Grimaud was left alone with the executioner, who in a few moments opened his eyes.  
“Help, help,” he murmured; “oh, God! have I not a single friend in the world who will aid me either to live or to die?”
 
“Take courage,” said Grimaud; “they are gone to find assistance.”
 
“Who are you?” asked the wounded man, fixing his half opened eyes on Grimaud.
 
“An old acquaintance,” replied Grimaud.
 
“You?” and the wounded man sought to recall the features of the person now before him.
 
“Under what circumstances did we meet?” he asked again.
 
“One night, twenty years ago, my master fetched you from Bethune and conducted you to Armentieres.”
 
“I know you well now,” said the executioner; “you were one of the four .”
 
“Just so.”
 
“Where do you come from now?”
 
“I was passing by and drew up at this inn to rest my horse. They told me the executioner of Bethune was here and wounded, when you uttered two piercing cries. At the first we ran to the door and at the second forced it open.”
 
“And the ?” exclaimed the executioner, “did you see the monk?”
 
“What monk?”
 
“The monk that was shut in with me.”
 
“No, he was no longer here; he appears to have fled by the window. Was he the man that stabbed you?”
 
“Yes,” said the executioner.
 
Grimaud moved as if to leave the room.
 
“What are you going to do?” asked the wounded man.
 
“He must be .”
 
“Do not attempt it; he has revenged himself and has done well. Now I may hope that God will forgive me, since my crime is .”
 
“Explain yourself.” said Grimaud.
 
“The woman whom you and your masters commanded me to kill----”
 
“Milady?”
 
“Yes, Milady; it is true you called her thus.”
 
“What has the monk to do with this Milady?”
 
“She was his mother.”
 
Grimaud trembled and stared at the dying man in a dull and leaden manner.
 
“His mother!” he repeated.
 
“Yes, his mother.”
 
“But does he know this secret, then?”
 
“I mistook him for a monk and revealed it to him in .”
 
“Unhappy man!” cried Grimaud, whose face was covered with sweat at the bare idea of the evil results such a revelation might cause; “unhappy man, you named no one, I hope?”
 
“I pronounced no name, for I knew none, except his mother’s, as a young girl, and it was by this name that he recognized her, but he knows that his uncle was among her judges.”
 
Thus speaking, he fell back . Grimaud, wishing to relieve him, advanced his hand toward the hilt of the .
 
“Touch me not!” said the executioner; “if this dagger is I shall die.”
 
Grimaud remained with his hand extended; then, striking his forehead, he exclaimed:
 
“Oh! if this man should ever discover the names of the others, my master is lost.”
 
“Haste! haste to him and warn him,” cried the wounded man, “if he still lives; warn his friends, too. My death, believe me, will not be the end of this atrocious misadventure.”
 
“Where was the monk going?” asked Grimaud.
 
“Toward Paris.”
 
“Who stopped him?”
 
“Two young gentlemen, who were on their way to join the army and the name of one of whom I heard his companion mention--the Viscount de Bragelonne.”
 
“And it was this young man who brought the monk to you? Then it was the will of God that it should be so and this it is which makes it all so awful,” continued Grimaud. “And yet that woman deserved her fate; do you not think so?”
 
“On one’s death-bed the crimes of others appear very small in comparison with one’s own,” said the executioner; and falling back exhausted he closed his eyes.
 
Grimaud was reluctant to leave the man alone and yet he perceived the necessity of starting at once to bear these tidings to the Comte de la Fere. Whilst he thus hesitated the host re-entered the room, followed not only by a surgeon, but by many other persons, whom curiosity had attracted to the spot. The surgeon approached the dying man, who seemed to have fainted.
 
“We must first extract the steel from the side,” said he, shaking his head in a significant manner.
 
The prophecy which the wounded man had just uttered to Grimaud, who turned away his head. The weapon, as we have already stated, was into the body to the hilt, and as the surgeon, taking it by the end, drew it , the wounded man opened his eyes and them on him in a manner truly . When at last the blade had been withdrawn, a red froth issued from the mouth of the wounded man and a stream of blood afresh from the wound when he at length drew breath; then, fixing his eyes upon Grimaud with a singular expression, the dying man uttered the last death-rattle and expired.
&nbs............