This is what had taken place: We have seen that it was notof his own free will, but, on the contrary, veryreluctantly, that the monk attended the wounded man who hadbeen recommended to him in so strange a manner. Perhaps hewould have sought to escape by flight had he seen anypossibility of doing so. He was restrained by the threats ofthe two gentlemen and by the presence of their attendants,who doubtless had received their instructions. And besides,he considered it most expedient, without exhibiting too muchill-will, to follow to the end his role as confessor.

The monk entered the chamber and approached the bed of thewounded man. The executioner searched his face with thequick glance peculiar to those who are about to die and haveno time to lose. He made a movement of surprise and said:

"Father, you are very young."

"Men who bear my robe have no, age," replied the monk,dryly.

"Alas, speak to me more gently, father; in my last moments Ineed a friend."

"Do you suffer much?" asked the monk.

"Yes, but in my soul much more than in my body."

"We will save your soul," said the young man; "but are youreally the executioner of Bethune, as these people say?"

"That is to say," eagerly replied the wounded man, whodoubtless feared that the name of executioner would takefrom him the last help that he could claim - "that is tosay, I was, but am no longer; it is fifteen years since Igave up the office. I still assist at executions, but nolonger strike the blow myself - no, indeed."

"You have, then, a repugnance to your profession?"

"So long as I struck in the name of the law and of justicemy profession allowed me to sleep quietly, sheltered as Iwas by justice and law; but since that terrible night when Ibecame an instrument of private vengeance and when withpersonal hatred I raised the sword over one of God'screatures - since that day - - "

The executioner paused and shook his head with an expressionof despair.

"Tell me about it," said the monk, who, sitting on the footof the bed, began to be interested in a story so strangelyintroduced.

"Ah!" cried the dying man, with all the effusiveness of agrief declared after long suppression, "ah! I have sought tostifle remorse by twenty years of good deeds; I haveassuaged the natural ferocity of those who shed blood; onevery occasion I have exposed my life to save those who werein danger, and I have preserved lives in exchange for that Itook away. That is not all; the money gained in the exerciseof my profession I have distributed to the poor; I have beenassiduous in attending church and those who formerly fledfrom me have become accustomed to seeing me. All haveforgiven me, some have even loved me; but I think that Godhas not pardoned me, for the memory of that executionpursues me constantly and every night I see that woman'sghost rising before me."

"A woman! You have assassinated a woman, then?" cried themonk.

"You also!" exclaimed the executioner, "you use that wordwhich sounds ever in my ears - `assassinated!' I haveassassinated, then, and not executed! I am an assassin,then, and not an officer of justice!" and he closed his eyeswith a groan.

The monk doubtless feared that he would die without sayingmore, for he exclaimed eagerly:

"Go on, I know nothing, as yet; when you have finished yourstory, God and I will judge."

"Oh, father," continued the executioner, without opening hiseyes, as if he feared on opening them to see some frightfulobject, "it is especially when night comes on and when Ihave to cross a river, that this terror which I have beenunable to conquer comes upon me; it then seems as if my handgrew heavy, as if the cutlass was still in its grasp, as ifthe water had the color of blood, and all the voices ofnature - the whispering of the trees, the murmur of thewind, the lapping of the wave - united in a voice tearful,despairing, terrible, crying to me, `Place for the justiceof God!'"

"Delirium!" murmured the monk, shaking his head.

The executioner opened his eyes, turned toward the young manand grasped his arm.

"`Delirium,'" he repeated; "`delirium,' do you say? Oh, no!I remember too well. It was evening; I had thrown the bodyinto the river and those words which my remorse repeats tome are those which I in my pride pronounced. After being theinstrument of human justice I aspired to be that of thejustice of God."

"But let me see, how was it done? Speak," said the monk.

"It was at night. A man came to me and showed me an orderand I followed him. Four other noblemen awaited me. They ledme away masked. I reserved the right of refusing if theoffice they required of me should seem unjust. We traveledfive or six leagues, serious, silent, and almost withoutspeaking. At length, through the window of a little hut,they showed me a woman sitting, leaning on a table, andsaid, `there is the person to be executed.'"

"Horrible!" said the monk. "And you obeyed?"

"Father, that woman was a monster. It was said that she hadpoisoned her second husband; she had tried to assassinateher brother-in-law; she had just poisoned a young woman whowas her rival, and before leaving England she had, it wasbelieved, caused the favorite of the king to be murdered."

"Buckingham?" cried the monk.

"Yes, Buckingham."

"The woman was English, then?"

"No, she was French, but she had married in England."

The monk turned pale, wiped his brow and went and bolted thedoor. The executioner thought that he had abandoned him andfell back, groaning, upon his bed.

"No, no; I am here," said the monk, quickly coming back tohim. "Go on; who were those men?"

"One of them was a foreigner, English, I think. The fourothers were French and wore the uniform of musketeers."

"Their names?" asked the monk.

"I don't know them, but the four other noblemen called theEnglishman `my lord.'"

"Was the woman handsome?"

"Young and beautiful. Oh, yes, especially beautiful. I seeher now, as on her knees at my feet, with her head thrownback, she begged for life. I have never understood how Icould have laid low a head so beautiful, with a face sopale."

The monk seemed agitated by a strange emotion; he trembledall over; he seemed eager to put a question which yet hedared not ask. At length, with a violent effort atself-control:

"The name of that woman?" he said.

"I don't know what it was. As I have said, she was twicemarried, once in France, the second time in England."

"She was young, you say?"

"Twenty-five years old."

"Beautiful?"

"Ravishingly."

"Blond?"

"Yes."

"Abundance of hair - falling over her shoulders?"

"Yes."

"Eyes of an admirable expression?"

"When she chose. Oh, yes, it is she!"

"A voice of strange sweetness?"

"How do you know it?"

The executioner raised himself on his elbow and gazed with afrightened air at the monk, who became livid.

"And you killed her?" the monk exclaimed. "You were the toolof those cowards who dared not kill her themselves? You hadno pity for that youthfulness, that beauty, that weakness?you killed that woman?"

"Alas! I have already told you, father, that woman, underthat angelic appearance, had an infernal soul, and when Isaw her, when I recalled all the evil she had done to me- - "

"To you? What could she have done to you? Come, tell me!"

"She had seduced and ruined my brother, a priest. She hadfled with him from her convent."

"With your brother?"

"Yes, my brother was her first lover, and she caused hisdeath. Oh, father, do not look in that way at me! Oh, I amguilty, then; you will not pardon me?"

The monk recovered his usual expression.

"Yes, yes," he said, "I will pardon you if you tell me all."

"Oh!" cried the executioner, "all! all! all!"

"Answer, then. If she seduced your brother - you said sheseduced him, did you not?"

"Yes."

"If she caused his death - you said that she caused hisdeath?"

"Yes," repeated the executioner.

"Then you must know what her name was as a young girl."

"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried the executioner, "I think I am dying.Absolution, father! absolution."

"Tell me her name and I will give it."

"Her name was - - My God, have pity on me!" murmured theexecutioner; and he fell back on the bed, pale, trembling,and apparently about to die.

"Her name!" repeated the monk, bending over him as if totear from him the name if he would not utter it; "her name!Speak, or no absolution!"

The dying man collected all his forces.

The monk's eyes glittered.

"Anne de Bueil," murmured the wounded man.

"Anne de Bueil!" cried the monk, standing up and lifting hishands to Heaven. "Anne de Bueil! You said Anne de Bueil, didyou not?"

"Yes, yes, that was her name; and now absolve me, for I amdying."

"I, absolve you!" cried the priest, with a laugh which madethe dying man's hair stand on end; "I, absolve you? I am nota priest."

"You are not a priest!" cried the executioner. "What, then,are you?"

"I am about to tell you, wretched man."

"Oh, mon Dieu!"

"I am John Francis de Winter."

"I do not know you," said the executioner.

"Wait, wait; you are going to know me. I am John Francis deWinter," he repeated, "and that woman - - "

"Well, that woman?"

"Was my mother!"

The executioner uttered the first cry, that terrible crywhich had been first heard.

"Oh, pardon me, pardon me!" he murmured; "if not in the nameof God, at least in your own name; if not as priest, then asson."

"Pardon you!" cried the pretended monk, "pardon you! PerhapsGod will pardon you, but I, never!"

"For pity's sake," said the executioner, extending his arms.

"No pity for him who had no pity! Die, impenitent, die indespair, die and be damned!" And drawing a poniard frombeneath his robe he thrust it into the breast of the woundedman, saying, "Here is my absolution!"

Then was heard that second cry, not so loud as the first andfollowed by a long groan.

The executioner, who had lifted himself up, fell back uponhis bed. As to the monk, without withdrawing the poniardfrom the wound, he ran to the window, opened it, leaped outinto the flowers of a small garden, glided onward to thestable, took out his mule, went out by a back gate, ran to aneighbouring thicket, threw off his monkish garb, took fromhis valise the complete habiliment of a cavalier, clothedhimself in it, went on foot to the first post, secured therea horse and continued with a loose rein his journey toParis.