"Sir monk," said De Guiche, "confess well that brave man; and be not concerned for your expenses or for those of your mule; all is paid."
"Thanks, monsieur," said the monk, with one of those smiles that made Bragelonne shudder.
The host and his wife were standing on the steps, whilst the unhappy man seemed to suffer dreadful pain and yet to be concerned only to know if he was followed by the monk. At sight of this pale, bleeding man, the wife grasped her husband's arm.
"The former executioner of Bethune!" murmured the young monk, shrinking back and showing on his countenance the feeling of repugnance which his penitent inspired.
"Sir monk," said he, "whether he is now or has been an executioner, this unfortunate being is none the less a man.
The monk made no reply, but silently wended his way to the room where the two valets had deposited the dying man on a bed.
Grimaud was drinking his wine silently and had just placed his glass on the table to be filled a second time, when a terrific scream resounded from the room occupied by the monk and the dying man.
"Open the door!" cried the host; "open it instantly, sir monk!"
'The first question is, of what nature was her communication?' said Monks.
'Who the devil can tell that, without knowing of what kind it is?' asked Monks.
'Now,' said Monks, when they had all three seated themselves,
'These fits come over me, now and then,' said Monks, observing his alarm; 'and thunder sometimes brings them on.
'Of course you don't!' said Monks. 'How should you?'
'It may be nothing; it may be twenty pounds,' replied Monks.
'Five-and-twenty pounds!' exclaimed Monks, drawing back.