The parliament condemned Charles to death, as might havebeen foreseen. Political judgments are generally vainformalities, for the same passions which give rise to theaccusation ordain to the condemnation. Such is the atrociouslogic of revolutions.

Although our friends were expecting that condemnation, itfilled them with grief. D'Artagnan, whose mind was nevermore fertile in resources than in critical emergencies,swore again that he would try all conceivable means toprevent the denouement of the bloody tragedy. But by whatmeans? As yet he could form no definite plan; all mustdepend on circumstances. Meanwhile, it was necessary at allhazards, in order to gain time, to put some obstacle in theway of the execution on the following day - the dayappointed by the judges. The only way of doing that was tocause the disappearance of the London executioner. Theheadsman out of the way, the sentence could not be executed.True, they could send for the headsman of the nearest town,but at least a day would be gained, and a day might besufficient for the rescue. D'Artagnan took upon himself thatmore than difficult task.

Another thing, not less essential, was to warn CharlesStuart of the attempt to be made, so that he might assisthis rescuers as much as possible, or at least do nothing tothwart their efforts. Aramis assumed that perilous charge.Charles Stuart had asked that Bishop Juxon might bepermitted to visit him. Mordaunt had called on the bishopthat very evening to apprise him of the religious desireexpressed by the king and also of Cromwell's permission.Aramis determined to obtain from the bishop, through fear orby persuasion, consent that he should enter in the bishop'splace, and clad in his sacerdotal robes, the prison atWhitehall.

Finally, Athos undertook to provide, in any event, the meansof leaving England - in case either of failure or ofsuccess.

The night having come they made an appointment to meet ateleven o'clock at the hotel, and each started out to fulfillhis dangerous mission.

The palace of Whitehall was guarded by three regiments ofcavalry and by the fierce anxiety of Cromwell, who came andwent or sent his generals or his agents continually. Alonein his usual room, lighted by two candles, the condemnedmonarch gazed sadly on the luxury of his past greatness,just as at the last hour one sees the images of life moremildly brilliant than of yore.

Parry had not quitted his master, and since his condemnationhad not ceased to weep. Charles, leaning on a table, wasgazing at a medallion of his wife and daughter; he waswaiting first for Juxon, then for martyrdom.

At times he thought of those brave French gentlemen who hadappeared to him from a distance of a hundred leaguesfabulous and unreal, like the forms that appear in dreams.In fact, he sometimes asked himself if all that washappening to him was not a dream, or at least the deliriumof a fever. He rose and took a few steps as if to rousehimself from his torpor and went as far as the window; hesaw glittering below him the muskets of the guards. He wasthereupon constrained to admit that he was indeed awake andthat his bloody dream was real.

Charles returned in silence to his chair, rested his elbowon the table, bowed his head upon his hand and reflected.

"Alas!" he said to himself, "if I only had for a confessorone of those lights of the church, whose soul has soundedall the mysteries of life, all the littlenesses ofgreatness, perhaps his utterance would overawe the voicethat wails within my soul. But I shall have a priest ofvulgar mind, whose career and fortune I have ruined by mymisfortune. He will speak to me of God and death, as he hasspoken to many another dying man, not understanding thatthis one leaves his throne to an usurper, his children tothe cold contempt of public charity."

And he raised the medallion to his lips.

It was a dull, foggy night. A neighboring church clockslowly struck the hour. The flickering light of the twocandles showed fitful phantom shadows in the lofty room.These were the ancestors of Charles, standing back dimly intheir tarnished frames.

An awful sadness enveloped the heart of Charles. He buriedhis brow in his hands and thought of the world, so beautifulwhen one is about to leave it; of the caresses of children,so pleasing and so sweet, especially when one is partingfrom his children never to see them again; then of his wife,the noble and courageous woman who had sustained him to thelast moment. He drew from his breast the diamond cross andthe star of the Garter which she had sent him by thosegenerous Frenchmen; he kissed it, and then, as he reflected,that she would never again see those things till he lay coldand mutilated in the tomb, there passed over him one ofthose icy shivers which may be called forerunners of death.

Then, in that chamber which recalled to him so many royalsouvenirs, whither had come so many courtiers, the scene ofso much flattering homage, alone with a despairing servant,whose feeble soul could afford no support to his own, theking at last yielded to sorrow, and his courage sank to alevel with that feebleness, those shadows, and that wintrycold. That king, who was so grand, so sublime in the hour ofdeath, meeting his fate with a smile of resignation on hislips, now in that gloomy hour wiped away a tear which hadfallen on the table and quivered on the gold embroideredcloth.

Suddenly the door opened, an ecclesiastic in episcopal robesentered, followed by two guards, to whom the king waved animperious gesture. The guards retired; the room resumed itsobscurity.

"Juxon!" cried Charles, "Juxon, thank you, my last friend;you come at a fitting moment."

The bishop looked anxiously at the man sobbing in theingle-nook.

"Come, Parry," said the king, "cease your tears."

"If it's Parry," said the bishop, "I have nothing to fear;so allow me to salute your majesty and to tell you who I amand for what I am come."

At this sight and this voice Charles was about to cry out,when Aramis placed his finger on his lips and bowed low tothe king of England.

"The chevalier!" murmured Charles.

"Yes, sire," interrupted Aramis, raising his voice, "BishopJuxon, the faithful knight of Christ, obedient to yourmajesty's wishes."

Charles clasped his hands, amazed and stupefied to find thatthese foreigners, without other motive than that which theirconscience imposed on them, thus combated the will of apeople and the destiny of a king.

"You!" he said, "you! how did you penetrate hither? If theyrecognize you, you are lost."

"Care not for me, sire; think only of yourself. You see,your friends are wakeful. I know not what we shall do yet,but four determined men can do much. Meanwhile, do not besurprised at anything that happens; prepare yourself forevery emergency."

Charles shook his head.

"Do you know that I die to-morrow at ten o'clock?"

"Something, your majesty, will happen between now and thento make the execution impossible."

The king looked at Aramis with astonishment.

At this moment a strange noise, like the unloading of acart, and followed by a cry of pain, was heard beneath thewindow.

"Do you hear?" said the king.

"I hear," said Aramis, "but I understand neither the noisenor the cry of pain."

"I know not who can have uttered the cry," said the king,"but the noise is easily understood. Do you know that I amto be beheaded outside this window? Well, these boards youhear unloaded are the posts and planks to build my scaffold.Some workmen must have fallen underneath them and beenhurt."

Aramis shuddered in spite of himself.

"You see," said the king, "that it is useless for you toresist. I am condemned; leave me to my death."

"My king," said Aramis, "they well may raise a scaffold, butthey cannot make an executioner."

"What do you mean?" asked the king.

"I mean that at this hour the headsman has been got out ofthe way by force or persuasion. The scaffold will be readyby to-morrow, but the headsman will be wanting and they willput it off till the day after to-morrow."

"What then?" said the king.

"To-morrow night we shall rescue you."

"How can that be?" cried the king, whose face was lightedup, in spite of himself, by a flash of joy.

"Oh! sir," cried Parry, "may you and yours be blessed!"

"How can it be?" repeated the king. "I must know, so that Imay assist you if there is any chance."

"I know nothing about it," continued Aramis, "but thecleverest, the bravest, the most devoted of us four said tome when I left him, `Tell the king that to-morrow at teno'clock at night, we shall carry him off.' He has said itand will do it."

"Tell me the name of that generous friend," said the king,"that I may cherish for him an eternal gratitude, whether hesucceeds or not."

"D'Artagnan, sire, the same who had so nearly rescued youwhen Colonel Harrison made his untimely entrance."

"You are, indeed, wonderful men," said the king; "if suchthings had been related to me I should not have believedthem."

"Now, sire," resumed Aramis, "listen to me. Do not forgetfor a single instant that we are watching over your safety;observe the smallest gesture, the least bit of song, theleast sign from any one near you; watch everything, heareverything, interpret everything."

"Oh, chevalier!" cried the king, "what can I say to you?There is no word, though it should come from the profoundestdepth of my heart, that can express my gratitude. If yousucceed I do not say that you will save a king; no, inpresence of the scaffold as I am, royalty, I assure you, isa very small affair; but you will save a husband to hiswife, a father to his children. Chevalier, take my hand; itis that of a friend who will love you to his last sigh."

Aramis stooped to kiss the king's hand, but Charles claspedhis and pressed it to his heart.

At this moment a man entered, without even knocking at thedoor. Aramis tried to withdraw his hand, but the king stillheld it. The man was one of those Puritans, half preacherand half soldier, who swarmed around Cromwell.

"What do you want, sir?" said the king.

"I desire to know if the confession of Charles Stuart is atan end?" said the stranger.

"And what is it to you?" replied the king; "we are not ofthe same religion."

"All men are brothers," said the Puritan. "One of mybrothers is about to die and I come to prepare him."

"Bear with him," whispered Aramis; "it is doubtless somespy."

"After my reverend lord bishop," said the king to the man,"I shall hear you with pleasure, sir."

The man retired, but not before examining the supposed Juxonwith an attention which did not escape the king.

"Chevalier," said the king, when the door was closed, "Ibelieve you are right and that this man only came here withevil intentions. Take care that no misfortune befalls youwhen you leave."

"I thank your majesty," said Aramis, "but under these robesI have a coat of mail, a pistol and a dagger."

"Go, then, sir, and God keep you!"

The king accompanied him to the door, where Aramispronounced his benediction upon him, and passing through theante-rooms, filled with soldiers, jumped into his carriageand drove to the bishop's palace. Juxon was waiting for himimpatiently.

"Well?" said he, on perceiving Aramis.

"Everything has succeeded as I expected; spies, guards,satellites, all took me for you, and the king blesses youwhile waiting for you to bless him."

"May God protect you, my son; for your example has given meat the same time hope and courage."

Aramis resumed his own attire and left Juxon with theassurance that he might again have recourse to him.

He had scarcely gone ten yards in the street when heperceived that he was followed by a man, wrapped in a largecloak. He placed his hand on his dagger and stopped. The mancame straight toward him. It was Porthos.

"My dear friend," cried Aramis.

"You see, we had each our mission," said Porthos; "mine wasto guard you and I am doing so. Have you seen the king?"

"Yes, and all goes well."

"We are to meet our friends at the hotel at eleven."

It was then striking half-past ten by St. Paul's.

Arrived at the hotel it was not long before Athos entered.

"All's well," he cried, as he entered; "I have hired a cedarwherry, as light as a canoe, as easy on the wing as anyswallow. It is waiting for us at Greenwich, opposite theIsle of Dogs, manned by a captain and four men, who for thesum of fifty pounds sterling will keep themselves at ourdisposition three successive nights. Once on board we dropdown the Thames and in two hours are on the open sea. Incase I am killed, the captain's name is Roger and the skiffis called the Lightning. A handkerchief, tied at the fourcorners, is to be the signal."

Next moment D'Artagnan entered.

"Empty your pockets," said he; "I want a hundred pounds, andas for my own - - " and he emptied them inside out.

The sum was collected in a minute. D'Artagnan ran out andreturned directly after.

"There," said he, "it's done. Ough! and not without a dealof trouble, too."

"Has the executioner left London?" asked Athos.

"Ah, you see that plan was not sure enough; he might go outby one gate and return by another."

"Where is he, then?"

"In the cellar."

"The cellar - what cellar?"

"Our landlord's, to be sure. Musqueton is propped againstthe door and here's the key."

"Bravo!" said Aramis, "how did you manage it?"

"Like everything else, with money; but it cost me dear."

"How much?" asked Athos.

"Five hundred pounds."

"And where did you get so much money?" said Athos. "Had you,then, that sum?"

"The queen's famous diamond," answered D'Artagnan, with asigh.

"Ah, true," said Aramis. "I recognized it on your finger."

"You bought it back, then, from Monsieur des Essarts?" askedPorthos.

"Yes, but it was fated that I should not keep it."

"So, then, we are all right as regards the executioner,"said Athos; "but unfortunately every executioner has hisassistant, his man, or whatever you call him."

"And this one had his," said D'Artagnan; "but, as good luckwould have it, just as I thought I should have two affairsto manage, our friend was brought home with a broken leg. Inthe excess of his zeal he had accompanied the cartcontaining the scaffolding as far as the king's window, andone of the crossbeams fell on his leg and broke it."

"Ah!" cried Aramis, "that accounts for the cry I heard."

"Probably," said D'Artagnan, "but as he is a thoughtfulyoung man he promised to send four expert workmen in hisplace to help those already at the scaffold, and wrote themoment he was brought home to Master Tom Lowe, an assistantcarpenter and friend of his, to go down to Whitehall, withthree of his friends. Here's the letter he sent by amessenger, for sixpence, who sold it to me for a guinea."

"And what on earth are you going to do with it?" askedAthos.

"Can't you guess, my dear Athos? You, who speak English likeJohn Bull himself, are Master Tom Lowe, we, your threecompanions. Do you understand it now?"

Athos uttered a cry of joy and admiration, ran to a closetand drew forth workmen's clothes, which the four friendsimmediately put on; they then left the hotel, Athos carryinga saw, Porthos a vise, Aramis an axe and D'Artagnan a hammerand some nails.

The letter from the executioner's assistant satisfied themaster carpenter that those were the men he expected.