Of what
his fate would be he could have no shadow of doubt. He knew - none
better - how truly the King loved me, and how he would punish such
an attempt as had been made upon my life, to say nothing of the
prostitution of justice of which he had been guilty, and for which
alone he had earned the penalty of death.
He stood a moment with bent head, the pain of his arm possibly
forgotten in the agony of his spirit. Then, straightening himself
suddenly, with a proud, half scornful air, he looked the officer
straight between the eyes.
"You desire my sword, monsieur?" he inquired.
The musketeer bowed respectfully.
"Saint-Eustache, will you do me the favour to give it to me?"
And while the Chevalier picked up the rapier from the ground where
it had been flung, that man waited with an outward calm for which
at the moment I admired him, as we must ever admire a tranquil
bearing in one smitten by a great adversity. And than this I can
conceive few greater. He had played for much, and he had lost
everything. Ignominy, degradation, and the block were all that
impended for him in this world, and they were very imminent.
He took the sword from the Chevalier. He held it for a second by
the hilt, like one in thought, like one who is resolving upon
something, whilst the musketeer awaited his good pleasure with that
deference which all gentle minds must accord to the unfortunate.
Still holding his rapier, he raised his eyes for a second and let
them rest on me with a grim malevolence.
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