. James's to
Whitehall."

"Yes, certainly I do remember it, and always shall remember it."

"Sire, it is a dismal history to be heard by a son who no doubt has
had it related to him many times; and yet I ought to repeat it to your
majesty without omitting one detail."

"Speak on, monsieur."

"When the king your father ascended the scaffold, or rather when he
passed from his chamber to the scaffold, on a level with his window,
everything was prepared for his escape. The executioner was got out of
the way; a hole contrived under the floor of his apartment; I myself was
beneath the funeral vault, which I heard all at once creak beneath his
feet."

"Parry has related to me all these terrible details, monsieur."

Athos bowed and resumed. "But here is something he had not related to
you, sire, for what follows passed between God, your father, and myself;
and never has the revelation of it been made even to my dearest friends.
'Go a little further off,' said the august prisoner to the executioner;
'it is but for an instant, and I know that I belong to you; but remember
not to strike till I give the signal. I wish to offer up my prayers in
freedom."

"Pardon me," said Charles II., turning very pale, "but you, count, who
know so many details of this melancholy event,--details which, as you
said just now, have never been revealed to any one,--do you know the
name of that infernal executioner, of that base wretch who concealed his
face that he might assassinate a king with impunity?"

Athos became slightly pale. "His name?" said he, "yes, I know it, but
cannot tell it."

"And what is become of him, for nobody in England knows his destiny?"

"He is dead."

"But he did not die in his bed; he did not die a calm and peaceful
death; he did not die the death of the good?"

"He died a violent death, in a terrible night, rendered so by the
passions of man and a tempest from God. His body, pierced by a dagger,
sank to the depths of the ocean. God pardon his murderer!"

"Proceed, then," said Charles II., seeing that the count was unwilling
to say more.

"The king of England, after having, as I have said, spoken thus to the
masked executioner, added,--'Observe, you will not strike till I shall
stretch out my arms, saying--REMEMBER!'"

"I was aware," said Charles, in an agitated voice, "that that was the
last word pronounced by my unfortunate father. But why and for whom?"

"For the French gentleman placed beneath his sca