till lived. I breathed the air in every pore. Seized
with gratitude, I threw myself upon my knees, and blessed God, the king,
and Sidney. I waited to see this dear friend from one moment to another.
I did not doubt, no, I could not doubt, the king's clemency. All at once
I heard in the distance the criers announcing important events; it
seemed to me that I heard my name. I thought it was an illusion, but, in
fact, it was my name. Oh, then, a frightful presentiment seized me; my
hair stood on end. I remained on my knees. I listened with my heart
beating violently; the voices came nearer; I still heard my name mingled
with other words. A ray of joy, as foolish as my presentiment had been
horrible, changed my terror into hope. Madman! I believed they were
crying the details of the _escape of the Duke of Monmouth_. In my
impatience, I descended to the street; I bought the account; I mounted
again with palpitating heart, holding the paper in my hands."

Saying these words, Monmouth became frightfully pale, and could hardly
support himself. A cold perspiration bathed his forehead.

"Well?" cried Angela and Croustillac, who experienced a piercing agony.

"Ah," cried the duke despairingly, "it was the details of the _execution
of the Duke of Monmouth_."[B]

"And Sidney?" cried Angela.

"Sidney had died for me, died a martyr to friendship. His blood, his
noble blood, had been shed upon the scaffold instead of mine. Now,
Angela, you see, unhappy child, why I have always hidden this terrible
secret."

At these words the duke fell back on the sofa, hiding his face in his
hands. Angela threw herself at his feet, sobbing bitterly.

{[B] Hume says: "After his execution, his partisans held to the
hope of yet seeing him at their head; they flattered themselves
that the prisoner who had been beheaded was not the Duke of
Monmouth, but one of his friends, who resembled him greatly, and
who had had the courage to die in his stead."

Sainte-Foix, in a letter on the Iron Mask (Amsterdam, 1768), says:
"It is true that the report spread through London that an officer
of Monmouth's army who greatly resembled the duke, having been
taken prisoner, and knowing death to be inevitable, received a
proposition to represent the duke with as much joy as if life had
been offered him; and hearing this, that a great lady, having
bribed those who could open his coffin, and having looked at t