Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

cavaliers to a servant who was lying in the outer

compartment, which served as a kind of ante-room.

“No, monsieur le comte,” answered the servant, “I think not;

or at least he has not long been so, for he was pacing up

and down for more than two hours after he left the king, and

the sound of his footsteps has only ceased during the last

ten minutes. However, you may look and see,” added the

lackey, raising the curtained entrance of the tent.

Lord Winter was seated near an aperture, arranged as a

window to let in the night air, his eyes mechanically

following the course of the moon, intermittently veiled, as

we before observed, by heavy clouds. The two friends

approached Winter, who, with his head on his hands, was

gazing at the heavens; he did not hear them enter and

remained in the same attitude till he felt a hand upon his

shoulder.

He turned around, recognized Athos and Aramis and held out

his hand to them.

“Have you observed,” said he to them, “what a blood-red

color the moon has to-night?”

“No,” replied Athos; “I thought it looked much the same as

usual.”

“Look, again, chevalier,” returned Lord Winter.

“I must own,” said Aramis, “I am like the Comte de la Fere

— I can see nothing remarkable about it.”

“My lord,” said Athos, “in a position so precarious as ours

we must examine the earth and not the heavens. Have you

studied our Scotch troops and have you confidence in them?”

“The Scotch?” inquired Winter. “What Scotch?”

“Ours, egad!” exclaimed Athos. “Those in whom the king has

confided — Lord Leven’s Highlanders.”

“No,” said Winter, then he paused; “but tell me, can you not

perceive the russet tint which marks the heavens?”

“Not the least in the world,” said Aramis and Athos at once.

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

“Tell me,” continued Winter, always possessed by the same

idea, “is there not a tradition in France that Henry IV.,

the evening before the day he was assassinated, when he was

playing at chess with M. de Bassompiere, saw clots of blood

upon the chessboard?”

“Yes,” said Athos, “and the marechal has often told me so

himself.”

“Then it was so,” murmured Winter, “and the next day Henry

IV. was killed.”

“But what has this vision of Henry IV. to do with you, my

lord?” inquired Aramis.

“Nothing; and indeed I am mad to trouble you with such

things, when your coming to my tent at such an hour

announces that you are the bearers of important news.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Athos, “I wish to speak to the king.”

“To the king! but the king is asleep.”

“I have something important to reveal to him.”

“Can it not be put off till to-morrow?”

“He must know it this moment, and perhaps it is already too

late.”

“Come, then,” said Lord Winter.

Lord Winter’s tent was pitched by the side of the royal

marquee, a kind of corridor communicating between the two.

This corridor was guarded, not by a sentinel, but by a

confidential servant, through whom, in case of urgency,

Charles could communicate instantly with his faithful

subject.

“These gentlemen are with me,” said Winter.

The lackey bowed and let them pass. As he had said, on a

camp bed, dressed in his black doublet, booted, unbelted,

with his felt hat beside him, lay the king, overcome by

sleep and fatigue. They advanced, and Athos, who was the

first to enter, gazed a moment in silence on that pale and

noble face, framed in its long and now untidy, matted hair,

the blue veins showing through the transparent temples, his

eyes seemingly swollen by tears.

Athos sighed deeply; the sigh woke the king, so lightly did

he sleep.

He opened his eyes.

“Ah!” said he, raising himself on his elbow, “is it you,

Comte de la Fere?”

“Yes, sire,” replied Athos.

“You watch while I sleep and you have come to bring me some

news?”

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

“Alas, sire,” answered Athos, “your majesty has guessed

aright.”

“It is bad news?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Never mind; the messenger is welcome. You never come to me

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