gothic
door, and reached a dark hall with damp and uneven pavement. At the end
of a winding corridor they perceived a light and guided by the gruesome
master of the place they set out towards it. The door closed behind
them.

Caboche, a wax torch in hand, admitted them into a lower room filled
with smoke. In the centre was a table containing the remains of a supper
for three. These three were probably the hangman, his wife, and his
chief assistant. In a conspicuous place on the wall a parchment was
nailed, sealed with the seal of the King. It was the hangman's license.
In a corner was a long-handled sword. This was the flaming sword of
justice.

Here and there were various rough drawings representing martyrs
undergoing the torture.

At the door Caboche made a low bow.

"Your majesty will excuse me," said he, "if I ventured to enter the
Louvre and bring you here. But it was the last wish of the gentleman, so
that I felt I"--

"You did well, Maitre," said Marguerite, "and here is a reward for you."

Caboche looked sadly at the large purse which Marguerite laid on the
table.

"Gold!" said he; "always gold! Alas! madame, if I only could buy back
for gold the blood I was forced to spill to-day!"

"Maitre," said Marguerite, looking around with a sad hesitation,
"Maitre, do we have to go to some other room? I do not see"--

"No, madame, they are here; but it is a sad sight, and one which I could
have spared you by wrapping up in my cloak that for which you have
come."

Marguerite and Henriette looked at each other.

"No," said the queen, who had read in her friend's eye the same thought
as in her own; "no, show us the way and we will follow."

Caboche took the torch and opened an oaken door at the top of a short
stairway, which led to an underground chamber. At that instant a current
of air blew some sparks from the torch and brought to the princesses an
ill-smelling odor of dampness and blood. Henriette, white as an
alabaster statue, leaned on the arm of her less agitated friend; but at
the first step she swayed.

"I can never do it," said she.

"When one loves truly, Henriette," replied the queen, "one loves beyond
death."

It was a sight both horrible and touching presented by the two women,
glowing with youth, beauty, and jewels, as they bent their heads beneath
the foul, chalky ceiling, the weaker leaning on the stronger, the
stronger clinging to the arm of the hangman.

They reached the final step.