he stopped, and turning with a smile, said:
“Ah! the axe, an ingenious device, and well worthy of those
who know not what a gentleman is; you frighten me not,
executioner’s axe,” added he, touching it with the cane
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which he held in his hand, “and I strike you now, waiting
patiently and Christianly for you to return the blow.”
And shrugging his shoulders with unaffected contempt he
passed on. When he reached the door a stream of people, who
had been disappointed in not being able to get into the
house and to make amends had collected to see him come out,
stood on each side, as he passed, many among them glaring on
him with threatening looks.
“How many people,” thought he, “and not one true friend.”
And as he uttered these words of doubt and depression within
his mind, a voice beside him said:
“Respect to fallen majesty.”
The king turned quickly around, with tears in his eyes and
heart. It was an old soldier of the guards who could not see
his king pass captive before him without rendering him this
final homage. But the next moment the unfortunate man was
nearly killed with heavy blows of sword-hilts, and among
those who set upon him the king recognized Captain Groslow.
“Alas!” said Charles, “that is a severe chastisement for a
very trifling fault.”
He continued his walk, but he had scarcely gone a hundred
paces, when a furious fellow, leaning between two soldiers,
spat in the king’s face, as once an infamous and accursed
Jew spit in the face of Jesus of Nazareth. Loud roars of
laughter and sullen murmurs arose together. The crowd opened
and closed again, undulating like a stormy sea, and the king
imagined that he saw shining in the midst of this living
wave the bright eyes of Athos.
Charles wiped his face and said with a sad smile: “Poor
wretch, for half a crown he would do as much to his own
father.”
The king was not mistaken. Athos and his friends, again
mingling with the throng, were taking a last look at the
martyr king.
When the soldier saluted Charles, Athos’s heart bounded for
joy; and that unfortunate, on coming to himself, found ten
guineas that the French gentleman had slipped into his
pocket. But when the cowardly insulter spat in the face of
the captive monarch Athos grasped his dagger. But D’Artagnan
stopped his hand and in a hoarse voice cried, “Wait!”
Athos stopped. D’Artagnan, leaning on Athos, made a sign to
Porthos and Aramis to keep near them and then placed himself
behind the man with the bare arms, who was still laughing at
his own vile pleasantry and receiving the congratulations of
several others.
The man took his way toward the city. The four friends
followed him. The man, who had the appearance of being a
butcher, descended a little steep and isolated street,
looking on to the river, with two of his friends. Arrived at
the bank of the river the three men perceived that they were
followed, turned around, and looking insolently at the
Frenchmen, passed some jests from one to another.
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“I don’t know English, Athos,” said D’Artagnan; “but you
know it and will interpret for me.”
Then quickening their steps they passed the three men, but
turned back immediately, and D’Artagnan walked straight up
to the butcher and touching him on the chest with the tip of
his finger, said to Athos:
“Say this to him in English: `You are a coward. You have
insulted a defenseless man. You have defouled the face of
your king. You must die.'”
Athos, pale as a ghost, repeated these words to the man,
who, seeing the bodeful preparations that were making, put
himself in an attitude of defense. Aramis, at this movement,
drew his sword.
“No,” cried D’Artagnan, “no steel. Steel is for gentlemen.”
And seizing the butcher by the throat:
“Porthos,” said he, “kill this fellow for me with a single
blow.”
Porthos raised his terrible fist, which whistled through the
air like a sling, and the portentous mass fell with a