They were lifting Salcede from the car on to the scaffold, round which the archers had cleared a large space, so that it was distinctly visible to all eyes.
Salcede was about thirty-five years of age, strong and vigorous; and his pale features, on which stood drops of blood, were animated alternately by hope and anguish.

He was no vulgar assassin; he was of good birth, and even distantly related to the queen, and had been a captain of some renown.

Those bound hands had valiantly borne the sword, and that livid head, on which were depicted the terrors of death, had conceived great designs.

Therefore, to many of the spectators, he was a hero; to others, a victim; some looked on him as an assassin; but the crowd seldom despises those very great criminals who are registered in the book of history as well as in that of justice.

Thus they told, in the crowd, that Salcede was of a race of warriors; that his father had fought against the Cardinal de Lorraine, but that the son had joined with the Guises to destroy in Flanders the rising power of the Duc d'Anjou, so hated by the French.
He had been arrested and conducted to France, and had hoped to be rescued by the way; but unfortunately for him, M.de Bellievre had kept such good watch, that neither Spaniards nor Lorraines, nor leaguers, had been able to approach.