know it this moment, and perhaps it is already too late.”
“Come, then,” said Lord Winter.
Lord Winter’s tent was pitched by the side of the royal marquee, a kind of corridor communicating between the two.
This corridor was guarded, not by a sentinel, but by a confidential servant, through whom, in case of urgency, Charles could communicate instantly with his faithful subject.
“These gentlemen are with me,” said Winter.
The lackey bowed and let them pass. As he had said, on a camp bed, dressed in his black doublet, booted, unbelted, with his felt hat beside him, lay the king, overcome by sleep and fatigue. They advanced, and Athos, who was the