Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

“Oh! my lord bishop,” he cried, seizing Juxon’s hands,

“where is Providence? where is Providence?”

“My son,” replied the bishop, with firmness, “you see Him

not, because the passions of the world conceal Him.”

“My son,” said the king to Aramis, “do not take it so to

heart. You ask what God is doing. God beholds your devotion

and my martyrdom, and believe me, both will have their

reward. Ascribe to men, then, what is happening, and not to

God. It is men who drive me to death; it is men who make you

weep.”

“Yes, sire,” said Aramis, “yes, you are right. It is men

whom I should hold responsible, and I will hold them

responsible.”

“Be seated, Juxon,” said the king, falling upon his knees.

“I have now to confess to you. Remain, sir,” he added to

Aramis, who had moved to leave the room. “Remain, Parry. I

have nothing to say that cannot be said before all.”

Juxon sat down, and the king, kneeling humbly before him,

began his confession.

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Remember!

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

The mob had already assembled when the confession

terminated. The king’s children next arrived — the Princess

Charlotte, a beautiful, fair-haired child, with tears in her

eyes, and the Duke of Gloucester, a boy eight or nine years

old, whose tearless eyes and curling lip revealed a growing

pride. He had wept all night long, but would not show his

grief before the people.

Charles’s heart melted within him at the sight of those two

children, whom he had not seen for two years and whom he now

met at the moment of death. He turned to brush away a tear,

and then, summoning up all his firmness, drew his daughter

toward him, recommending her to be pious and resigned. Then

he took the boy upon his knee.

“My son,” he said to him, “you saw a great number of people

in the streets as you came here. These men are going to

behead your father. Do not forget that. Perhaps some day

they will want to make you king, instead of the Prince of

Wales, or the Duke of York, your elder brothers. But you are

not the king, my son, and can never be so while they are

alive. Swear to me, then, never to let them put a crown upon

your head unless you have a legal right to the crown. For

one day — listen, my son — one day, if you do so, they

will doom you to destruction, head and crown, too, and then

you will not be able to die with a calm conscience, as I

die. Swear, my son.”

The child stretched out his little hand toward that of his

father and said, “I swear to your majesty.”

“Henry,” said Charles, “call me your father.”

“Father,” replied the child, “I swear to you that they shall

kill me sooner than make me king.”

“Good, my child. Now kiss me; and you, too, Charlotte. Never

forget me.”

“Oh! never, never!” cried both the children, throwing their

arms around their father’s neck.

“Farewell,” said Charles, “farewell, my children. Take them

away, Juxon; their tears will deprive me of the courage to

die.”

Juxon led them away, and this time the doors were left open.

Meanwhile, Athos, in his concealment, waited in vain the

signal to recommence his work. Two long hours he waited in

terrible inaction. A deathlike silence reigned in the room

above. At last he determined to discover the cause of this

stillness. He crept from his hole and stood, hidden by the

black drapery, beneath the scaffold. Peeping out from the

drapery, he could see the rows of halberdiers and musketeers

around the scaffold and the first ranks of the populace

swaying and groaning like the sea.

“What is the matter, then?” he asked himself, trembling more

than the wind-swayed cloth he was holding back. “The people

are hurrying on, the soldiers under arms, and among the

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

spectators I see D’Artagnan. What is he waiting for? What is

he looking at? Good God! have they allowed the headsman to

escape?”

Suddenly the dull beating of muffled drums filled the

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