Do
you see him--as he will be to-morrow, with the slit in his throat and his
teeth showing? Why, God!" his voice rising almost to a scream, "the
candles by him are burning blue!" And with a shaking hand, his face
convulsed, the young King clutched his companion's arm, and pinched it.
Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but answered nothing.
"D'you think we shall see them afterwards?" Charles resumed, in a sharp,
eager whisper. "In our dreams, man? Or when the watchman cries, and we
awake, and the monks are singing lauds at St. Germain, and--and the taper
is low?"
Tavannes' lip curled. "I don't dream, sire," he answered coldly, "and I
seldom wake. For the rest, I fear my enemies neither alive nor dead."
"Don't you? By G-d, I wish I didn't," the young man exclaimed. His brow
was wet with sweat. "I wish I didn't. But there, it's settled. They've
settled it, and I would it were done! What do you think of--of it, man?
What do you think of it, yourself?"
Count Hannibal's face was inscrutable. "I think nothing, sire," he said
dryly. "It is for your Majesty and your council to think. It is enough
for me that it is the King's will."
"But you'll not flinch?" Charles muttered, with a quick look of
suspicion. "But there," with a monstrous oath, "I know you'll not! I
believe you'd as soon kill a monk--though, thank God," and he crossed
himself devoutly, "there is no question of that--as a man.
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