied the man, in a tremulous voice, “if you separate them across the neck.”

The king parted his hair with his hands, and looking at the block he said: 

“This block is very low, is there no other to be had?”

“It is the usual block,” answered the man in the mask.

“Do you think you can behead me with a single blow?” asked the king.

“I hope so,” was the reply.  There was something so strange in these three words that everybody, except the king, shuddered.

“I do not wish to be taken by surprise,” added the king.  “I shall kneel down to pray; do not strike then.”

“When shall I strike?”

“When I shall lay my head on the block and say `Remember!’ then strike boldly.”

“Gentlemen,” said the king to those around him, “I leave you to brave the tempest; I go before you to a kingdom which knows no storms.  Farewell.”

He looked at Aramis and made a special sign to him with his head.

“Now,” he continued, “withdraw a little and let me say my prayer, I beseech you.  You, also, stand aside,” he said to the masked man.  “It is only for a moment and I know that I belong to you; but remember that you are not to strike till I give the signal.”

Then he knelt down, made the sign of the cross, and lowering his face to the planks, as if he would have kissed them, said in a low tone, in French, “Comte de la Fere, are you there?”

“Yes, your majesty,” he answered, trembling.

“Faithful friend, noble heart!” said the king, “I should not have been rescued.  I have addressed my people and I have spoken to God; last of all I speak to you.  To maintain a cause which I believed sacred I have lost the throne and my children their inheritance.  A million in gold remains; it is buried in the cellars of Newcastle Keep.  You only know that this money exists.  Make use of it, then, whenever you think it will be most useful, for my eldest son’s welfare.  And now, farewell.”