red his services instead. The execution will therefore only be
delayed long enough for you to arrange your spiritual and temporal
affairs."

A slight moisture on his brow was the only trace of emotion that Charles
evinced, as he learned these tidings. But Aramis was livid. His heart
ceased beating, he closed his eyes and leaned upon the table. Charles
perceived it and took his hand.

"Come, my friend," said he, "courage." Then he turned to the officer.
"Sir, I am ready. There is but little reason why I should delay you.
Firstly, I wish to communicate; secondly, to embrace my children and bid
them farewell for the last time. Will this be permitted me?"

"Certainly," replied the officer, and left the room.

Aramis dug his nails into his flesh and groaned aloud.

"Oh! my lord bishop," he cried, seizing Juxon's hands, "where is
Providence? where is Providence?"

"My son," replied the bishop, with firmness, "you see Him not, because
the passions of the world conceal Him."

"My son," said the king to Aramis, "do not take it so to heart. You
ask what God is doing. God beholds your devotion and my martyrdom, and
believe me, both will have their reward. Ascribe to men, then, what is
happening, and not to God. It is men who drive me to death; it is men
who make you weep."

"Yes, sire," said Aramis, "yes, you are right. It is men whom I should
hold responsible, and I will hold them responsible."

"Be seated, Juxon," said the king, falling upon his knees. "I have now
to confess to you. Remain, sir," he added to Aramis, who had moved to
leave the room. "Remain, Parry. I have nothing to say that cannot be
said before all."

Juxon sat down, and the king, kneeling humbly before him, began his
confession.

66. Remember!

The mob had already assembled when the confession terminated. The king's
children next arrived--the Princess Charlotte, a beautiful, fair-haired
child, with tears in her eyes, and the Duke of Gloucester, a boy eight
or nine years old, whose tearless eyes and curling lip revealed a
growing pride. He had wept all night long, but would not show his grief
before the people.

Charles's heart melted within him at the sight of those two children,
whom he had not seen for two years and whom he now met at the moment of
death. He turned to brush away a tear, and then, summoning up all his
firmness, drew his daughter toward him, recommending her to be pious and
resigned. Then he took the boy upon his kne