s vision of Henry IV. to do with you, my lord?"
inquired Aramis.

"Nothing; and indeed I am mad to trouble you with such things, when your
coming to my tent at such an hour announces that you are the bearers of
important news."

"Yes, my lord," said Athos, "I wish to speak to the king."

"To the king! but the king is asleep."

"I have something important to reveal to him."

"Can it not be put off till to-morrow?"

"He must know it this moment, and perhaps it is already too late."

"Come, then," said Lord Winter.

Lord Winter's tent was pitched by the side of the royal marquee, a kind
of corridor communicating between the two. This corridor was guarded,
not by a sentinel, but by a confidential servant, through whom, in
case of urgency, Charles could communicate instantly with his faithful
subject.

"These gentlemen are with me," said Winter.

The lackey bowed and let them pass. As he had said, on a camp bed,
dressed in his black doublet, booted, unbelted, with his felt hat beside
him, lay the king, overcome by sleep and fatigue. They advanced, and
Athos, who was the first to enter, gazed a moment in silence on that
pale and noble face, framed in its long and now untidy, matted hair, the
blue veins showing through the transparent temples, his eyes seemingly
swollen by tears.

Athos sighed deeply; the sigh woke the king, so lightly did he sleep.

He opened his eyes.

"Ah!" said he, raising himself on his elbow, "is it you, Comte de la
Fere?"

"Yes, sire," replied Athos.

"You watch while I sleep and you have come to bring me some news?"

"Alas, sire," answered Athos, "your majesty has guessed aright."

"It is bad news?"

"Yes, sire."

"Never mind; the messenger is welcome. You never come to me without
conferring pleasure. You whose devotion recognizes neither country
nor misfortune, you who are sent to me by Henrietta; whatever news you
bring, speak out."

"Sire, Cromwell has arrived this night at Newcastle."

"Ah!" exclaimed the king, "to fight?"

"No, sire, but to buy your majesty."

"What did you say?"

"I said, sire, that four hundred thousand pounds are owing to the
Scottish army."

"For unpaid wages; yes, I know it. For the last year my faithful
Highlanders have fought for honor alone."

Athos smiled.

"Well, sir, though honor is a fine thing, they are tired of fighting
for it, and to-night they have sold you for two hundred thousand
pounds--that is to say, for half what is owing