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Ef)e &ttnteg ILttiraru lEUition 
 
 ROMANCES OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS 
 
 VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE 
 
 Parts I. and II. 
 

Eljc ILibravg lEUition 
 
 THE ROMANCES 
 
 OF 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS 
 
 Volume VIII. 
 
 VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE 
 
 PART FIRST 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE D. SPROUL 
 Publisher 
 
 1896 
 
Copyright , 1888, 1893, 
 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 
 By George D. Sproul. 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S. A. 
 
<5 4 - 5 " V 
 S 1*3 & 
 
 ^ g 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 The “ Vicomte de Bragelonne,” the longest and in 
 many respects the most powerful of the D’Artagnan 
 series, was first presented to the English-speaking 
 public in an unabridged translation, conforming to 
 the author’s own arrangement and in readable form, 
 by the present publishers. Owing to its great 
 length it had previously been translated only in 
 an abridged form. Detached portions of it, too, 
 have appeared from time to time. The chapters 
 devoted to Mademoiselle de la Yallifere have been 
 published separately under the title of “ Louise de 
 la Yallibre,” while what is commonly known as 
 “ The Iron Mask ” is a translation of that portion 
 of Bragelonne which relates the attempted substi- 
 tution of the Bastille prisoner for Louis XIY. 
 
 The romance, as it was written and as it is here 
 presented in English, offers a marvellously faithful 
 picture of the French court from a period imme- 
 diately preceding the young king’s marriage to his 
 cousin, Maria Theresa, the Infante of Spain, to the 
 
VI 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 downfall of Fouquet. This period was a moment- 
 ous one for France, embracing as it did the diplo- 
 matic triumph of Mazarin in the advantageous 
 Treaty of the Pyrenees ; the death of that avaricious 
 and unscrupulous, but eminently able and far-seeing, 
 minister and cardinal ; the assumption of power by 
 Louis in person ; and the rise to high office and 
 influence over the crushed and disgraced Fouquet, 
 of Jean-Bap tiste Colbert. These two years marked 
 the beginning of the most brilliant epoch of court 
 life in France, as well as of her greatest, if some- 
 what factitious, glory both at home and abroad. 
 
 The historical accuracy of the author of “ Brage- 
 lonne ” — which Miss Pardoe, in her justly popular 
 and entertaining work on Louis XI Y., and the 
 historian Michelet as well, have so strongly main- 
 tained— is perhaps more striking in this than in 
 any other of his romances. It is not only in the 
 matter of the events of greater or less importance 
 that one familiar with the history of the period seems 
 to be reading some contemporary chronicle, but the 
 character-sketches of the prominent personages are 
 drawn with such entire fidelity to life that we seem 
 to see the very men and women themselves as they 
 appeared to their contemporaries. 
 
 Thus it is with the king, whose intense egotism 
 was beginning to develop, being unceasingly fos- 
 tered by the flattery of those who surrounded him 
 and told him that he was the greatest of men and 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 Vll 
 
 kings, invincible in arms and unequalled in wis- 
 dom ; wffio was rapidly reaching that state of sub- 
 lime self-sufficiency which led to the famous saying : 
 “ L’Etat, c’est moi ; ” but who was, nevertheless, 
 more bashful and timid and humble at the feet of 
 the gentle and retiring La Yallifere than if she had 
 been the greatest queen in Christendom. 
 
 Of his favorites La Yallifere was the only one 
 who loved him for himself alone, and she has come 
 down to us as one of the few Frenchwomen who 
 have ever been ashamed of being known as a king’s 
 mistress. Her life is faithfully sketched in these 
 pages, from her first glimpse of the king at Blois, 
 when she gave her heart to him unasked. When 
 the scheme was formed to use her as a cloak for 
 the king’s flirtation with Madame Henriette, “ there 
 was a rumor connecting her name with that of a 
 certain Yicomte de Bragelonne, who had caused her 
 young heart to utter its first sighs in Blois ; but the 
 most malicious gossips spoke of it only as a childish 
 flame, — that is to say, utterly without importance.” 
 
 Mademoiselle de Montalais made herself notori- 
 ous as a go-between in various love affairs, while 
 Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, otherwise Made- 
 moiselle de Rochechouart-Mortemart, clever and 
 beautiful, was destined, as Madame de Montespan, 
 to supplant her modest friend in the affections of 
 their lord and master ; and after a career of unex- 
 ampled brilliancy to be herself supplanted by the 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 viii 
 
 governess of her legitimated children, the widow 
 Scarron, better known as Madame la Marquise de 
 Maintenon. 
 
 “ Une maitresse tonnante et triomphante,” Madame 
 de S6vign£ calls Madame de Montespan. The Mor- 
 temart family was supposed to be of the greatest 
 antiquity and to have the same origin as the English 
 Mortimers. The esprit de Mortemart , or Mortemart 
 wit, was reputed to be an inalienable characteristic 
 of the race. And what of Madame herself, who 
 played a part at the court of France which was 
 almost exactly duplicated forty years later by her 
 granddaughter, the Savoy princess, who became 
 Ducliesse de Bourgogne, and whose untimely death 
 was one of the most severe of the many domestic 
 afflictions which darkened the last years of the old 
 king’s life ? Let us listen for a moment to Robert 
 Louis Stevenson, writing of the “ Yicomte de Brage- 
 lonne ” after his fifth or sixth perusal of it : — 
 
 “ Madame enchants me. I can forgive that royal 
 minx her most serious offences ; I can thrill and 
 soften with the king on that memorable occasion 
 when he goes to upbraid and remains to flirt ; and 
 when it comes to the ‘ Allons, aimez-moi done,’ it is 
 my heart that melts in the bosom of De Guiche.” 
 The mutual passion of De Guiche and Madame 
 lasted all her life, we are told; and yet, alas! it was 
 but short-lived, for Madame’s days were numbered. 
 She died in 1670, after an illness of but a few hours, 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 IX 
 
 regretted by everybody except her husband. There 
 is little doubt that she was poisoned through the 
 instrumentality of the Chevalier de Lorraine, and 
 probably with the connivance of Monsieur, whose 
 favorite he was. The Chevalier was a prodigy of 
 vice, and one of the most unsavory characters of 
 the period. 
 
 The greed and avarice of Mazarin were his most 
 prominent characteristics ; they are illustrated by 
 innumerable anecdotes, one of which may perhaps 
 be repeated here : He had been informed that a 
 pamphlet was about to be put on sale, in which he 
 was shamefully libelled ; he confiscated it, and of 
 course the market price of it at once increased 
 enormously ; whereupon he sold it secretly at an 
 exorbitant figure and allowed it to circulate, pocket- 
 ing a thousand pistoles as his share of the transac- 
 tion. He used to tell of this himself, and laugh 
 heartily over it. His supreme power had endured 
 so long that everybody desired his death, and his 
 contemporaries hardly did justice to the very solid 
 benefits he had procured for France. 
 
 In drawing the characters of Fouquet and Colbert, 
 Dumas has perhaps, as Mr. Stevenson says, shown 
 an inclination to enlist his reader’s sympathies for 
 the former against his own judgment of the equities 
 of the case. 
 
 “ Historic justice,” says the essayist, “ should be 
 all upon the side of Colbert, of official honesty and 
 
X 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 fiscal competence. And Dumas knows it well ; three 
 times at least he shows his knowledge, — once it 
 is but flashed upon us and received with the laughter 
 of Fouquet himself, in the jesting controversy in 
 the gardens of Saint-Mand^ ; once it is touched on 
 by Aramis in the forest of Sdnart; in the end it is 
 set before us clearly in one dignified speech of the 
 triumphant Colbert. But in Fouquet — the master, 
 the lover of good cheer and wit and art, the swift 
 transactor of much business, Vhomme de bruit , 
 rhomme de plaisir , Vhomme qui riest que parceque 
 les autres sont — Dumas saw something of himself 
 and drew the figure the more tenderly; it is to me 
 even touching to see how he insists on Fouquet’s 
 honor.” 
 
 The grand fete at Yaux was the last straw 
 which made the superintendent’s downfall abso- 
 lutely certain. “ If his disgrace had not already 
 been determined upon in the king’s mind, it would 
 have been at Yaux. ... As there was but one sun 
 in heaven, there could be but one king in France.” 
 
 It is interesting to read that the execution of 
 the order for Fouquet’s arrest was entrusted to one 
 D 9 Artagnan, Captain of Musketeers, “a man of 
 action, entirely unconnected with all the cabals, 
 and who, during his thirty-three years’ experience 
 in the Musketeers, had never known anything 
 outside of his orders.” 
 
 Fouquet lived nearly twenty years in prison, 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 XI 
 
 and died in 1680. He has been connected in vari- 
 ous ways with the “Man with the Iron Mask,” 
 some investigators having maintained that he was 
 identical with that individual, and therefore could 
 not have died in 1680; while others have claimed 
 that the Iron Mask was imprisoned at the Chateau 
 of Pignerol while Fouquet was there. The legend 
 of the unfortunate prisoner has given rise to much 
 investigation and to many conjectures. Voltaire 
 bent his energies to solve the mystery, and in our 
 own day M. Marius Topin has gone into the subject 
 most exhaustively, but without reaching a satisfac- 
 tory conclusion as to the identity of the sufferer. 
 The somewhat audacious use made of the legend 
 by Dumas is based upon what was at one time a 
 favorite solution ; namely, that the unknown was a 
 brother of Louis XIV., said by some to have been 
 a twin, and by others to have been some years older 
 and of doubtful paternity. 
 
 It would be an endless task to cite all the por- 
 tions of these volumes in which historical facts are 
 related with substantial accuracy ; in them fact and 
 fiction are so blended that each enhances the charm 
 of the other, — the element of authenticity adding 
 zest and interest to the romantic portions, while the 
 element of romance gives life and color to the 
 narration of facts. 
 
 Our old friends of the earlier tales bear us com- 
 pany nearly to the end ; but for the first time, 
 
xii INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 political interests are allowed to interfere with the 
 perfect confidence that has existed between them : 
 Aramis, as General of the Jesuits, is true to the 
 reputation of the order, and hesitates at no dis- 
 simulation to gain his ambitious ends. Porthos, 
 still blindly faithful to that one of his friends who 
 claims his allegiance, falls at last a victim to his 
 childlike trust in the scheming prelate, and dies 
 the death of a veritable Titan. The magnificent 
 outburst of righteous anger which the Comte de la 
 Fbre visits upon the king is the last expiring gleam 
 of the spirit of the Athos of the Musketeers. 
 Wrapped up in his love for the heart-broken Brage- 
 lonne, he lives only in his life and “dies in his 
 death.” 
 
 And D’Artagnan ? His praises and his requiem 
 have been most fittingly and lovingly sounded by 
 the same graceful writer who has already been 
 quoted, and in the same essay, entitled “Gossip 
 upon a Novel of Dumas,” — 
 
 “ It is in the character of D’Artagnan that we must 
 look for that spirit of morality which is one of the 
 chief merits of the book, makes one of the main joys 
 of its perusal, and sets it high above more popular 
 rivals. . . . He has mellowed into a man so witty, 
 rough, kind, and upright that he takes the heart by 
 storm. There is nothing of the copy-book about his 
 virtues, nothing of the drawing-room in his fine natural 
 civility ; he will sail near the wind ; he is no district 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 XIII 
 
 visitor, no Wesley or Robespierre ; his conscience is 
 void of all refinement, whether for good or evil ; but 
 the whole man rings true like a good sovereign. . . . 
 Here and throughout, if I am to choose virtues for 
 myself or my friends, let me choose the virtues of 
 D’Artagnan. I do not say that there is no character 
 as well drawn in Shakespeare ; I do say there is none 
 that I love so wholly. . . .'No part of the world has 
 ever seemed to me so charming as these pages ; and 
 not even my friends are quite so real, perhaps quite so 
 dear, as D’Artagnan.” 
 
 Of the great closing chapters of the book, in 
 which the friends are at last separated by death, 
 D’Artagnan falling on the battle-field just as he 
 was about to grasp the coveted prize of the baton 
 of a marshal of France, Stevenson says : — 
 
 “I can recall no other work of the imagination in 
 which the end of life is represented with so nice a tact ; 
 . . . and above all, in the last volume, I find a singular 
 charm of spirit. It breathes a pleasant and a tonic 
 sadness, always brave, never hysterical. Upon the 
 crowded, noisy life of this long tale, evening gradually 
 falls, and the lights are extinguished, and the heroes 
 pass away one by one. One by one the} T go, and not a 
 regret embitters their departure. The young succeed 
 them in their places. Louis Quatorze is swelling larger 
 and shining broader ; another generation and another 
 France dawn on the horizon, — but for us and these old 
 men whom we have loved so long, the inevitable end 
 draws near and is welcome. To read this well is to 
 
XIV 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 anticipate experience. Ah ! if only when these hours 
 of the long shadows fall for us in reality and not in 
 figure, we may hope to face them with a mind as quiet. 
 But my paper is running out ; the siege-guns are firing- 
 on the Dutch frontier, and I must say adieu for the 
 fifth time to my old comrade, fallen on the field of 
 gloiy. Adieu, rather cm revoir ! Yet a sixth time, 
 dearest D’Artagnan, we shall kidnap Monk and take 
 horse together for Belle Isle.” 
 
LIST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 Period, 1660-1671. 
 
 Louis XIV., King of France. 
 
 Maria Theresa, his Queen. 
 
 Anne of Austria, the Queen Mother. 
 
 Gaston oe Orleans, uncle of the King. 
 
 Duchesse d’Orleans, 
 
 Philippe, Due d’ Anjou, brother of the King, afterwards Due 
 d’Orleans. 
 
 Henrietta op England, his wife. 
 
 Cardinal Mazarin. 
 
 Bernouin, his valet. 
 
 Brienne, his secretary. 
 
 M. le Due de Beaufort. 
 
 Prince de Conde. 
 
 Chevalier de Lorraine, favorite of Philippe d’Orleans. 
 Comte de Saint-Aignan, attending on the King. 
 Mademoiselle Marie de Mancini, niece of Cardinal Mazarin. 
 Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais, I 
 Mlle. Athenaise de Tonnay-Charente, i ^ ai s ^ 0n01 
 
 afterwards Madame de Montespan, 
 Mademoiselle Louise de la Valliere, J 
 La Molina, Anne of Austria’s Spanish nurse. 
 Duchesse de Chevreuse. 
 
 Madame de Motteville, 
 
 Madame de Navailles, 
 
 Mademoiselle de Chatillon, 
 
 Comtesse de Soissons, 
 
 Mademoiselle Arnoux, 
 
 I Henrietta, Duchesse 
 d’Orleans. 
 
 - ladies of the French Court. 
 
XVI 
 
 LIST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Louise de Keroualle, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth. 
 Marechal Grammont. 
 
 Comte de Guiche, his son, in love with Madame Henrietta. 
 
 M. de Manicamp, friend of the Comte de Guiche. 
 
 M. de Malicorne, in love with Mademoiselle de Montalais. 
 
 M. d’Artagnan, Lieutenant, afterwards Captain, of the King’s 
 Musketeers. 
 
 Comte de la Pere (Athos). 
 
 Raoul, Vicomte de Bragelonne, his son. 
 
 M. d’Herblay, afterwards Bishop of Vannes, General of the 
 Order of Jesuits, and Due d’ Alameda (Aramis). 
 
 Baron du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierreponds (Porthos) 
 Jean Poquelin de Moliere. 
 
 Yicomte de Wardes. 
 
 M. DE VlLLEROY. 
 
 M. de Bouquet, Superintendent of Pinance. 
 
 Madame Pouquet, his wife. 
 
 Messieurs Lyonne and Letellier, Bouquet’s associates in 
 the ministry. 
 
 Marquise de Belliere, in love with Pouquet. 
 
 M. DE LA PONTAINE, 
 
 M. Gourville, 
 
 M. Pellisson, 
 
 M. CoNRART, 
 
 M. Loret, 
 
 L’Abbe Bouquet, brother of the Superintendent. 
 
 M. Vanel, a Councillor of Parliament, afterwards Procureur- 
 General. 
 
 Marguerite Yanel, his wife, a rival of la Marquise de la Belliere. 
 M. de Saint-Remy, maitre-hotel to Gaston of Orleans. 
 Madame de Saint-Remy. 
 
 Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Intendant of Pinance, afterwards Prime 
 Minister. 
 
 Messieurs d’Infreville, Destouches, and Porant, in Col- 
 bert’s service. 
 
 friends of Pouquet. 
 
LIST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 XV il 
 
 Messieurs Breteuil, Marin, and Havard, colleagues of 
 Colbert. 
 
 Messieurs d’Eymeris, Lyodot, and Vanin, Farmers-General 
 M. de Baisemaux de Montlezun, Governor of the Bastille, 
 Seldon, a prisoner at the Bastille. 
 
 No. 3, Bertaudtere, afterwards “ The Iron Mask.” 
 
 M. de Saint-Mars, Governor of He Sainte Marguerite. 
 
 A Franciscan Friar, General of the Order of Jesuits. 
 
 Baron von Wostpur, 
 
 Monseigneur Herrebia, 
 
 Meinheer Bonstett, 
 
 Signor Marini, 
 
 Lord MacCumnor, Jesuits. 
 
 Gris art, a physician. 
 
 Louis Constant de Pressigny, Captain 
 of the King’s Frigate “Pomona.” y 
 M. de Gesvres, Captain of the King’s Guards. 
 
 M. de Biscarrat, an officer of the King’s Guards. 
 
 M. de Friedrich, an officer of the Swiss Guards. 
 
 Messire Jean Perce rin, the King’s tailor. 
 
 M. Valot, the King’s physician. 
 
 Planchet, a confectioner in the Hue des Lombards. 
 
 Madame Gechter, his housekeeper. 
 
 Daddy Celestin, Planchet’ s servant. 
 
 Bazin, servant to M, d’Herblay. 
 
 Grimaud, an old servant of Athos. 
 
 Mousqtjeton, servant of Porthos. 
 
 Blasois, servant to Athos. 
 
 Olivain, servant of Vicomte de Bragelonne. 
 
 Jupenet, a printer, 
 
 Getard, an architect, 
 
 Danicamp, 
 
 Menneville, an adventurer. 
 
 M. Lebrun, painter 
 M. Faucheux, a goldsmith. 
 
 | in the service of Fouquet. 
 
XV111 
 
 LIST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Vatel, Fouquet’s steward. 
 
 Toby, one of Fouquet’s servants. 
 
 Yves, a sailor. 
 
 Keyser, a Dutch fisherman. 
 
 Maitre Cropole, of the hostelry of the Medici at Blois. 
 Pittrino, his assistant. 
 
 Madame Cropole. 
 
 Landlord of the Beau Paon Hotel. 
 
 Superior of the Carmelite Convent at Chaillot. 
 Guenaud, Mazarin’s physician. 
 
 The Theattn Father, The Cardinal’s spiritual director 
 ENGLISH. 
 
 Charles II., King of England. 
 
 Parry, his servant. 
 
 General Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle. 
 
 Digby, his aide-de-camp. 
 
 General Lambert. 
 
 James, Duke of York, brother of Charles II. 
 
 George Yilliers, Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 Lord Rochester. 
 
 Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Miss Mary Grafton. 
 
 Miss Stewart. 
 
 Host of the Stag’s Horn Tavern. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. The Letter . • » 1 
 
 II. The Messenger 12 
 
 III. The Interview 22 
 
 IY. Lather and Son . . 32 
 
 Y. In which something will be said oe Cro- 
 
 POLI, OF CROPOLE, AND OF A GREAT UN- 
 KNOWN Painter . . 39 
 
 YI. The Unknown 47 
 
 VII. Parry 56 
 
 VIII. What his Majesty King Louis XIY. was at 
 
 the Age of Twenty-two 64 
 
 IX. In which the Unknown of the Hostelry 
 
 of the Medici loses his Incognito . . 78 
 
 X. The Arithmetic of M. de Mazarin ... 92 
 
 XI. Mazarin’s Policy 103 
 
 XII. The King and the Lieutenant .... 114 
 
 XIII. Marie de Mancini 121 
 
 XIY. In which the King and the Lieutenant 
 
 EACH GIVE PeOOFS OF MEMORY .... 128 
 
 XY. The Proscribed . 140 
 
XX 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 “ Remember ! ” 
 
 In which Aramis is sought for, and only 
 
 Bazin found 
 
 In which D’Artagnan seeks for Porthos, 
 
 AND ONLY FINDS MOUSQUETON .... 
 
 What D’Artagnan did in Paris . . . 
 
 Of the Society which was formed in 
 the Rue des Lombards, at the Sign 
 OF THE PlLON d’Or, TO CARRY OUT THE 
 
 Idea of M. D’Artagnan ..... 
 In which D’Artagnan prepares to travel 
 for the House of Planciiet and Com 
 
 PANY 
 
 D’Artagnan travels for the House of 
 
 Planciiet and Company 
 
 In which the Author, very unwillingly, 
 is forced to write a little History 
 
 The Treasure 
 
 The March 
 
 Heart and Mind 
 
 The Next Day 
 
 Contraband Goods 
 
 In which D’Artagnan begins to fear he 
 has placed his Money and that of 
 Planciiet in the Sinking Pund . . 
 
 The Shares of Planciiet and Company 
 
 rise again to Par 
 
 Monk reveals Himself ...... 
 
 Atttos and D’Artagnan meet once more 
 at the Hostelry of the Stag’s Horn 
 
 Page 
 
 147 
 
 160 
 
 172 
 
 182 
 
 188 
 
 201 
 
 211 
 
 220 
 
 236 
 
 246 
 
 257 
 
 269 
 
 278 
 
 287 
 
 297 
 
 305 
 
 311 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XXI 
 
 Chapter ' Page 
 
 XXXIII. The Audience 327 
 
 XXXIY. Of the Embarrassment or Riches . . 336 
 
 XXXY. Upon the Canal 344 
 
 XXXYI. How D’Artagnan drew, as a Eairy might 
 have done, a Country-Seat prom a 
 
 Deal Box 355 
 
 XXXYII. How D’Artagnan regulated the “ Pas- 
 sive ” op the Company before he es- 
 tablished its “ Active.” 366 
 
 XXXYIIL In which it is seen that the Erencii 
 Grocer had already been estab- 
 lished in the Seventeenth Century 374 
 
 XXXIX. Mazarin’s Gaming-Party 382 
 
 XL. An Appair op State 388 
 
 XL I. The Recital 395 
 
 XLII. In which Mazarin becomes Prodigal . 402 
 
 XLIII. Guenaud 408 
 
 XLIY. Colbert 413 
 
 XLY. Confession op a Man op Wealth . . . 419 
 
 XLYI. The Donation 426 
 
 XLYII. How Anne op Austria gave one Piece 
 op Advice to Louis XIY., and how 
 M. Bouquet gave him another . . 433 
 
 XLYIII. Agony 444 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 “To me, Musketeers ! ” Vol. I. Frontispiece 
 
 Drawn and etched by E. Van Muj'den. 
 
 Bragelonne, tee Son of Ate os Page 34 
 
 Drawn by Edmund H. Garrett. 
 
 M azarin’s Gaming Party 382 
 
 Drawn by E. Van Muyden. 
 
 His' Greatness, the Bishop of Vannes . . Yol. II. 212 
 
 Drawn by Fdlix Oudart. 
 
 Bragelonne hurls De Wardes oyer the Barrier . 374 
 
 Drawn by E. Van Muyden. 
 
THE 
 
 VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 Towards the middle of the month of May, in the year 
 1660 , at nine o’clock in the morning, when the sun, 
 already high in the heavens, was fast absorbing the dew 
 from the wall-flowers of the castle of Blois, a little caval- 
 cade, composed of three men and two pages, re-entered 
 the city by the bridge, without producing any effect 
 upon the passengers on the quay beyond a first move- 
 ment of the hand to the head as a salute, and a second 
 movement of the tongue to say, in the purest French 
 then spoken in France, “ There is Monsieur returning 
 from hunting ; ” and that was all. 
 
 While, however, the horses were climbing the steep 
 acclivity which leads from the river to the castle, several 
 shop-boys approached the last horse, from whose saddle- 
 bow a number of birds were suspended by the beak. 
 
 On seeing this the inquisitive youths manifested with 
 rustic freedom their contempt for such paltry sport ; and 
 after a dissertation among themselves upon the disad- 
 vantages of hawking, they returned to their occupations. 
 One only of the curious party — a stout, chubby, cheer- 
 ful lad — demanded how it was that Monsieur, who, 
 
 VOL. i. — 1 
 
2 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 from his great revenues, had it in his power to amuse 
 himself so much better, could be satisfied with such mean 
 diversions. 
 
 “Do you not know,” one of the standers-by replied, 
 “ that Monsieur’s principal amusement is to weary him- 
 self?” 
 
 The light-hearted boy shrugged his shoulders with a 
 gesture which said as clear as day, “ In that case I would 
 rather be plain Jack than a prince;” and all resumed 
 their labors. 
 
 In the mean while Monsieur continued his route with 
 an air at once so melancholy and so majestic that he 
 certainly would have attracted the attention of specta- 
 tors, if spectators there had been ; but the good citizens 
 of Blois could not pardon Monsieur for having chosen 
 their gay city for an abode in which to indulge melan- 
 choly at his ease ; and as often as they caught a glimpse 
 of the illustrious ennuye ’, they stole away gaping, or drew 
 back their heads into the interior of their dwellings, to 
 escape the soporific influence of that long, pale face, of 
 those watery eyes and that languid address ; so that 
 the worthy prince was almost certain to find the streets 
 deserted whenever he chanced to pass through them. 
 
 How, on the part of the citizens of Blois this was a 
 culpable piece of disrespect ; for Monsieur was, after the 
 king, — nay, even, perhaps before the king, — the great- 
 est noble of the kingdom. In fact, God, who had granted 
 to Louis XIV., then reigning, the honor of being son of 
 Louis XIII., had granted to Monsieur the honor of being 
 son of Henry IV. It was not, then, or at least it ought 
 not to have been, a trifling source of pride for the city of 
 Blois, that Gaston of Orleans had chosen it as his resi- 
 dence, and held his court in the ancient Castle of the 
 States. 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 3 
 
 But it was the destiny of this great prince to excite 
 the attention and admiration of the public in a very 
 modified degree wherever he might be. Monsieur had 
 fallen into this situation by habit. 
 
 It was not, perhaps, this which gave him that air of 
 listlessness. Monsieur had been tolerably busy in the 
 course of his life. A man cannot allow the heads of a 
 dozen of his best friends to be cut off without feeling 
 a little excitement ; and as since the accession of Mazarin 
 to power no heads had been cut off, Monsieur’s occupation 
 was gone, and his morale suffered from it. 
 
 The life of the poor prince was, then, very dull. After 
 his little morning hawking-party on the banks of the 
 Beuvron or in the woods of Chiverny, Monsieur crossed 
 the Loire, went to breakfast at Chambord, with or 
 without an appetite, and the city of Blois heard no 
 more of its sovereign lord and master till the next 
 hawking-day. 
 
 So much for the ennui extra muros ; of the ennui of the 
 interior we will give the reader an idea if he will with us 
 follow the cavalcade to the majestic porch of the Castle of 
 the States. 
 
 Monsieur rode a little steady-paced horse, equipped 
 with a large saddle of red Flemish velvet, with stirrups 
 in the shape of buskins ; the horse was of a bay color ; 
 Monsieur’s doublet of crimson velvet blended with the 
 cloak of the same shade and the horse’s equipment ; and 
 it was only by this red appearance of the whole that the 
 prince could be known from his two companions, the 
 one dressed in violet, the other in green. He on the left, 
 in violet, was his equerry; he on the right, in green, was 
 the master of the hounds. 
 
 One of the pages carried two gerfalcons upon a perch ; 
 the other, a hunting-horn, which he blew with a careless 
 
4 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 note at twenty paces from the castle. Every one about 
 this listless prince did what he had to do listlessly. 
 
 At this signal, eight guards, who were lounging in the 
 sun in the square court, ran to their halberds, and Mon- 
 sieur made his solemn entry into the castle. 
 
 When he had disappeared under the shades of the 
 porch, three or four idlers, who had followed the cavalcade 
 to the castle, after pointing out the suspended birds to 
 each other, dispersed with comments upon what they saw ; 
 and when they were gone, the street, the place, and the 
 court, all remained deserted alike. 
 
 Monsieur dismounted without speaking a word, went 
 straight to his apartments, where his valet changed his 
 dress, and, as Madame had not yet sent orders respect- 
 ing breakfast, stretched himself upon a lounge, and was 
 soon as fast asleep as if it had been eleven o’clock at 
 night. 
 
 The eight guards, who concluded their service for the 
 day was over, laid themselves down very comfortably in 
 the sun upon some stone benches ; the grooms disap- 
 peared with their horses into the stables ; and, with the 
 exception of a few joyous birds, startling each other with 
 their sharp chirping in the tufts of gilliflowers, it might 
 have been thought that the whole castle was as soundly 
 asleep as Monsieur was. 
 
 All at once, in the midst of this delicious silence, there 
 resounded a clear, ringing laugh, which caused several of 
 the halberdiers in the enjoyment of their siesta to open 
 at least one eye. 
 
 This burst of laughter proceeded from a window of 
 the castle, visited at this moment by the sun, which sur- 
 rounded it with light in one of those large angles which 
 the profiles of the chimneys mark out upon the walls 
 before midday. 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 5 
 
 The little balcony of wrought-iron which projected in 
 front of this window was furnished with a pot of red gilli- 
 flowers, another pot of primroses, and an early rose-tree, 
 the foliage of which, beautifully green, was variegated 
 with numerous red specks announcing future roses. 
 
 In the chamber lighted by this window was a square 
 table covered with an old large-flowered Haarlem tapestry ; 
 in the centre of this table was a long-necked stone bottle, 
 in which were irises and lilies of .the valley; at each end 
 of this table was a young girl. 
 
 The position of these two young persons was singular ; 
 they might have been taken for two boarders escaped 
 from a convent. One of them, with both elbows on the 
 table, and a pen in her hand, was tracing characters 
 upon a sheet of fine Dutch paper ; the other, kneeling 
 upon a chair, which enabled her to advance her head 
 and bust over the back of it to the middle of the table, 
 was watching her companion as she wrote. 
 
 Thence the thousand cries, the thousand railleries, the 
 thousand laughs, one of which, more brilliant than the 
 rest, had startled the birds from the wall-flowers, and 
 disturbed the slumbers of Monsieur’s guards. 
 
 We are taking portraits now ; we shall be allowed, 
 therefore, we hope, to sketch the last two of this 
 chapter. 
 
 The one who was kneeling in the chair — that is to say, 
 the joyous, the laughing one — was a beautiful girl of 
 from nineteen to tw T enty years, with brown complexion 
 and brown hair, with eyes which sparkled beneath strongly 
 marked brows, and teeth which seemed to shine like 
 pearls between her red coral lips. Her every movement 
 seemed the result of a springing mine ; she did not live, 
 she bounded. 
 
 The other — she who was writing — looked at her tur* 
 
6 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 bulent companion with an eye as limpid, as pure, and as 
 blue as the heaven of that day. Her hair, of a shaded 
 fairness, arranged with exquisite taste, fell in silky curls 
 over her lovely mantling cheeks ; she moved along the 
 paper a delicate hand, whose thinness announced her ex- 
 treme youth. At each burst of laughter that proceeded from 
 her friend she raised, as if annoyed, her white shoulders, 
 which were of refined and pleasing form, but wanting in 
 strength and fulness, as were also her arms and hands. 
 
 “ Montalais ! Montalais ! ” said she at length, in a 
 voice soft and caressing as a melody, “you laugh too 
 loud; you laugh like a man. You will not only draw 
 the attention of messieurs the guards, but you will not 
 hear Madame’s bell when Madame rings.” 
 
 This admonition did not make the young girl called 
 Montalais cease either to laugh or to gesticulate. She 
 only replied : “ Louise, you do not speak as you think, 
 my dear ; you know that messieurs the guards, as you 
 call them, have only just begun their sleep, and that 
 a cannon would not waken them ; you know that Ma- 
 dame’s bell can be heard at the bridge of Blois, and 
 that consequently I shall hear it when my services are 
 required by Madame. What annoys you, my child, is 
 that I laugh while you are w T riting ; and what you are 
 afraid of is that Madame de Saint-Remy, your mother, 
 will come up here, as she does sometimes when we 
 laugh too loud ; that she will surprise us, and that 
 she will see that enormous sheet of paper upon which, 
 in a quarter of an hour, you have only traced the words 
 4 Monsieur Raoul.’ Now, you are right, my dear Louise, 
 because after these words, ‘ Monsieur Raoul/ others may 
 be put so significant and so incendiary as to cause Ma- 
 dame de Saint-Remy to burst out into fire and flames. 
 Ah ! is not that true now ? — say.” 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 7 
 
 And Montalais redoubled her laughter and noisy 
 provocations. 
 
 The fair girl at length became quite angry ; she tore 
 the sheet of paper on which, in fact, the words “ Mon- 
 sieur Raoul ” were written in good characters, and 
 crushing the paper in her trembling hands, threw it out 
 of the window. 
 
 “ There, there ! ” said Mademoiselle de Montalais ; 
 “ there is our little lamb, our gentle dove, angry ! Don’t 
 be afraid, Louise ! Madame de s Saint-Remy will not 
 come ; and if she should, you know I have a quick ear. 
 Besides, what can be more permissible than to write to 
 an old friend of twelve years’ standing, particularly when 
 the letter begins with the words 4 Monsieur Raoul’ 1” 
 
 “ It is all very well ; I will not write to him at all,” 
 said the young girl. 
 
 “ Ah ! ah ! in good sooth, Montalais is properly pun- 
 ished,” cried the jeering brunette, still laughing. “ Come, 
 come, let us try another sheet of paper, and finish our 
 despatch off-hand. Good ! there is the bell ringing 
 now. By my faith, so much the worse ! Madame must 
 wait, or else do without her first maid of honor this 
 morning.” 
 
 A bell, in fact, did ring ; it announced that Madame 
 had finished her toilette, and waited for Monsieur to 
 give her his hand and conduct her from the salon to 
 the refectory. 
 
 This formality being accomplished with great cere- 
 mony, the husband and wife breakfasted, and then sepa- 
 rated till the hour of dinner, invariably fixed at two 
 o’clock. 
 
 The sound of this bell caused a door to be opened in 
 the offices on the left hand of the court, from which filed 
 two maitres d’hotel , followed by eight scullions bearing a 
 
8 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 kind of hand-barrow loaded with dishes under silver 
 covers. 
 
 One of the maitres d’hotel , the first in rank, touched 
 one of the guards, who was snoring on his bench, slightly 
 with his wand ; he even carried his kindness so far as to 
 place the halberd which stood against the wall in the 
 hands of the man, stupid with sleep ; after which the 
 soldier, without explanation, escorted the viande of Mon- 
 sieur to the refectory, preceded by a page and the two 
 maitres d' hotel. 
 
 Wherever the viande passed, the sentinels presented arms. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Montalais and her companion had 
 watched from their window the details of this ceremony, 
 to which, nevertheless, they must have been pretty well 
 accustomed. But they did not look so much from curi- 
 osity as to be assured that they should not be disturbed. 
 So, guards, scullions, maitres <P hotel, and pages having 
 passed, they resumed their places at the table ; and the 
 sun, which through the window-frame had for an in- 
 stant fallen upon those two charming countenances, now 
 shed its light only upon the gilliflowers, primroses, and 
 rose-tree. 
 
 “ Bah ! ” said Mademoiselle de Montalais, taking her 
 place again ; “ Madame will breakfast very well with- 
 out me.” 
 
 “ Oh, Montalais, you will be punished ! ” replied the 
 other girl, sitting down quietly in hers. 
 
 “ Punished, indeed ! — that is to say, deprived of a ride ! 
 That is just the way in which I wish to be punished. 
 To go out in the grand coach perched upon a doorstep ; 
 to turn to the left, twist round to the right, over roads 
 full of ruts, where we cannot exceed a league in two 
 hours ; and then to come back straight towards the wing 
 of the castle in which is the window of Marie de Medicis, 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 9 
 
 so that Madame never fails to say, ‘ Could one believe 
 it possible that Queen Marie should have escaped from 
 that window ? — forty-seven feet high ! The mother and 
 two princes and three princesses ! ’ If you call that re- 
 laxation, Louise, all I ask is to be punished every day, 
 particularly when my punishment is to remain with you 
 and write such interesting letters as we write ! ” 
 
 “ Montalais ! Montalais ! there are duties to be per- 
 formed.” 
 
 “ You talk of them very much at your ease, my little 
 heart ! — you, who are left quite free amidst this tedious 
 court. You are the only person that reaps the advantages 
 of them without incurring the trouble, — you, who are 
 really more one of Madame’s maids of honor than I am, be- 
 cause Madame makes her affection for your father-in-law 
 glance off upon you ; so that you enter this dull house as 
 the birds fly into yonder court, inhaling the air, pecking 
 the flowers, picking up the grain, without having the least 
 service to perform or the least annoyance to undergo. 
 And you talk to me of duties to be performed ! In sooth, 
 my pretty idler, what are your own proper duties, unless 
 to write to the handsome Raoul? And even that you 
 don’t do ; so that it looks to me as if you likewise were 
 rather negligent of your duties ! ” 
 
 Louise assumed a serious air, leaned her chin upon her 
 hand, and said, in a tone full of candid remonstrance: “ And 
 do you reproach me with my good fortune ? Can you have 
 the heart to do it ? You have a future ; you belong to 
 the court ; the king, if he should marry, will require Mon- 
 sieur to be near his person ; you will see splendid fetes ; 
 you will see the king, who they say is so handsome, so 
 agreeable ! ” 
 
 “Ay, and still more, I shall see Raoul, who attends 
 upon Monsieur the Prince,” added Montalais, maliciously. 
 
10 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Poor Raoul ! ” sighed Louise. 
 
 “ Now is the time to write to him, my pretty dear ! 
 Come, begin again with that famous ‘ Monsieur Raoul 9 
 which figures at the top of the poor torn sheet.” 
 
 She then held the pen towards her, and with a charm- 
 ing smile encouraged her hand, which quickly traced the 
 words she named. 
 
 “ What next? ” asked the younger of the two girls. 
 
 “Why, now write what you think, Louise,” replied 
 Montalais. 
 
 “Are you quite sure I think of any thing ?” 
 
 “ You think of somebody, and that amounts to the 
 same thing, or rather even worse.” 
 
 “Do you think so, Montalais?” 
 
 “ Louise, Louise, your blue eyes are as deep as the sea 
 I saw at Boulogne last year! No, no, I mistake — the 
 sea is perfidious : your eyes are as deep as the azure 
 yonder — look ! — over our heads ! ” 
 
 “ Well, since you can read so well in my eyes, tell me 
 what I am thinking about, Montalais.” 
 
 “ In the first place, you don’t think ‘ Monsieur Raoul ; 5 
 you think 4 My dear Raoul.’ ” 
 
 “Oh — ” 
 
 “Never blush for such a trifle as that! ‘My dear 
 Raoul,’ we will say, ‘ you implore me to write to you 
 at Paris, where you are detained by your attendance 
 on Monsieur the Prince. As you must be very dull there 
 to seek for amusement in the remembrance of a country- 
 girl — ’ ” 
 
 Louise rose up suddenly. “ No, Montalais,” said she, 
 with a smile ; “ I don’t think a word of that. Look, this 
 is what I think ; ” and she seized the pen boldly, and 
 traced, with a firm hand, the following words : “ I should 
 have been very unhappy if your entreaties to obtain a 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 11 
 
 remembrance of me had been less warm. Everything 
 here reminds me of our early days, which so quickly 
 passed away, which so delightfully flew by, that no others 
 will ever replace the charm of them in my heart.” 
 
 Montalais, who watched the flying pen, and read, the 
 wrong way upward, as fast as her friend wrote, here 
 interrupted by clapping her hands. “ Capital ! ” cried 
 she ; “ there is frankness, there is heart, there is style ! 
 Show these Parisians, my dear, that Blois is the city for 
 fine language ! ” 
 
 “ He knows very well that Blois was a Paradise to 
 me,” replied the girl. 
 
 “ That is exactly what I mean to say ; and you speak 
 like an angel.” 
 
 “ I will finish, Montalais ; ” and she continued as follows ; 
 “You often think of me, you say, M. Raoul. I thank 
 you ; but that does not surprise me, when I recollect how 
 often our hearts have beaten close to each other.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said Montalais. “ Beware, my lamb ! You 
 are scattering your wool, and there are wolves about.” 
 Louise was about to reply, when the gallop of a horse 
 resounded under the porch of the castle. 
 
 “ What is that % v said Montalais, approaching the 
 windows “ A handsome cavalier, by my faith ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! — Raoul ! ” exclaimed Louise, who had made 
 the same movement as her friend, and, becoming pale as 
 death, sank back beside her unfinished letter. 
 
 “ Now, he is a clever lover, upon my word ! ” cried 
 Montalais; “he arrives just at the proper moment.” 
 
 “ Come away, come away, I implore you ! ” murmured 
 Louise. 
 
 “ Bah ! he does not know me. Let me see w T hat he 
 has come here for.” 
 
12 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MESSENGER. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Montalais was right ; the young cav* 
 alier was goodly to look upon. 
 
 He was a young man of from twenty-four to twenty- 
 five years of age, tall and slender, wearing gracefully the 
 picturesque military costume of the period. His funnel- 
 shaped boots contained a foot which Mademoiselle de 
 Montalais might not have disowned if she had been dis- 
 guised as a man. With one of his delicate but nervous 
 hands he checked his horse in the middle of the court, 
 and with the other raised his hat, whose long plumes 
 shaded his at once serious and ingenuous countenance. 
 
 The guards, roused by the steps of the horse, awoke, 
 and were on foot in a minute. The young man waited 
 till one of them was close to his saddle-bow ; then, stoop- 
 ing towards him, in a clear, distinct voice, which was 
 perfectly audible at the window where the two girls 
 w T ere concealed, “ A messenger for his royal Highness,” 
 he said. 
 
 “ Ah, ah ! ” cried the soldier. “ Officer, a messenger ! ” 
 
 But this brave guard knew very well that no officer 
 would appear, seeing that the only one who could have 
 appeared dwelt at the other side of the castle, in an ap- 
 partement looking into the gardens. So he hastened to 
 add : “ The officer, Monsieur, is on his rounds ; but in 
 his absence, M. de Saint-Remy, the maitre d } hotel, shall 
 be informed.” 
 
THE MESSENGER. 
 
 13 
 
 “M. de Saint-Remy ] ” repeated the cavalier, slightly 
 blushing. 
 
 “ Do you know him 1 ” 
 
 “ Why, yes ; but request him, if you please, that my 
 visit be announced to his royal Highness as soon as 
 possible.” 
 
 “ It appears to be pressing,” said the guard, as if 
 speaking to himself, but really in the hope of obtaining 
 an answer. 
 
 The messenger made an affirmative sign with his head. 
 
 “ In that case,” said the guard, “ I will go and seek 
 the maitre d’ hotel myself.” 
 
 The young man, in the mean time, dismounted ; and 
 while the others observed with curiosity every movement 
 of the fine horse the cavalier rode, the soldier returned. 
 
 “Your pardon, young gentleman; but your name, if 
 you please ? ” 
 
 “The Yicomte de Bragelonne, on the part of his High- 
 ness M. le Prince de Conde.” 
 
 The soldier made a profound bow, and, as if the name 
 of the conqueror of Rocroy and Lens had given him 
 wings, stepped lightly up the steps leading to the 
 antechamber. 
 
 M. de Bragelonne had not had time to fasten his horse 
 to the iron bars of the railing, when M. de Saint-Remy 
 came running, out of breath, supporting his capacious 
 stomach with one hand, while with the other he cut the 
 air as a fisherman cleaves the waves with his oar. 
 
 “ Ah, Monsieur the Viscount ! You at Blois ! ” cried he. 
 “ Well, that is a wonder ! Good-day to you, — good-day, 
 M. Raoul.” 
 
 “ I offer you a thousand respects, M. de Saint-Remy.” 
 
 “ How Madame de la Vail — I mean, how delighted 
 Madame de Saint-Remy will be to see you ! But come in. 
 
14 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 His royal Highness is at breakfast. Must he be inter- 
 rupted h Is the matter serious ? ” 
 
 “ Yes and no, M. de Saint-Remy. A moment’s 
 delay, however, would be disagreeable to his royal 
 Highness.’’ 
 
 “ If that is the case, we will force the guard, Monsieur 
 the Viscount. Come in. Besides, Monsieur is in an excel- 
 lent humor to-day. And then, you bring news, do you 
 notr 
 
 “ Great news, M. de Saint-Remy.” 
 
 “ And good, I presume ? ” 
 
 “ Excellent.” 
 
 “ Come quickly, come quickly, then ! ” cried the worthy 
 man, putting his dress to rights as he went along. 
 
 Raoul followed him, hat in hand, and a little discon- 
 certed at the noise made by his spurs in these immense 
 halls. 
 
 As soon as he had disappeared in the interior of the 
 palace, the window of the court was repeopled, and an 
 animated whispering betrayed the emotion of the two 
 girls. They soon appeared to have formed a resolution, 
 for one of the two faces disappeared from the window. 
 This was the brunette ; the other remained behind the 
 balcony, concealed by the flowers, watching attentively 
 through the branches the flight of steps by which M. de 
 Bragelonne had entered the castle. 
 
 In the mean time the object of so much curiosity con- 
 tinued on his way, following the steps of the maitre d’ hotel. 
 The noise of quick steps, an odor of wine and viands, a 
 clinking of crystals and plates, warned him that he was 
 coming to the end of his course. 
 
 The pages, valets, and officers, assembled in the offices 
 adjoining the refectory, welcomed the new-comer with 
 the proverbial politeness of the country. Some of them 
 
THE MESSENGER. 
 
 15 
 
 were acquainted with Raoul, and nearly all knew that he 
 came from Paris. It might be said that his arrival for a 
 moment suspended the service. In fact, a page who was 
 pouring out wine for his royal Highness, on hearing the 
 jingling of spurs in the next chamber, turned round like 
 a child, without perceiving that he was continuing to 
 pour out, not into the glass, but upon the table-cloth. 
 
 Madame, who was not so preoccupied as her glorious 
 spouse, remarked this distraction of the page. 66 Well ! ” 
 exclaimed she. 
 
 “ Well ! ” repeated Monsieur ; “ what is going on 
 
 then ? ” 
 
 M. de Saint-Remy, whose head had just entered the 
 doorway, took advantage of the moment. 
 
 “ Why am I to be disturbed h 99 said Gaston, helping 
 himself to a thick slice of one of the largest salmon that 
 had ever ascended the Loire to be captured between 
 Painboeuf and St. Nazaire. 
 
 “ There is a messenger from Paris. Oh ! but after 
 Monseigneur has breakfasted will do ; there is plenty of 
 time.” 
 
 “ From Paris ! ” cried the prince, letting his fork fall. 
 “ A messenger from Paris, do you say ^ And on whose 
 part does this messenger come ? ” 
 
 “ On the part of Monsieur the Prince,” said the maitre 
 d’ hotel, promptly. 
 
 Every one knows that the Prince de Conde was so 
 called. 
 
 “ A messenger from Monsieur the Prince ! ” said Gas- 
 ton, with an inquietude that escaped none of the assist- 
 ants, and consequently redoubled the general curiosity. 
 
 Monsieur, perhaps, fancied himself brought back again 
 to the happy times when the opening of a door gave him 
 emotion, when every letter might contain a State secret, 
 
16 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 when every message was connected with a dark and com- 
 plicated intrigue. Perhaps, likewise, that great name of 
 Monsieur the Prince expanded itself, beneath the roofs of 
 Blois, into the proportions of a phantom. 
 
 Monsieur pushed away his plate. 
 
 “ Shall I tell the envoy to wait ? ” asked M. de Saint- 
 Remy. 
 
 A glance from Madame emboldened Gaston, who re- 
 plied : “ No, no; let him come in at once, on the con- 
 trary. By the way, who is he % ” 
 
 “ A gentleman of this country, M. le Vicomte de 
 Bragelonne.” 
 
 “ Ah, very well ! Introduce him, Saint-Remy, — intro- 
 duce him.” 
 
 And when he had let fall these words with his accus- 
 tomed gravity, Monsieur turned his eyes, in a certain 
 manner, upon the people of his suite ; so that all — pages, 
 officers, and equerries — quitted the table-linen, knives, 
 and goblets, and made a retreat towards the second cham- 
 ber as rapid as it was disorderly. 
 
 This little army had dispersed in two files when Raoul 
 de Bragelonne, preceded by M. de Saint-Remy, entered 
 the refectory. 
 
 The short moment of solitude which this retreat had 
 left him, afforded Monsieur time to assume a diplomatic 
 countenance. He did not turn round, but waited till 
 the maitre d'hotel should bring the messenger face to face 
 with him. 
 
 Raoul stopped even with the lower end of the table, so 
 as to be exactly between Monsieur and Madame. From 
 this place he made a profound bow to Monsieur, and a 
 very humble one to Madame ; then, drawing himself 
 up into military pose , he waited for Monsieur to address 
 him. 
 
THE MESSENGER. 
 
 17 
 
 On his part the prince waited till the doors were her- 
 metically closed. He would not turn round to ascertain 
 the fact, as that would have been derogatory to his dig- 
 nity ; but he listened with all his ears for the noise of the 
 lock, which would promise him at least an appearance of 
 secrecy. 
 
 The doors being closed, Monsieur raised his eyes 
 towards the viscount, and said, “ It appears that you 
 come from Paris, Monsieur $ ” 
 
 “ This minute, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ How is the king 1 ” 
 
 “ His Majesty is in perfect health, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ And my sister-in-law t ” 
 
 “ Her Majesty the queen-mother still suffers from the 
 complaint in her lungs, but for the last month she has 
 been rather better.” 
 
 “ Somebody told me you came on the part of Monsieur 
 the Prince. They must have been mistaken, surely 1 ” 
 
 “ No, Monseigneur ; Monsieur the Prince has charged 
 me to convey this letter to your royal Highness, and I 
 am to wait for an answer to it.” 
 
 Raoul had been a little annoyed by this cold and cau- 
 tious reception, and his voice insensibly sank to a low key. 
 
 The prince forgot that he was the cause of this mys- 
 tery, and his fears returned. 
 
 He received the letter from the Prince de Conde with 
 a haggard look, unsealed it as he would have unsealed a 
 suspicious packet, and, in order to read it so that no one 
 should remark the effects of it upon his countenance, 
 turned round. 
 
 Madame followed, with an anxiety almost equal to that 
 of the prince, every manoeuvre of her august husband. 
 
 Raoul, impassible, and a little disengaged by the pre- 
 occupation of his hosts, looked from his place through 
 VOL. i. — 2 
 
18 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 the open window at the gardens and the statues which 
 peopled them. 
 
 “ Well ! ” cried Monsieur, all at once, with a cheerful 
 imile; “here is an agreeable surprise, and a charming 
 letter from Monsieur the Prince. Look, Madame ! ” 
 
 The table was too large to allow the arm of the prince 
 to reach the hand of Madame. Eaoul sprang forward to 
 be their intermediary, and did it with so good a grace as 
 to procure a flattering acknowledgment from the princess. 
 
 “You know the contents of this letter, no doubt V 
 said Gaston to Eaoul. 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur ; Monsieur the Prince at first gave 
 me the message verbally, but upon reflection his Highness 
 took up his pen.” 
 
 “ It is beautiful writing,” said Madame, “ but I cannot 
 read it.” 
 
 “ Will you read it to Madame, M. de Bragelonne h ” 
 said the duke. 
 
 “ Yes ; read it, if you please, Monsieur.” 
 
 Eaoul began to read, Monsieur giving again all his 
 attention. The letter was couched in these terms : — 
 
 “ Monseigneur, — The king is about to set out for the 
 frontier. You are aware that the marriage of his Majesty 
 is decided upon. The king has done me the honor to ap- 
 point me his quartermaster for this journey; and as I know 
 with what joy his Majesty would pass a day at Blois, I ven- 
 ture to ask your royal Highness’s permission to mark with 
 my chalk the house you inhabit. If, however, the sudden- 
 ness of this request should occasion your royal Highness any 
 embarrassment, I entreat you to say so by the messenger I 
 send, — a gentleman of my suite, M. le Yicomte de Brage- 
 lonne. My itinerary will depend upon your royal Highness’s 
 determination, and, instead of passing through Blois, we shall 
 come through Vendome and Romorantin. I venture to hope 
 
THE MESSENGER. 
 
 19 
 
 that your royal Highness will receive my request kindly, — 
 it being the expression of my boundless devotion, and desire 
 to make myself agreeable to you.” 
 
 “ Nothing can be more gracious towards us,” said 
 Madame, who had more than once consulted her husband’s 
 expression during the reading of the letter. “ The king 
 here ! ” exclaimed she, in a rather louder tone than would 
 have been necessary to preserve secrecy. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said his royal Highness in his turn, “you 
 will offer my thanks to M. le Prince de Conde, and ex- 
 press to him my gratitude for the pleasure he has done 
 me.” Raoul bowed. 
 
 “ On what day will his Majesty arrive ? ” continued 
 the prince. 
 
 “The king, Monseigneur, will, in all probability, arrive 
 this evening.” 
 
 “But how, then, could he have known my reply if it 
 had been in the negative % ” 
 
 “ I was desired, Monseigneur, to return in all haste to 
 Beaugency, to give counter-orders to the courier, who 
 was himself to go back immediately with counter-orders 
 to Monsieur the Prince.” 
 
 “ His Majesty is at Orleans, then ? ” 
 
 “ Much nearer, Monseigneur ; his Majesty must by this 
 time have arrived at Meung.” 
 
 “ Does the court accompany him ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ Apropos , I forgot to ask you after Monsieur the 
 Cardinal.” 
 
 “ His Eminence appears to enjoy good health, Mon- 
 seigneur.” 
 
 “His nieces accompany him, no doubt?” 
 
 “No, Monseigneur; his Eminence has ordered the 
 
20 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Mesdemoiselles de Mancini to set out for Brouage. They 
 will follow the left bank of the Loire, while the court will 
 come by the right.” 
 
 “ What ! Mademoiselle Marie de Mancini quit the 
 court in that manner % ” asked Monsieur, his reserve be- 
 ginning to diminish. 
 
 “ Mademoiselle Marie de Mancini in particular,” replied 
 Raoul, discreetly. 
 
 A fugitive smile, an imperceptible vestige of his ancient 
 spirit of intrigue, shot across the pale face of the prince. 
 
 “ Thanks, M. de Bragelonne,” then said Monsieur. 
 “ You would, perhaps, not be willing to render Monsieur 
 the Prince the commission with which I would charge you, 
 and that is, that his messenger has been very agreeable 
 to me ; but I will tell him so myself.” 
 
 Raoul bowed his thanks to Monsieur for the honor he 
 had done him. 
 
 Monsieur made a sign to Madame, who struck a bell 
 which was placed at her right hand ; M. de Saint-Remy 
 entered, and the room was soon filled with people. 
 
 “ Messieurs,” said the prince, “ his Majesty is about to 
 pay me the honor of passing a day at Blois ; I depend 
 upon the king, my nephew, not having to repent of the 
 favor he does my house.” 
 
 “Vive le Roi ! ” cried all the officers of the household, 
 with frantic enthusiasm, and M. de Saint-Remy louder 
 than the rest. 
 
 Gaston hung down his head with evident chagrin. He 
 had all his life been obliged to hear, or rather to undergo 
 this cry of “ Vive le Roi ! ” which passed over him. For 
 a long time, being unaccustomed to hear it, his ear had 
 had rest ; and now a younger, more vivacious, and more 
 brilliant royalty rose up before him, like a new and a 
 more painful annoyance. 
 
THE MESSENGER. 
 
 21 
 
 Madame perfectly understood the sufferings of that 
 timid, gloomy heart. She rose from the table ; Monsieur 
 imitated her mechanically ; and all the domestics, with a 
 buzzing like that of several beehives, surrounded Raoul 
 for the purpose of questioning him. 
 
 Madame saw this movement, and called M. de Saint- 
 Remy. “ This is not the time for gossiping, but for work- 
 ing,” said she, with the tone of an angry housekeeper. 
 
 M. de Saint-Remy hastened to bi;eak the circle formed 
 by the officers round Raoul, so that the latter was able 
 to gain the antechamber. 
 
 “ Care will be taken of that gentleman, I hope,” added 
 Madame, addressing M. de Saint-Remy. 
 
 The worthy man immediately hastened after Raoul. 
 “Madame desires refreshment to be offered to you,” 
 said he ; “ and there is, besides, a lodging for you in the 
 castle.” 
 
 “ Thanks, M. de Saint-Remy,” replied Raoul ; “ but you 
 know how anxious I must be to pay my duty to Monsieur 
 the Count, my father.” 
 
 “ That is true, that is true, M. Raoul ; present him, at 
 the same time, my humble respects, if you please.” 
 
 Raoul thus once more got rid of the old gentleman, 
 and pursued his way. As he was passing under the 
 porch, leading his horse by the bridle, a soft voice called 
 him from the depths of an obscure path. 
 
 “M. Raoul ! ” said the voice. 
 
 The young man turned round surprised, and saw a 
 dark-complexioned girl, who with a finger on her lip held 
 out her other hand to him. This girl was perfectly 
 unknown to him. 
 
22 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 Eaoul made one step towards the girl who thus called 
 him. 
 
 “But my horse, Madame V 9 said he. 
 
 “ Oh ! you are terribly embarrassed ! Go out that way, 
 — there is a shed in the outer court; fasten your horse, 
 and return quickly.” 
 
 “I obey, Madame.” 
 
 Eaoul was not four minutes in performing what he had 
 been directed to do ; he returned to the little door, where, 
 in darkness, he found his mysterious conductress waiting 
 for him on the first steps of a winding staircase. 
 
 “Are you brave enough to follow me, Monsieur knight- 
 errant % 99 asked the girl, laughing at the momentary hesi- 
 tation Eaoul had manifested. 
 
 The latter replied by springing up the dark staircase 
 after her. They thus climbed up three stories, he behind 
 her, touching with his hands, w T hen he felt for the balus- 
 ter, a silk dress which rubbed against each side of the 
 staircase. At every false step made by Eaoul, his con- 
 ductress cried, “ Hush ! ” and held out to him a soft and 
 perfumed hand. 
 
 “ One would mount thus to the donjon of the castle 
 without being conscious of fatigue,” said Eaoul. 
 
 “All which means, Monsieur, that you are very much 
 perplexed, very tired, and very uneasy. But be of good 
 cheer, Monsieur ; here we are.” 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 23 
 
 The girl threw open a door, which immediately, with- 
 out any transition, filled with a flood of light the landing 
 of the staircase, at the top of which Raoul appeared, 
 holding fast by the balustrade. 
 
 The girl walked on ; he followed her. She entered a 
 chamber ; he did the same. 
 
 As soon as he was fairly in the net he heard a loud 
 cry, and turning round saw at two paces from him, with 
 her hands clasped and her eyes closed, that beautiful fair 
 girl with blue eyes and white shoulders, who recognizing 
 him had called him Raoul. 
 
 He saw her, and divined at once so much love and so 
 much joy in the expression of her countenance, that he 
 sank on his knees in the middle of the chamber, murmur- 
 ing, on his part, the name of Louise. 
 
 “ Ah ! Montalais ! Montalais ! ” sighed she, “ it is very 
 wicked to deceive one so.” 
 
 “ Who ? I ] I have deceived you ] ” 
 
 “Yes; you told me you would go down to inquire the 
 news, and you have brought up Monsieur.” 
 
 “Well, I was obliged to do so; how else could he have 
 received the letter you wrote him ? ” 
 
 And she pointed with her finger to the letter which 
 was still upon the table. Raoul made a step to take it. 
 Louise, more rapid, although she had sprung forward 
 with a very noticeable, graceful hesitation, reached out 
 her hand to stop him. Raoul came in contact with that 
 warm and trembling hand, took it within his own, and 
 carried it so respectfully to his lips that he might be said 
 to have deposited a sigh upon it rather than a kiss. 
 
 In the mean time Mademoiselle de Montalais had taken 
 the letter, folded it carefully, as women do, in three folds, 
 and slipped it into her bosom. 
 
 “ Don’t be afraid, Louise,” said she ; “ Monsieur will 
 
24 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 no more venture to take it hence than the defunct king 
 Louis XIII. ventured to take billets from the corsage of 
 Mademoiselle de Hautefort.” 
 
 Raoul blushed at seeing the smile of the two girls ; 
 and he did not remark that the hand of Louise remained 
 in his. 
 
 “There !” said Montalais, “you have pardoned me, 
 Louise, for having brought Monsieur to you ; and you, 
 Monsieur, bear me no malice for having followed me to 
 see Mademoiselle. Now then, peace being made, let us 
 chat like old friends. Present me, Louise, to M. de 
 Bragelonne.” 
 
 “Monsieur the Viscount,” said Louise, with her quiet 
 grace and ingenuous smile, “ I have the honor to present 
 to you Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais, maid of honor to 
 her royal Highness Madame, and moreover my friend, — 
 my excellent friend.” 
 
 Raoul bowed ceremoniously. 
 
 “ And me, Louise,” said he, — “ will you not present me 
 also to Mademoiselle ] ” 
 
 “ Oh, she knows you ; she knows all ! ” 
 
 This unguarded expression made Montalais laugh and 
 Raoul sigh with happiness, for he interpreted it thus : 
 “ She knows all our love.” 
 
 “ The ceremonies being over, Monsieur the Viscount,” 
 said Montalais, “ take a chair, and tell us quickly the 
 news you bring flying thus.” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle, it is no longer a secret ; the king, on 
 his way to Poitiers, will stop at Blois, to visit his royal 
 Highness.” 
 
 “ The king here ! ” exclaimed Montalais, clapping her 
 hands. “What! are we going to see the court'? Only 
 think, Louise, — the real court from Paris ! Oh, good 
 heavens ! But when will this happen, Monsieur ? ” 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 25 
 
 “ Perhaps this evening, Mademoiselle ; at latest, to- 
 morrow.” 
 
 Montalais lifted her shoulders in sign of vexation. 
 
 “No time to get ready ! No time to prepare a single 
 dress ! We are as far behind the fashions as the Poles. 
 We shall look like portraits of the times of Henry IV. 
 Ah, Monsieur, this is sad news you bring us ! ” 
 
 “ But, Mesdemoiselles, you will be still beautiful.” 
 
 “That’s stale! Yes, we shall be / always beautiful, 
 because Nature has made us passable ; but we shall be 
 ridiculous, because the fashion will have forgotten us. 
 Alas ! ridiculous ! They will think me ridiculous, — 
 me!” 
 
 “ Who are they ? ” said Louise, innocently. 
 
 “ ‘ Who are they ’ ? You are a strange girl, my dear. 
 Is that a question to put to me? They means every- 
 body; they means the courtiers, the nobles; they means 
 the king.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, my good friend ; but as here every one 
 is accustomed to see us as we are — ” 
 
 “ Granted ; but that is about to change, and we shall 
 be ridiculous, even for Blois ; for close to us will be seen 
 the fashions from Paris, and they will perceive that we 
 are in the fashion of Blois ! It is enough to make one 
 wild ! ” 
 
 “ Console yourself, Mademoiselle.” 
 
 “ Well, so let it be ! After all, so much the worse 
 for those who do not find me to their taste ! ” said 
 Montalais, philosophically. 
 
 “ They would be very difficult to please,” replied 
 Baoul, faithful to his regular system of gallantry. 
 
 “ Thank you, Monsieur the Viscount. We were saying, 
 then, that the king is coming to Blois % ” 
 
 “With all the court.” 
 
26 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Mesdemoiselles de Mancini, will they be with them?” 
 “No, certainly not.” 
 
 “ But as the king, it is said, cannot do without Made- 
 moiselle Marie ? ” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle, the king must do without her. Mon- 
 sieur the Cardinal will have it so. He has exiled his 
 nieces to Brouage.” 
 
 “ He ! — the hypocrite ! ” 
 
 “ Hush ! ” said Louise, pressing a finger on her friend’s 
 rosy lips. 
 
 “ Bah ! nobody can hear me. I say that old Mazarino 
 Mazarini is a hypocrite, who burns impatiently to make 
 his niece queen of France.” 
 
 “ That cannot be, Mademoiselle, since Monsieur the 
 Cardinal, on the contrary, has brought about the mar- 
 riage of his Majesty with the Infanta Maria Theresa.” 
 Montalais looked Baoul full in the face, and said : 
 “And do you Parisians believe in these tales? Well! 
 here in Blois we are a little more cunning than you.” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle, if the king goes beyond Poitiers and 
 sets out for Spain ; if the articles of the marriage con- 
 tract are agreed upon by Don Luis de Haro and his 
 Eminence, — you must plainly perceive that it is no 
 longer child’s play.” 
 
 “ All very fine ! but the king is king, I suppose ? ” 
 “No doubt, Mademoiselle; but the cardinal is the 
 cardinal.” 
 
 “ The king is not a man, then ! And he does not love 
 Marie Mancini ? ” 
 
 “ He adores her.” 
 
 “ Well, he will marry her then. We shall have war 
 with Spain. M. Mazarin will spend a few of the millions 
 he has put away; our gentlemen will perform prodigies 
 of valor in their encounters with the proud Castilians, 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 27 
 
 and many of them will return crowned with laurels, to 
 be recrowned by us with myrtles. Now, that is my view 
 of politics.’’ 
 
 “ Montalais, you are wild ! ” said Louise, “ and every 
 exaggeration attracts you as light does a moth.” 
 
 “ Louise, you are so extremely reasonable that you 
 will never know how to love.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Louise, in a tone of tender reproach, 
 “ don’t you see, Montalais? The queen-mother desires 
 to marry her son to the infanta ; would you wish the 
 king to disobey his mother ? Is it for a royal heart like 
 his to give a bad example ? When parents forbid love, 
 love must be banished.” 
 
 And Louise sighed. Raoul cast down his eyes, with 
 an expression of constraint. Montalais, on her part, 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 “ Well, I have no parents ! ” said she. 
 
 “ You are acquainted, without doubt, with the state 
 of health of M. le Comte de la Fere ? ” said Louise, after 
 breathing that sigh which had revealed so many griefs in 
 its eloquent utterance. 
 
 “No, Mademoiselle,” replied Raoul, “ I have not yet 
 paid my respects to my father ; I was going to his house 
 when Mademoiselle de Montalais so kindly stopped me. 
 I hope the count is well. You have heard nothing to 
 the contrary, have you ? ” 
 
 “ No, M. Raoul, — nothing, thank God ! ” 
 
 Here, for several instants, ensued a silence, during 
 which two spirits which followed the same idea com- 
 municated perfectly, without even the assistance of a 
 single glance. 
 
 “ Oh, heavens ! ” exclaimed Montalais, in a fright ; 
 “ there is somebody coming up.” 
 
 “ Who can it be ? ” said Louise, rising in great agitation. 
 
28 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Mesdemoiselles, I inconvenience yon very much. I 
 have, without doubt, been very indiscreet,’’ stammered 
 Raoul, very ill at ease. 
 
 “ It is a heavy step,” said Louise. 
 
 “ Ah ! if it is only M. Malicorne,” added Montalais, 
 “ do not disturb yourselves.” 
 
 Louise and Raoul looked at each other to inquire who 
 M. Malicorne could be. 
 
 “ There is no occasion to mind him,” continued Mon- 
 talais ; “ he is not jealous.” 
 
 “ But, Mademoiselle — ” said Raoul. 
 
 “ Yes, I understand. Well, he is as discreet as I am.” 
 
 “ Good heavens ! ” cried Louise, who had applied her 
 ear to the door, which had been left ajar ; “ it is my 
 mother’s step ! ” 
 
 “ Madame de Saint-Remy ! Where shall I hide my- 
 self?” exclaimed Raoul, catching at the dress of Monta- 
 lais, who looked quite bewildered. 
 
 “ Yes,” said she ; “ yes, I know the clicking of those 
 pattens ! It is our excellent mother. Monsieur the 
 Viscount, what a pity it is the window looks upon a stone 
 pavement, and that fifty feet below it ! ” 
 
 Raoul glanced at the balcony in despair. Louise 
 seized his arm, and held it tight. 
 
 “ Oh, how silly I am ! ” said Montalais; “ have I not 
 the robe-of-ceremony closet ? It looks as if it were made 
 on purpose.” 
 
 It was quite time to act ; Madame de Saint-Remy was 
 coming up at a quicker pace than usual. She gained the 
 landing at the moment when Montalais, as in all scenes 
 of surprises, shut the closet by leaning with her back 
 against the door. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” cried Madame de Saint-Remy, “ you are here, 
 are you, Louise ? ” 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 29 
 
 “ Yes, Madame,” replied she, more pale than if she had 
 committed a great crime. 
 
 “ Well, well ! ” 
 
 “Pray be seated, Madame,” said Montalais, offering 
 her a chair, which she placed so that the back was 
 towards the closet. 
 
 “ Thank you, Mademoiselle Aure, — thank you. Come, 
 my child, be quick ! ” 
 
 “ Where do you wish me to go, Madame 1 ” 
 
 “ Why, home, to be sure ; have you not to prepare 
 your toilette 1 ” 
 
 “ What did you say ” cried Montalais, hastening to 
 affect surprise, so fearful was she that Louise would in 
 some way commit herself. 
 
 “You don’t know the news, then'?” said Madame de 
 Saint-Bemy. 
 
 “What news, Madame, is it possible for two girls to 
 learn up in this dove-cot *? ” 
 
 “ What ! have you seen nobody % ” 
 
 “Madame, you talk in enigmas, and you torment us 
 at a slow fire ! ” cried Montalais, who, terrified at seeing 
 Louise become paler and paler, did not know to what 
 saint to put up her vows. 
 
 At length she caught an eloquent look of her com- 
 panion’s, one of those looks which would convey intelli- 
 gence to a brick wall. Louise directed her attention to 
 a hat, — Raoul’s unlucky hat, which was set out in all 
 its feathery splendor upon the table. 
 
 Montalais sprang towards it, and, seizing it with her 
 left hand, passed it behind her into the right, concealing 
 it as she was speaking. 
 
 “Well,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, “a courier has 
 arrived announcing the approach of the king. There, 
 Mesdemoiselles ; there is something to make you put on 
 your best looks.” 
 
30 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Quick, quick ! ” cried Montalais. “ Follow Madame 
 your mother, Louise ; and leave me to get ready my 
 dress of ceremony.” 
 
 Louise arose ; her mother took her by the hand and 
 led her out on to the landing. 
 
 “ Come along,” said she ; then adding in a lower voice, 
 “ When I forbid you to come to the apartment of Mon- 
 talais, why do you do so ] ” 
 
 “ Madame, she is my friend. Besides, I was but just 
 come.” 
 
 “ Did you see nobody concealed while you were 
 there?” 
 
 “ Madame ! ” 
 
 “ I saw a man’s hat, I tell you, — the hat of that fellow, 
 that good-for-nothing ! ” 
 
 “ Madame ! ” repeated Louise. 
 
 “ Of that do-nothing De Malicorne ! A maid of honor 
 to have such company, — fie ! fie ! ” And their voices 
 were lost in the depths of the narrow staircase. 
 
 Montalais had not missed a word of this conversation, 
 which echo conveyed to her as if through a tunnel. She 
 shrugged her shoulders on seeing Raoul, who had listened 
 likewise, issue from the closet. 
 
 “ Poor Montalais,” said she, “ the victim of friend- 
 ship ! Poor Malicorne, the victim of love ! ” 
 
 She stopped on viewing the tragi-comic face of Raoul, 
 who was vexed at having, in one day, surprised so many 
 secrets. 
 
 “ Oh, Mademoiselle ! ” said he, “ how can we repay 
 your kindnesses ? ” 
 
 61 Oh, we will balance accounts some day,” said she. 
 “ For the present, begone, M. de Bragelonne, for Madame 
 de Saint-Remy is not over indulgent ; and any indiscretion 
 on her part might bring hither a domiciliary visit, which 
 would be disagreeable to all parties. Adieu ! ” 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 31 
 
 “ But Louise — how shall I know — ” 
 
 “ Begone ! begone ! King Louis XI. knew very well 
 what he was about when he invented the post.” 
 
 “ Alas ! ” sighed Raoul. 
 
 “ And am I not here, — I, who am worth all the posts 
 in the kingdom 1 Quick, I say, to horse ! so that if 
 Madame de Saint-Re my should return for the purpose of 
 preaching me a lesson on morality, she may not find 
 you here.” 
 
 “ She w r ould tell my father, would she not ? ” mur- 
 mured Raoul. 
 
 “ And you would be scolded. Ah, Viscount, it is very 
 plain you come from court ; you are as timid as the king. 
 Peste ! at Blois we contrive better than that, to do with- 
 out Papa’s consent. Ask Malicorne else ! ” 
 
 And at these words the gay girl pushed Raoul out of 
 the room by the shoulders. He glided swiftly down to 
 the porch, regained his horse, mounted, and set off as if 
 he had had Monsieur’s eight guards at his heels. 
 
32 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 Raoul followed the well-known road, so dear to his 
 memory, which led from Blois to the residence of the 
 Comte de la Fere. 
 
 The reader will dispense with a second description of 
 that habitation ; he, perhaps, has been with ns there 
 before and knows it. Only, since our last journey thither, 
 the walls had taken a grayer tint, and the brick-work 
 assumed a more harmonious copper tone ; the trees had 
 grown, and many that then only stretched their slender 
 branches along the tops of the hedges, now, bushy, 
 strong, and luxuriant, cast around, beneath boughs 
 swollen with sap, a thick shade of flowers or fruit for the 
 benefit of the traveller. 
 
 Raoul perceived, from a distance, the sharp roof, the tw T o 
 little turrets, the dove-cot in the elms, and the flights of 
 pigeons, who wheeled incessantly around that brick cone, 
 seemingly without power to quit it, like the sweet mem- 
 ories that hover round a spirit at peace. 
 
 As he approached, he heard the noise of the pulleys 
 which grated under the weight of the huge water- 
 buckets. He also fancied he heard the melancholy moan- 
 ing of the water which falls back again into the wells, — 
 a sad, funereal, solemn sound, that strikes the ear of 
 the child and the poet, — both dreamers, — which the 
 English call “ splash ; ” Arabian poets, “ gasgachau ; ” 
 and which we Frenchmen, who would be poets, can only 
 
FATHER AND SON. 
 
 33 
 
 translate by a paraphrase, “the noise of water falling 
 into water / 7 
 
 It was more than a year since Raoul had been to visit 
 his father. He had passed the whole time in the house- 
 hold of Monsieur the Prince. In fact, after all the com- 
 motions of the Fronde, of the early period of which we 
 formerly attempted to give a sketch, Louis de Conde had 
 made a public, solemn, and frank reconciliation w r ith the 
 court. During all the time that the rupture between the 
 king and the prince had lasted, the prince, who had long 
 entertained a great regard for Bragelonne, had in vain 
 offered him advantages of the most dazzling kind for a 
 young man. The Comte de la Fere, still faithful to his 
 principles of loyalty and royalty one day developed 
 before his son in the vaults of St. Denis, — the Comte 
 de la Fere, in the name of his son, had always declined 
 them. Moreover, instead of following M. de Conde in 
 his rebellion, the viscount had followed M. de Turenne, 
 fighting for the king. Then, when M. de Turenne, in 
 his turn, had appeared to abandon the royal cause, he 
 had quitted M. de Turenne, as he had quitted M. de 
 Conde. It resulted from this invariable line of conduct, 
 that, as Conde and Turenne had never been conquerors 
 of each other except under the standard of the king, 
 Raoul, although so young, had ten victories inscribed on 
 his list of services, and not one defeat from which his 
 bravery or conscience had to suffer. 
 
 Raoul, therefore, had, in compliance with the wish of 
 his father, served obstinately and passively the fortunes 
 of Louis XIV., in spite of the tergiversations which 
 were endemic, and, it might be said, inevitable, at that 
 period. 
 
 M. de Conde, on being restored to favor, had at once 
 availed himself of all the privileges of the amnesty, to 
 VOL. i. — 3 
 
34 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 ask for many things back again which had been granted 
 him before, and, among others, Raoul. M. de la Fere, 
 with his invariable good sense, had immediately sent him 
 again to the prince. 
 
 A year, then, had passed away since the separation of the 
 father and son. A few letters had softened, but not re- 
 moved, the pains of absence. We have seen that Raoul 
 had left at Blois another love in addition to filial love. 
 But let us do him this justice, — if it had not been for 
 chance and Mademoiselle de Montalais, two tempting 
 demons, Raoul, after delivering his message, would have 
 galloped off towards his father’s house, turning his head 
 round, perhaps, but without stopping for a single in- 
 stant, even if he had seen Louise holding out her arms 
 to him. 
 
 So the first part of the distance was given by Raoul to 
 regretting the past which he had been forced to quit so 
 quickly, — that is to say, to his lady-love ; and the other 
 part to the friend towards whom he was travelling so 
 much too slowly for his wishes. 
 
 Raoul found the garden-gate open, and rode straight 
 in, without regarding the long arms, raised in anger, of 
 an old man dressed in a jacket of violet-colored wool, and 
 a large cap of old faded velvet. 
 
 The old man, who was weeding with his hands a bed of 
 dwarf roses and marguerites, was indignant at seeing a 
 horse thus traversing his sanded and nicely raked walks. 
 He even ventured a vigorous “ Humph ! ” which made 
 the cavalier turn round. Then there was a change of 
 scene ; for no sooner had he caught sight of Raoul’s face, 
 than the old man sprang up and set off in the direction 
 of the house, amid intermittent growlings, which he meant 
 to be paroxysms of wild delight. 
 
 When arrived at the stables, Raoul gave his horse to a 
 
FATHER AND SON. 
 
 35 
 
 little lackey, and sprang up the perron with an ardor that 
 would have delighted the heart of his father. 
 
 He crossed the antechamber, the dining-room, and the 
 salon without meeting with any one ; at length, on reach- 
 ing the door of M. le Comte de la Fere’s apartment, he 
 rapped impatiently, and entered almost without waiting 
 for the word “ Enter ! ” which was thrown to him by a 
 voice at once sweet and serious. The count was seated 
 at a table covered with papers and' books; he was still 
 the noble, handsome gentleman of former days, but time 
 had given to this nobleness and beauty a more solemn 
 and distinct character. A brow white and void of wrin- 
 kles, beneath his long hair, now more white than black ; 
 an eye piercing and mild, under the lids of a young man ; 
 his moustache, fine and but slightly grizzled, waved over 
 lips which were of a pure and delicate model, as if they 
 had never been curled by mortal passions ; a shape straight 
 and supple ; an irreproachable but thin hand ; — such was 
 still the illustrious gentleman whom so many illustrious 
 mouths had praised under the name of Athos. tie was 
 engaged in correcting the pages of a manuscript book, 
 entirely filled by his own hand. 
 
 Raoul seized his father by the shoulders, by the neck, 
 as he could, and embraced him so tenderly and so rapidly 
 that the count had neither strength nor time to disengage 
 himself, or to overcome his paternal emotions. 
 
 “ What ! you here, Raoul — you! Is it possible!” 
 said he. 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur, what joy to see you once 
 again ! ” 
 
 “ But you don’t answer me, Viscount. Have you leave 
 ef absence, or has some misfortune happened at Paris h ” 
 
 “ Thank God, Monsieur,” replied Raoul, calming him- 
 self by degrees, “ nothing has happened but what is fortu; 
 
86 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 nate. The king is going to be married, as I had the honor 
 of informing you in my last letter, and, on his way to 
 Spain, he will pass through Blois.” 
 
 “ To pay a visit to Monsieur 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur the Count. So, fearing to find him 
 unprepared, or wishing to be particularly polite to him, 
 Monsieur the Prince sent me forward to have the lodgings 
 ready.” 
 
 “ You have seen Monsieur ! ” asked the viscount, 
 eagerly. 
 
 “ I have had that honor.” 
 
 “ At the castle 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur,” replied Raoul, casting down his eyes, 
 because, no doubt, he had felt there was something more 
 than curiosity in the count’s inquiries. 
 
 “ Ah, indeed, Viscount ! Accept my compliments.” 
 Raoul bowed. 
 
 “ But you have seen some one else at Blois ? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I saw her royal Highness Madame.” 
 
 “ That ’s very well ; but it is not Madame that I 
 mean.” 
 
 Raoul colored deeply, but made no reply. 
 
 “ You do not appear to understand me, Monsieur the 
 Viscount,” persisted M. de la Here, without accenting his 
 words more strongly, but with a rather severer look. 
 
 “ I understand you quite plainly, Monsieur,” replied 
 Raoul ; “ and if I hesitate a little in my reply, you are 
 well assured I am not seeking for a falsehood.” 
 
 “ I know you cannot lie, and am therefore surprised 
 that you should be so long in saying yes or no.” 
 
 “ I cannot answer you without understanding you well ; 
 and if I have understood you, you will take my first 
 words in ill part. You will be displeased, no doubt, 
 Monsieur the Count, because I have seen — ” 
 
FATHER AND SON. 
 
 37 
 
 “ Mademoiselle de la Valliere — have you not h ” 
 
 “ It was of her you meant to speak, I know very well, 
 Monsieur,” said Eaoul, with inexpressible sweetness. 
 
 “ And I ask you if you have seen her.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I was ignorant, when I entered the castle, 
 that Mademoiselle de la Valliere was there ; it w r as only 
 on my return, after I had performed my mission, that 
 chance brought us together. I have had the honor of 
 paying my respects to her.” 
 
 “ But what do you call the chance that led you into 
 the presence of Mademoiselle de la Valliere ? ” 
 “Mademoiselle de Montalais, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ And who is Mademoiselle de Montalais ? ” 
 
 “ A young lady I did not know before, w 7 hom I had 
 never seen. She is maid of honor to Madame.” 
 
 “ Monsieur the Viscount, I will push my interrogatory no 
 further, and reproach myself with having carried it so far. 
 I had desired you to avoid Mademoiselle de la Valliere, 
 and not to see her without my permission. Oh ! I am 
 quite sure you have told me the truth, and that you took 
 no measures to approach her. Chance has done me this 
 injury ; I do not accuse you of it. I will be content, 
 then, with what I formerly said to you concerning this 
 young lady. I do not reproach her with anything, — 
 God is my witness; only it is not my intention or wish 
 that you should frequent her place of residence. I beg 
 you once more, my dear Raoul, to understand that.” 
 
 It was plain the limpid, pure eye of Raoul was troubled 
 at this speech. 
 
 “ Now, my friend,” said the count, with his soft smile 
 and in his customary tone, “ let us talk of other matters. 
 You are returning, perhaps, to your duty ? ” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur, I have no duty for to-day, except the 
 pleasure of remaining with you. The prince kindly ap* 
 
38 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 pointed me no other duty than that, which was so much 
 in accord with my wish.” 
 
 “ Is the king well ] ” 
 
 “ Perfectly.” 
 
 “ And Monsieur the Prince also ? ” 
 
 “ As usual, Monsieur.” 
 
 The count forgot to inquire after Mazarin ; that was 
 an old habit. 
 
 “ Well, Raoul, since you are entirely mine, I will give 
 up my whole day to you. Embrace me — again, again ! 
 You are at home, Viscount ! Ah ! there is our old Grh 
 maud ! Come in, Grimaud ; Monsieur the Viscount is 
 desirous of embracing you likewise.” 
 
 The good old man did not require to be twice told ; he 
 rushed in with open arms, Raoul meeting him half-way. 
 
 “ Now,, if you please, we will go into the garden, Raoul. 
 I will show you the new lodging I have had prepared for 
 you during your leave of absence ; and, while examining 
 the last winter’s plantations, and two saddle-horses I 
 have just procured by exchange, you will give me all the 
 news of our friends in Paris.” 
 
 The count closed his manuscript, took the young man’s 
 arm, and went out into the garden with him. 
 
 Grimaud looked at Raoul with a melancholy air as the 
 young man passed out; observing that his head nearly 
 touched the traverse of the doorway, stroking his white 
 royale , he allowed the single word “ Grown ! ” to escape 
 him. 
 
CROPOLI. 
 
 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN WHICH SOMETHING WILL BE SAID OF CROPOLI, OF 
 CROPOLE, AND OF A GREAT UNKNOWN PAINTER. 
 
 While the Comte de la Fere with Raoul visits the new 
 buildings he has had erected, and the new horses he has 
 bought, with the reader’s permission we will lead him 
 back to the city of Blois, and make him a witness of the 
 unaccustomed activity which pervades that city. 
 
 It was in the hotels that the surprise of the news 
 brought by Raoul was most sensibly felt. 
 
 In fact, the king and the court at Blois, — that is to say, 
 a hundred horsemen, ten carriages, two hundred horses, 
 as many lackeys as masters, — where was this crowd to 
 be housed 1 ? Where were to be lodged all the gentry of 
 the neighborhood, who would flock in in two or three 
 hours after the news had enlarged the circle of its report, 
 like the increasing circumferences produced by a stone 
 thrown into a placid lake 1 ? 
 
 Blois, as peaceful in the morning, as we have seen, as 
 the calmest lake in the world, at the announcement of 
 the royal arrival, was suddenly filled with buzzing and 
 tumult. 
 
 All the servants of the castle, under the inspection of 
 the officers, were sent into the city in quest of provisions ; 
 and ten horsemen were despatched to the preserves of 
 Chambord to seek for game, to the fisheries of Beuvron 
 for fish, and to the gardens of Chaverny for fruits and 
 flowers. 
 
40 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Precious tapestries, and lustres with great gilt chains 
 were drawn from the wardrobes ; an army of the poor 
 were engaged in sweeping the courts and washing the 
 stone fronts, while their wives went in droves to the 
 meadows beyond the Loire, to gather green boughs and 
 field-flowers. The whole city, not to be behind in this 
 luxury of cleanliness, assumed its best toilette, with the 
 help of brushes, brooms, and water. 
 
 The kennels of the upper city, swollen by these con- 
 tinued outpourings, became rivers at the lower part of the 
 city ; and the pavement — generally very muddy, it must 
 be allowed — took a clean face, and absolutely shone in 
 the friendly rays of the sun. 
 
 Next the music was to be provided; drawers were 
 emptied ; the shopkeepers had a glorious trade in wax, 
 ribbons, and sword-knots ; housekeepers laid in stores of 
 bread, meat, and spices. And now numbers of the citi- 
 zens, whose houses were furnished as if for a siege, having 
 nothing more to do, donned their festive clothes, and 
 directed their course towards the city gate, in order to 
 be the first to signal or see the cortege. They knew very 
 well that the king would not arrive before night, perhaps 
 not before the next morning. But what is expectation 
 but a kind of folly, and what is that folly but an excess 
 of hope ? 
 
 In the lower city, at scarcely a hundred paces from 
 the Castle of the States, between the mall and the castle, 
 in a sufficiently handsome street, then called Rue Vieille, 
 and which must, in fact, have been very old, stood a ven- 
 erable edifice, with pointed gables, of squat and large 
 dimensions, ornamented with three windows looking into 
 the street on the first floor, with two in the second, and 
 with a little bull's-eye in the third. 
 
 On the sides of this triangle had recently been constructed 
 
CBOPOLI. 
 
 41 
 
 a parallelogram of considerable size, which encroached upon 
 the street remorselessly, according to the familiar cus- 
 tom of the building-inspectors of that period. The street 
 was narrowed by a quarter by it, but then the house 
 was enlarged by a half; and was not that a sufficient 
 compensation % 
 
 Tradition said that this house with the pointed gables 
 was inhabited, in the time of Henry III., by a councillor 
 of State whom Queen Catherine came, some say to visit, 
 and others to strangle. However that may be, the good 
 lady must have stepped with a circumspect foot over the 
 threshold of this building. 
 
 After the councillor had died — whether by strangula- 
 tion or naturally is of no consequence — the house had 
 been sold, then abandoned, and lastly isolated from the 
 other houses of the street. Towards the middle of the 
 reign of Louis XIII. only, an Italian, named Cropoli, es- 
 caped from the kitchens of Marechal d’Ancre, came and 
 took possession of this house. There he established a 
 little hostelry, in which was fabricated a macaroni so 
 delicious that people came from miles round to fetch it 
 or eat it. 
 
 So famous had the house become for it, that, when 
 Marie de Medicis was a prisoner, as we know, in the castle 
 of Blois, she once sent for some. 
 
 It was precisely on the day she had escaped by the 
 famous window. The dish of macaroni was left upon the 
 table, only just tasted by the royal mouth.- 
 
 This double prestige of a strangulation and a mac- 
 aroni, conferred upon the triangular house, gave poor 
 Cropoli a fancy to grace his hostelry with a pompous 
 title. But his quality of an Italian was no recommenda- 
 tion in these times, and his small, well-concealed fortune 
 forbade attracting too much attention. 
 
42 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 When he found himself about to die, which happened 
 in 1643, just after the death of Louis XIII., he called to 
 him his son, a young cook of great promise, and with 
 tears in his eyes, recommended him to preserve care- 
 fully the secret of the macaroni, to Frenchify his name, 
 and at length, when the political horizon should be cleared 
 from the clouds which obscured it, — this was practised 
 then as in our day, — to order of the nearest smith a 
 handsome sign, upon which a famous painter, whom he 
 named, should design two queens’ portraits, with these 
 words as a legend : “ To the Medici.” 
 
 The worthy Cropoli, after these recommendations, had 
 only sufficient time to point out to his young successor a 
 fireplace, under the slab of which he had hidden a thou- 
 sand ten-franc louis, and then expired. 
 
 Cropoli the younger, like a man of good heart, sup- 
 ported the loss with resignation, and the gain without 
 insolence. He began by accustoming the public to 
 sound the final i of his name so little, that, by the aid of 
 general complaisance, he was soon called nothing but 
 M. Cropole, which is* quite a French name. He then 
 married, having had in his eye a little French girl, 
 from whose parents he extorted a reasonable dowry by 
 showing them what there was beneath the slab of the 
 fireplace. 
 
 These two points accomplished, he went in search of 
 the painter who was to paint the sign ; and he was soon 
 found. He was an old Italian, a rival of the Eaphaels 
 and the Caracci, but an unfortunate rival. He said he 
 was of the Venetian school, doubtless from his fondness 
 for color. His works, of which he had never sold one, 
 attracted the eye at a distance of a hundred paces ; but 
 they so formidably displeased the citizens that he had 
 finished by painting no more. 
 
CROPOLI. 
 
 43 
 
 He boasted of having painted a bath-room for Madame 
 la Marechale d’Ancre, and moaned over this chamber hav- 
 ing been burnt at the time of the marshal’s disaster. 
 
 Cropoli, in his character of a compatriot, was indulgent 
 towards Pittrino, which was the name of the artist. Per- 
 haps he had seen the famous pictures of the bath-room. 
 Be this as it may, he held in such esteem, we may say 
 in such friendship, the famous Pittrino, that he took him 
 into his own house. 
 
 Pittrino, grateful, and fed with macaroni, set about 
 propagating the reputation of this national dish ; and 
 from the time of its founder, he had rendered, with his 
 indefatigable tongue, signal services to the house of 
 Cropoli. 
 
 As he grew old he attached himself to the son as he 
 had done to the father, and by degrees became a kind of 
 overlooker of the house, in which his remarkable integ- 
 rity, his acknowledged sobriety, his proverbial chastity, 
 and a thousand other virtues useless to enumerate, gave 
 him an eternal place by the fireside, with a right of in- 
 spection over the domestics. Besides this, it was he who 
 tasted the macaroni, to maintain the pure flavor of the 
 ancient tradition ; and it must be allowed that he never 
 permitted a grain of pepper too much, or an atom of par- 
 mesan too little. His joy was at its height on that day 
 when called upon to share the secret of Cropoli the 
 younger, and to paint the famous sign. 
 
 He was seen at once rummaging with ardor in an old 
 box, in which he found some pencils, a little gnawed by 
 the rats, but still passable ; some colors in bladders, al- 
 most dried up ; some linseed-oil in a bottle, and a palette 
 which had formerly belonged to Bronzino, that diou de la 
 pit-tour e , as the ultramontane artist, in his ever-young 
 enthusiasm, always called him. 
 
44 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Pittrino was puffed up with all the joy of a rehabilitation. 
 
 He did as Raphael had done, — he changed his style, 
 and painted, in the fashion of the Albanian, two god- 
 desses rather than two queens. These illustrious ladies 
 appeared so lovely on the sign, — they presented to the 
 astonished eyes such an assemblage of lilies and roses, 
 the enchanting result of the change of style in Pittrino, 
 — they assumed poses of sirens so Anacreontic, — that 
 the chief magistrate, when admitted to view this capital 
 piece in the hall of Cropoli, at once declared that these 
 ladies were too handsome, of too animated a beauty, to 
 figure as a sign in the eyes of passengers. 
 
 To Pittrino he added : “ His royal Highness Monsieur, 
 who often comes into our city, will not be much pleased 
 to see his illustrious mother so slightly clothed, and he 
 will send you to the dungeons of the State ; for, remem- 
 ber, the heart of that glorious prince is not always tender. 
 You must efface either the two sirens or the legend, with- 
 out which I forbid the exhibition of the sign. I say this 
 for your sake, Master Cropole, as well as for yours, Signor 
 Pittrino.” 
 
 What answer could be made to this % It was necessary 
 to thank the magistrate for his kindness, which Cropole 
 did. But Pittrino remained downcast and sad ; he felt 
 assured of what was about to happen. 
 
 The edile was scarcely gone when Cropole, crossing his 
 arms, said, “ Well, master, what is to be done % ” 
 
 “ We must efface the legend,” said Pittrino, in a 
 melancholy tone. “ I have some excellent ivory-black ; 
 it will be done in a moment, and we will replace the 
 Medici by the nymphs or the sirens, whichever you 
 prefer.” 
 
 “ No,” said Cropole, “ the will of my father must be 
 carried out. My father considered — ” 
 
CROPOLI. 
 
 45 
 
 “ lie considered the figures of the most importance,” 
 said Pittrino. 
 
 “He thought most of the legend,” said Cropole. 
 
 “ The proof of the importance in which he held the 
 figures,” said Pittrino, “ is that he desired they should 
 be likenesses, and they are so.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but if they had not been so, who would have 
 recognized them without the legend 1 At the present 
 day, even, when the memory of the Blaisois begins to be 
 faint with regard to these two celebrated persons, who 
 would recognize Catherine and Marie without the words 
 ‘ To the Medici ? '! ” 
 
 “ But the figures 3 ” said Pittrino, in despair ; for he 
 felt that young Cropole was right. “ I should not like 
 to lose the fruit of my labor.” 
 
 “ And I should not wish you to be thrown into prison, 
 and myself into the dungeons.” 
 
 “ Let us efface ‘ Medici,’ ” said Pittrino, supplicatingly. 
 “ No,” replied Cropole, firmly. “ I have got an idea, 
 a sublime idea, — your picture shall appear, and my 
 legend likewise. Does not ‘ Medici ’ mean ‘ doctor,’ or 
 ‘ physician/ in Italian h ” 
 
 “Yes, in the plural.” 
 
 “ Well, then, you shall order another sign-frame of the 
 smith ; you shall paint six physicians, and write under- 
 neath ‘ Aux Medici/ which makes a very pretty play 
 upon words.” 
 
 “ Six physicians ! impossible ! And the composition h ” 
 cried Pittrino. 
 
 “ That is your business — but so it shall be — I insist 
 upon it — it must be so — my macaroni is burning.” 
 
 This reasoning was peremptory. Pittrino obeyed. 
 He composed the sign of six physicians, with the legend ; 
 the magistrate applauded and authorized it. 
 
46 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGKLONNE. 
 
 The sign produced an extravagant success in the city, 
 which proves that poetry has always suffered injustice 
 from the people, as Pittrino said. 
 
 Cropole, to make amends to his painter-in -ordinary, 
 hung up the nymphs of the preceding sign in his bed- 
 room, w r hich made Madame Cropole blush every time she 
 looked at it, when she was undressing at night. 
 
 This is the way in which the pointed-gable house got a 
 sign ; and this is how the hostelry of the Medici, making 
 a fortune, was forced to be enlarged by the quadrilateral 
 which we have described ; and this is how there was at 
 Blois a hostelry of that name, which had Master Cropole 
 for proprietor, and for painter-in-ordinary Master Pittrino. 
 
THE UNKNOWN 
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 Thus founded and recommended by its sign, the hostelry 
 of Master Cropole held its way steadily on towards a 
 solid prosperity. 
 
 It was not an immense fortune that Cropole had in 
 view ; but he might hope to double the thousand louis 
 d’or left by his father, to make another thousand louis 
 by the sale of his house and stock, and, free at length, to 
 live happily like a retired citizen. 
 
 Cropole was anxious for gain, and was half crazy with 
 joy at the news of the arrival of Louis XIV. 
 
 Himself, his wife, Pittrino, and two cooks immediately 
 laid hands upon all the inhabitants of the dove-cot, the 
 poultry-yard, and the rabbit-hutches ; so that as many 
 lamentations and cries resounded in the yards of the 
 hostelry of the Medici as were once heard in Rama. 
 
 Cropole had, at the time, but one single traveller in his 
 house. 
 
 This was a man of scarcely thirty years of age, hand- 
 some, tall, austere, or rather melancholy, in all his ges- 
 tures and looks. 
 
 He was dressed in black velvet with jet trimmings ; a 
 white collar, as plain as that of the severest Puritan, set 
 off the whiteness of his youthful neck ; a small, dark- 
 colored mustache scarcely covered his curled, disdainful 
 lip. 
 
48 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 He spoke to people looking them full in the face, with- 
 out affectation, it is true, but without scruple ; so that 
 the brilliancy of his black eyes became so insupportable 
 that more than one look had sunk beneath his, like the 
 weaker sword in a single combat. 
 
 At this time, in which men, all created equal by God, 
 were divided, thanks to prejudices, into two distinct 
 castes, the gentleman and the commoner, as they are 
 really divided into two races, the black and the white, — 
 at this time, we say, he whose portrait we have just 
 sketched could not fail of being taken for a gentleman, 
 and of the best class. To ascertain this, there was no 
 necessity to consult anything but his hands, long, slen- 
 der, and white, of which every muscle, every vein, became 
 apparent through the skin at the least movement, and 
 the phalanges reddened at the least irritation. 
 
 This gentleman, then, had arrived alone at Cropole’s 
 house. He had taken, without hesitation, without reflec- 
 tion even, the principal appartement, which the host had 
 pointed out to him with a rapacious aim, very reprehensi- 
 ble some will say, very praiseworthy will say others, if 
 they admit that Cropole was a physiognomist, and judged 
 people at first sight. 
 
 This appartement was that which composed the whole 
 front of the ancient triangular house, — a large salon, 
 lighted by two windows on the first stage, a small cham- 
 ber by the side of it, and another above it. 
 
 ISTow, from the time he had arrived this gentleman had 
 scarcely touched any repast that had been served up to 
 him in his chamber. He had spoken but two words to 
 the host, to warn him that a traveller of the name of 
 Parry would arrive, and to desire that, when he did, he 
 should be shown up to him immediately. 
 
 He afterwards preserved so profound a silence, that 
 
THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 49 
 
 Cropole was almost offended, so much did he prefer 
 people who were good company. 
 
 This gentleman had risen early the morning of the day 
 on which this history begins, and had placed himself at 
 the window of his salon, seated upon the ledge, and lean- 
 ing upon the rail of the balcony, gazing sadly but per- 
 sistently on both sides of the street, watching, no doubt, 
 for the arrival of the traveller he had mentioned to the 
 host. 
 
 In this way he had seen the little cortege of Monsieur 
 return from hunting, then had again partaken of the 
 profound tranquillity of the street, absorbed in his own 
 expectation. 
 
 All at once the movement of the poor going to the 
 meadows, couriers setting out, washers of pavement, pur- 
 veyors of the royal household, gabbling, scampering shop- 
 boys, chariots in motion, hairdressers on the run, and 
 pages toiling along, — this tumult and bustle had sur- 
 prised him, but without his losing any of that impassible 
 and supreme majesty which gives to the eagle and the lion 
 that serene and contemptuous glance amidst the hurrahs 
 and shouts of hunters or the curious. 
 
 Soon the cries of the victims slaughtered in the poultry- 
 yard ; the hasty steps of Madame Cropole up that little 
 wooden staircase, so narrow and so sonorous ; the bound- 
 ing pace of Pittrino, who only that morning was smoking 
 at the door with all the phlegm of a Dutchman, — all this 
 communicated something like agitation and surprise to 
 the traveller. 
 
 As he was rising to make inquiries, the door of his 
 chamber opened. The unknown concluded they were 
 about to introduce the impatiently expected traveller; 
 with some precipitation, therefore, he took three steps 
 towards the opening door. 
 
 VOL. i. — 4 
 
50 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 But, instead of the person he expected, it was Master 
 Cropole who appeared, and behind him, in the half-dark 
 staircase, the pleasant face of Madame Cropole, rendered 
 trivial by curiosity. She only gave one furtive glance at 
 the handsome gentleman, and disappeared. 
 
 Cropole advanced, cap in hand, rather bent than bowing. 
 
 A gesture of the unknown interrogated him, without a 
 word being pronounced. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Cropole, “ I come to ask how — what 
 ought I to say : your Lordship, Monsieur the Count, or 
 Monsieur the Marquis ? ” 
 
 “Say Monsieur, and speak quickly,” replied the un- 
 known, with that haughty accent which admits of neither 
 discussion nor reply. 
 
 “ I came, then, to inquire how Monsieur had passed 
 the night, and if Monsieur intended to keep this ap- 
 partement ? ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Monsieur, something has happened upon which we 
 could not reckon.” 
 
 “What?” 
 
 “ His Majesty Louis XI Y. will enter our city to-day, 
 and will remain here one day, perhaps two.” 
 
 Great astonishment was pictured on the countenance of 
 the unknown. 
 
 “ The King of France coming to Blois ? ” 
 
 “He is on the road, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Then there is the stronger reason for my remaining,” 
 said the unknown. 
 
 “ Very well ; but will Monsieur keep the entire apparte- 
 ment ? ” 
 
 “ I do not understand you. Why should I require less 
 to-day than yesterday ? ” 
 
 “ Because, Monsieur, your Lordship will permit me to 
 
THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 51 
 
 say, yesterday I did not think proper, when you chose 
 your lodging, to fix any price that might have made your 
 Lordship believe that I prejudged your resources, while 
 to-day — ” 
 
 The unknown colored ; the idea at once struck him 
 that he was supposed to be poor, and that he was 
 insulted. 
 
 “ While to-day,” replied he, coldly, “ you do pre- 
 judge 
 
 “ Monsieur, I am a well-meaning man, thank God ! 
 and, simple hotel-keeper as I am, there is in me the 
 blood of a gentleman. My father was a servant and 
 officer of the late Marechal d’Ancre. God rest his 
 soul ! ” 
 
 “ I do not contest that point with you ; I only wish to 
 know, and that quickly, to what your questions tend 1 ” 
 
 “ You are too reasonable, Monsieur, not to compre- 
 hend that our city is small, that the court is about to 
 invade it, that the houses will be overflowing with in- 
 habitants, and that lodgings will consequently obtain 
 considerable prices.” 
 
 Again the unknown colored. “ Name your terms,” 
 said he. 
 
 “ I name them with scruple, Monsieur, because I seek 
 an honest gain, and because I wish to carry on my busi- 
 ness without being uncivil or extravagant in my de- 
 mands. Now, the appartement you occupy is considerable, 
 and you are alone.” 
 
 “ That is my business.” 
 
 “ Oh, certainly. I do not mean to turn Monsieur 
 out.” 
 
 The blood rushed to the temples of the unknown ; he 
 darted at poor Cropole, the descendant of one of the 
 officers of the Marechal d’Ancre, a glance that would have 
 
52 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 buried him beneath that famous chimney-slab, if Cropole 
 had not been nailed to the spot by the question of his 
 own proper interests. 
 
 “ Do you desire me to go ? ” said he. “ Explain your- 
 self, — but quickly.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, Monsieur, you do not understand me c It 
 is very delicate, I know, — that which I am doing. I 
 express myself badly, or, perhaps, as Monsieur is a for- 
 eigner, which I perceive by his accent — ” 
 
 In fact, the unknown spoke with that slight difficulty 
 with the letter r, which is the principal characteristic 
 of English pronunciation, even among men of that na- 
 tion who speak the French language with the greatest 
 purity. 
 
 “As Monsieur is a foreigner, I say, it is perhaps he 
 who does not catch my exact meaning. I wish for Mon- 
 sieur to give up one or two of the rooms he occupies, 
 which would diminish his expenses and ease my con- 
 science. Indeed, it is hard to increase unreasonably the 
 price of the chambers, when one has had the honor to 
 let them at a reasonable price.” 
 
 “ How much does the hire amount to since yesterday?” 
 “ Monsieur, to one louis, with refreshments and the 
 charge for the horse.” 
 
 “ Very well ; and tha’t of to-day?” 
 
 “ Ah ! there is the difficulty. This is the day of the 
 king’s arrival ; if the court comes to sleep here, the 
 charge of the day is reckoned. From that it results that 
 three chambers, at two louis each, make six louis. Two 
 louis, Monsieur, are not much ; but six louis make a 
 great deal.” 
 
 The unknown, from red, as we have seen him, became 
 very pale. 
 
 He drew from his pocket, with heroic bravery, a purse 
 
THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 53 
 
 embroidered with a coat-of-arms, which he carefully con- 
 cealed in the hollow of his hand. This purse was of a 
 thinness, a flabbiness, a hollowness, which did not es- 
 cape the eye of Cropole. 
 
 The unknown emptied the purse into his hand. It 
 contained three double louis, which amounted to the six 
 louis demanded by the host. 
 
 But it was seven that Cropole had required. 
 
 He looked, therefore, at the unknown, as much as to 
 say, “ And then 1 ? ” 
 
 “ There remains one louis, does there not, master host ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur, but — ” 
 
 The unknown plunged his hand into the pocket of his 
 haut-de-chausses and emptied it. It contained a small 
 pocket-book, a gold key, and some silver. With this 
 change he made up a louis. 
 
 “ Thank you, Monsieur,” said Cropole. “ It now only 
 remains for me to ask whether Monsieur intends to oc- 
 cupy his appartement to-morrow, in which case I will 
 reserve it for him ; whereas, if Monsieur does not mean 
 to do so, I will promise it to some of the king’s people 
 who are coming.” 
 
 “ That is but right,” said the unknown, after a long 
 silence ; “ but as I have no more money, as you have 
 seen, and as I yet must retain the appartement, you 
 must either sell this diamond in the city, or hold it in 
 pledge.” 
 
 Cropole looked at the diamond so long that the un- 
 known said hastily : “ I prefer your selling it, Monsieur, 
 for it is worth three hundred pistoles. A Jew — are 
 there any Jews in Blois ? — would give you two hundred 
 or a hundred and fifty for it. Take whatever may be 
 offered for it, if it be no more than the price of your 
 lodging. Begone ! ” 
 
54 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur,” replied Cropole, ashamed of the sud- 
 den inferiority which the unknown retorted upon him by 
 this noble and disinterested confidence, as well as by the 
 unalterable patience opposed to so many suspicions and 
 evasions, — “ Oh, Monsieur, I hope people are not so dis- 
 honest at Blois as you seem to think ; and that the 
 diamond, being worth what you say — ” 
 
 The unknown here again darted at Cropole one of his 
 eloquent glances. 
 
 “ I really do not understand diamonds, Monsieur, I 
 assure you,” cried he. 
 
 “ But the jewellers do ; ask them,” said the unknown. 
 “ Now I believe our accounts are settled, are they not, 
 Monsieur host V 9 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur, and to my profound regret, for I 
 fear I have offended Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Not at all,” replied the unknown, with ineffable 
 majesty. 
 
 “ Or have appeared to be extortionate with a noble 
 traveller. Consider, Monsieur, the peculiarity of the 
 case.” 
 
 “ Say no more about it, I desire ; and leave me to 
 myself.” 
 
 Cropole bowed profoundly, and left the room with a 
 stupefied air, which proved that he had a good heart and 
 felt genuine remorse. 
 
 The unknown himself shut the door after him, and, 
 when left alone, looked mournfully at the bottom of the 
 purse, from which he had taken a small silken bag con- 
 taining the diamond, his last resource. 
 
 He dwelt likewise upon the emptiness of his pockets, 
 turned over the papers in his pocket-book, and convinced 
 himself of the state of absolute destitution in which he 
 was about to be plunged. 
 
THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 55 
 
 He raised his eyes towards heaven, with a sublime 
 emotion of despairing calmness, brushed off with his 
 trembling hand some drops of sweat which trickled over 
 his noble brow, and then cast down upon the earth a 
 look which just before had been impressed wflth almost 
 divine majesty. 
 
 The storm had passed far from him ; perhaps he had 
 prayed from the bottom of his soul. 
 
 He drew near to the wundow, resumed his place in the 
 balcony, and remained there, motionless, annihilated, 
 dead, till the moment when, the heavens beginning to 
 darken, the first flambeaux traversed the perfumed 
 street, and gave the signal for illumination to all the 
 windows of the city. 
 
56 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 PARRY. 
 
 While the unknown was viewing these lights with in- 
 terest, and lending an ear to the various noises, Master 
 Cropole entered the appartement, followed by two attend- 
 ants, who laid the cloth for his meal. 
 
 The stranger did not pay them the least attention • 
 but Cropole, approaching him respectfully, whispered, 
 “ Monsieur, the diamond has been valued.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the traveller. “ Well ? ” 
 
 “Well, Monsieur, the jeweller of his royal Highness 
 gives two hundred and eighty pistoles for it.” 
 
 “ Have you them ? ” 
 
 “ I thought it best to take them, Monsieur ; never- 
 theless, I made it a condition of the bargain, that if 
 Monsieur wished to keep his diamond it should be held 
 till Monsieur was again in funds.” 
 
 “ Oh, no, not at all ! I told you to sell it.” 
 
 “ Then I have obeyed, or nearly so, since, without 
 having definitely sold it, I have touched the money.” 
 “Pay yourself,” added the unknown. 
 
 “I will do so, Monsieur, since you so positively re- 
 quire it.” 
 
 A sad smile passed over the lips of the gentleman. 
 
 “ Place the money on that trunk,” said he, turning 
 round and pointing to the piece of furniture. 
 
 Cropole deposited a tolerably large bag as directed, 
 after having taken from it the amount of his reckoning. 
 
PARRY. 
 
 57 
 
 “Now,” said he, “I hope Monsieur will not give me 
 the pain of not taking any supper. Dinner has already 
 been refused ; this is affronting to the house of the 
 Medici. Look, Monsieur, the supper is on the table, 
 and I venture to say that it looks attractive.” 
 
 The unknown asked for a glass of wine, broke off a 
 morsel of bread, and did not stir from the window while 
 he ate and drank. 
 
 Shortly after was heard a loud flourish of trumpets ; 
 cries arose in the distance, a confused buzzing filled the 
 lower part of the city, and the first distinct sound that 
 struck the ears of the stranger was the tramp of advan- 
 cing horses. 
 
 “ The king ! the king ! ” repeated a noisy and eager crowd. 
 
 “ The king ! ” cried Cropole, abandoning his guest and 
 his ideas of delicacy to satisfy his curiosity. 
 
 With Cropole were mingled and jostled, on the stair 
 case, Madame Cropole, Pittrino, and the waiters and 
 scullions. 
 
 The cortege advanced slowly, lighted by a thousand 
 flambeaux in the street and at the windows. 
 
 After a company of musketeers, and a closely ranked 
 troop of gentlemen, came the litter of M. le Cardinal 
 Mazarin, drawn like a carriage by four black horses. The 
 pages and people of the cardinal marched behind. 
 
 Next came the carriage of the queen-mother, with her 
 maids of honor at the doors, her gentlemen on horseback 
 at both sides. 
 
 The king then appeared, mounted upon a splendid 
 horse of Saxon race, with a flowing mane. The young 
 prince exhibited, when bowing toward some windows from 
 which issued the most animated acclamations, a noble 
 and handsome countenance illumined by the flambeaux 
 of his pages. 
 
58 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 On either side of the king, though a little in the rear, 
 the Prince de Conde, M. Dangeau, and twenty other 
 courtiers, followed by their people and their baggage, 
 closed this veritably triumphant march. The pomp was 
 of a military character. 
 
 Some of the courtiers — the elder ones, for instance — 
 wore travelling dresses ; but all the rest were clothed 
 in warlike panoply. Many wore the gorget and buff coat 
 of the times of Henry IV. and Louis XIII. 
 
 When the king passed before him, the unknown, who 
 had leaned forward over the balcony to obtain a better 
 view, and who had concealed his face by leaning on his 
 arm, felt his heart swell and overflow with a bitter 
 jealousy. 
 
 The noise of the trumpets excited him, the popular 
 acclamations deafened him ; for a moment he allowed 
 his reason to be absorbed in this flood of lights, tumult, 
 and brilliant images. 
 
 “He is a king ! ” murmured he, in an accent of despair. 
 
 Then, before he had recovered from his sombre reverie, 
 all the noise, all the splendor, had passed away. At the 
 angle of the street there remained nothing beneath the 
 stranger but a few hoarse, discordant voices, shouting 
 at intervals, “ Vive le Roi ! ” 
 
 There remained likewise the six candles held by the 
 inhabitants of the hostelry of the Medici ; that is to 
 say, two for Cropole, two for Pittrino, and one for each 
 scullion. Cropole never ceased repeating, “ How good- 
 looking the king is ! How strongly he resembles his 
 illustrious father ! ” 
 
 “ A handsome likeness ! ” said Pittrino. 
 
 “And what a lofty carriage he has ! ” added Madame 
 Cropole, already in promiscuous commentary with her 
 neighbors of both sexes. 
 
PARRY. 
 
 59 
 
 Cropole was feeding their gossip with his own personal 
 remarks, without observing that an old man on foot, but 
 leading a small Irish horse by the bridle, was endeavor- 
 ing to penetrate the crowd of men and women which 
 blocked up the entrance to the Medici. But at that 
 moment the voice of the stranger was heard from the 
 window. 
 
 “Make way, Monsieur host, to the entrance of your 
 house ! ” 
 
 Cropole turned round, and on seeing the old man, 
 cleared a passage for him. 
 
 The window was instantly closed. 
 
 Pittrino pointed out the way to the newly arrived 
 guest, who entered without uttering a word. 
 
 The stranger waited for him on the landing. He opened 
 his arms to the old man, and would have led him to a 
 seat ; but he resisted. 
 
 “ Oh, no, no, my Lord ! ” said he. “ Sit down in your 
 presence ? — never ! ” 
 
 “ Parry,” cried the gentleman, “ I beg you will ; you 
 come from England, — you come so far. Ah ! it is not 
 for your age to undergo the fatigues my service requires. 
 Rest yourself.’ 7 
 
 “ I have my reply to give your Lordship, in the first 
 place.” 
 
 “Parry, I conjure you tell me nothing; for if your 
 news had been good, you would not have begun in such 
 a manner. You hesitate, which proves that the news 
 is bad.” 
 
 “My Lord,” said the old man, “do not hasten to 
 alarm yourself ; all is not lost, I hope. There is need 
 of energy, of perseverance, but more particularly of 
 resignation.” 
 
 “ Parry,” said the young man, “ I have reached this 
 
60 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 place through a thousand snares and after a thousand 
 difficulties : can you doubt my energy % I have medi- 
 tated this journey ten years, in spite of all counsels and 
 all obstacles : have you faith in my perseverance 1 I 
 have this evening sold the last of my father’s diamonds; 
 for I had nothing wherewith to pay for my lodgings, and 
 my host was about to turn me out.” 
 
 Parry made a gesture of indignation, to which the 
 young man replied by a pressure of the hand and a 
 smile. 
 
 “ I have still two hundred and seventy-four pistoles left, 
 and I feel myself rich. I do not despair, Parry : have 
 you faith in my resignation ? ” 
 
 The old man raised his trembling hands towards heaven. 
 “ Let me know,” said the stranger, — “ disguise nothing 
 from me — what has happened.” 
 
 “ My recital will be short, my Lord ; but, in the name 
 of Heaven, do not tremble so.” 
 
 “ It is impatience, Parry. Come, what did the general 
 say to you ? ” 
 
 “At first the general would not receive me.” 
 
 “ He took you for a spy ? ” 
 
 “Yes, my Lord ; but I wrote him a letter.” 
 
 “Weill” 
 
 “ He received it, and read it, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Did that letter thoroughly explain my position and 
 my views "l ” 
 
 “ Oh yes ! ” said Parry, with a sad smile ; “ it faithfully 
 pictured your very thoughts.” 
 
 “ Well — then, Parry h 99 
 
 “ Then the general sent me back the letter by an aide, 
 de-camp, informing me that if I were found the next day 
 within the circumscription of his command, he would 
 have me arrested.” 
 
PARRY. 
 
 61 
 
 “ Arrested ! ” murmured the young man. “ What ! 
 arrest you, my most faithful servant h ” 
 
 “Yes, my Lord.” 
 
 “ And notwithstanding you had signed the name 
 Parry % ” 
 
 “ Plainly, my Lord ; and the aide-de-camp had known 
 me at St. James’s, and at Whitehall too,” added the old 
 man, with a sigh. 
 
 The young man leaned forward, thoughtful and sad. 
 
 “Ay, that’s what he did before his people,” said he, 
 endeavoring to cheat himself with hopes. “ But privately 
 — between you and him — what did he do 1 Answer ! ” 
 
 “ Alas ! my Lord, he sent to me four cavaliers, who gave 
 me the horse with which you just now saw me come back. 
 These cavaliers conducted me, in great haste, to the little 
 port of Tenby, threw me rather than embarked me into a 
 fishing-boat about to sail for Brittany, and here I am.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” sighed the young man, clasping his neck con- 
 vulsively with his hand, and with a sob. “Parry, is that 
 all 1 — is that all 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, my Lord ; that is all.” 
 
 After this brief reply ensued a long interval of silence, 
 broken only by the convulsive beating of the heel of the 
 young man on the floor. 
 
 The old man endeavored to change the conversation ; 
 it was leading to thoughts much too sinister. 
 
 “My Lord,” said he, “what is the meaning of all the 
 noise which preceded me 1 What are these people crying 
 ‘ Vive le Roi ! ’ for 1 What king do they mean, and what 
 are all these lights for 1 ” 
 
 “ Ah, Parry,” replied the young man, ironically, “ don’t 
 you know that this is the King of France visiting his good 
 city of Blois 1 All those trumpets are his ; all those gilded 
 housings are his ; all those gentlemen wear swords that are 
 
62 
 
 THE yiCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 his. His mother precedes him in a carriage magnificently 
 incrusted with silver and gold. Happy mother ! His min- 
 ister heaps np millions, and conducts him to a rich bride. 
 Then all these people rejoice ; they love their king, they 
 hail him with their acclamations, and they cry, ‘Vive le 
 Roi ! Vive le Roi ! ’ » 
 
 “ Well, well, my Lord,” said Parry, more uneasy at this 
 turn of the conversation than he had been before. 
 
 “You know,” resumed the unknown, “ that my mother 
 and my sister, while all this is going on in honor of the 
 King of France, have neither money nor beead ; you know 
 that I myself shall be poor and degraded within a fort- 
 night, when all Europe will become acquainted with what 
 you have told me. Parry, are there not examples in 
 which a man of my condition should himself — ” 
 
 “ My Lord, in the name of Heaven — ” 
 
 “ You are right, Parry. I am a coward ; and if I do 
 nothing for myself, what will God do] No, no ; I have 
 two arms, Parry, and I have a sword ; ” and he struck 
 his arm violently with his hand, and took down his sword, 
 which hung against the wall. 
 
 “ What are you going to do, my Lord ] r 1 
 “ What am I going to do, Parry ] What every one in 
 my family does. My mother lives on public charity ; my 
 sister begs for my mother ; I have, somewhere or other, 
 brothers who equally beg for themselves ; and I, the 
 eldest, will go and do as all the rest do, — I will go and 
 ask charity ! ” 
 
 And at these words, which he finished sharply with a 
 nervous and terrible laugh, the young man girded on 
 his sword, took his hat from the trunk, fastened to his 
 shoulder a black cloak, which he had worn during all his 
 journej 7 , and pressing the hands of the old man, who 
 watched his proceedings with a look of anxiety, — 
 
PARRY. 
 
 63 
 
 “ My good Parry/’ said he, u order a fire. Drink, eat, 
 sleep, and be happy ; let us both be happy, my faithful 
 friend, my only friend. We are rich, as rich as kings ! ” 
 He struck the bag of pistoles with his clenched hands 
 as he spoke, and it fell heavily to the ground. He re- 
 sumed that dismal laugh which had so alarmed Parry ; and 
 while the whole household was screaming, singing, and 
 preparing to install the travellers who had been preceded 
 by their lackeys, he glided out by the principal entrance 
 into the street, where the old man, who had gone to the 
 window, lost sight of him in a moment. 
 
64 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHAT HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIV. WAS AT THE AGE OF 
 TWENTY-TWO. 
 
 It has been seen, by the account we have endeavored to 
 give of it, that the entree of King Louis XIY. into the 
 city of Blois had been noisy and brilliant ; his young Ma- 
 jesty had therefore appeared perfectly satisfied with it. 
 
 On arriving beneath the porch of the Castle of the 
 States, the king met, surrounded by his guards and gen- 
 tlemen, with his royal Highness the Duke, Gaston of Or- 
 leans, whose physiognomy, naturally rather majestic, had 
 borrowed on this solemn occasion a fresh lustre and a 
 fresh dignity. On her part, Madame, dressed in her 
 robes of ceremony, awaited, in the interior balcony, the 
 entrance of her nephew. All the windows of the old 
 castle, so deserted and dismal on ordinary days, were 
 resplendent with ladies and lights. 
 
 It was, then, to the sound of drums, trumpets, and ri- 
 vals, that the young king crossed the threshold of that 
 castle in which, seventy-two years before, Henry III. had 
 called in the aid of assassination and treachery to keep 
 upon his head and in his house a crown which was already 
 slipping from his brow to fall into another family. 
 
 All eyes, after having admired the young king, so 
 handsome and so agreeable, sought for that other king 
 of France, — a king very unlike the former, and so 
 old, so pale, so bent, that people called him the Cardinal 
 Mazarin. 
 
LOUIS XIV. 
 
 65 
 
 Louis was at this time endowed with all the natural 
 gifts which make the perfect gentleman. His eye was 
 brilliant, mild, and of a clear azure blue ; but the most 
 skilful physiognomists, those divers into the soul, on fix- 
 ing their looks upon it, — if it had been possible for a sub- 
 ject to sustain the glance of the king, — the most skilful 
 physiognomists, we say, would never have been able to 
 fathom the depths of that abyss of mildness. It was 
 with the eyes of the king as with the immense depth of 
 the azure heavens, or with those depths, more terrific and 
 almost as sublime, which the Mediterranean reveals under 
 the keels of its ships in a clear summer day, — a gigantic 
 mirror in which heaven delights to reflect sometimes its 
 stars, sometimes its storms. 
 
 The king was short of stature, — he was scarcely five 
 feet two inches ; but his youth extenuated this defect, set 
 off likewise by great nobleness in all his movements and 
 by considerable address in all bodily exercises. 
 
 Certainly he was already quite a king, and it was a 
 great thing to be a king in that period of traditional 
 devotedness and respect ; but as up to that time he had 
 been but seldom and always but poorly shown to the 
 people, since they to whom he w T as shown saw him by the 
 side of his mother, a tall woman, and Monsieur the Car- 
 dinal, a man of fine presence, many found him so little 
 of a king as to say, “ Why, the king is not so much of 
 a man as Monsieur the Cardinal ! ” 
 
 Whatever may be thought of these physical observa- 
 tions, which were principally made in the capital, the 
 young king was welcomed as a god by the inhabitants of 
 Blois, and almost like a king by his uncle and aunt, 
 Monsieur and Madame, the inhabitants of the castle. 
 
 It must, however, be allowed that when he saw in the 
 hall of reception chairs of equal height placed for him- 
 VOL. i. — 5 
 
66 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 self, his mother, the cardinal, and his uncle and aunt, — 
 an arrangement artfully concealed by the semicircular 
 form of the assembly, — Louis XI Y. became red with 
 anger, and looked around him to ascertain, by the coun- 
 tenances of those that were present, if this humiliation 
 had been intentionally devised. But as he saw nothing 
 upon the impassive visage of the cardinal, nothing on 
 that of his mother, nothing on those of the assembly, he 
 resigned himself and sat down, taking care to be seated 
 before anybody else. 
 
 The gentlemen and ladies were presented to their 
 Majesties and Monsieur the Cardinal. 
 
 The king remarked that his mother and he scarcely 
 knew the names of any of the persons who were presented 
 to them ; while the cardinal, on the contrary, never failed, 
 with an admirable memory and presence of mind, to talk 
 to every one about his estates, his ancestors, or his chil- 
 dren, some of whom he named, — which enchanted those 
 worthy country gentlemen, and confirmed them in the 
 idea that he alone is truly king who knows his subjects, 
 for the same reason that the sun has no rival, because 
 the sun alone warms and gives light. 
 
 The study of the young king, which had begun a long 
 time before without anybody suspecting it, was con- 
 tinued then ; and he looked around him attentively, to 
 endeavor to make out something in the physiognomies 
 which had at first appeared the most insignificant and 
 trivial. 
 
 A collation was served. The king, without daring to 
 call upon the hospitality of his uncle, had waited for it 
 impatiently. This time, therefore, he had all the honors 
 due, if not to his rank, at least to his appetite. 
 
 As to the cardinal, he contented himself with touching 
 with his withered lips a bouillon , served in a gold cup. 
 
LOUIS XIV, 
 
 67 
 
 The all-powerful minister, who had taken her regency 
 from the queen and his royalty from the king, had not 
 been able to take from Nature a good stomach. 
 
 Anne of Austria, already suffering from the cancer 
 which six or eight years after caused her death, ate very 
 little more than the cardinal. 
 
 As to Monsieur, already puffed up with the great event 
 which had taken place in his provincial life, he ate noth- 
 ing whatever. 
 
 Madame alone, like a true Lorrainer, kept pace with 
 his Majesty ; so that Louis XIV., who, without this 
 partner, might have eaten nearly alone, was at first 
 much pleased with his aunt, and afterwards with M. de 
 Saint-Remy, her maitre d'hotel , who had really distin- 
 guished himself. 
 
 The collation over, at a sign of approbation from 
 M. de Mazarin, the king arose, and, at the invitation 
 of his aunt, walked about among the ranks of the 
 assembly. 
 
 The ladies then observed — there are certain things 
 for which women are as good observers at Blois as at 
 Paris — the ladies then observed that Louis XIV. had 
 a prompt and bold look, which premised a distinguished 
 appreciator of beauty. The men, on their part, observed 
 that the prince was proud and haughty, — that he loved 
 to look down those who fixed their eyes upon him too 
 long or too earnestly, which gave presage of a master. 
 
 Louis XIV. had accomplished about a third of his 
 review, when his ears were struck with a word which his 
 Eminence pronounced while conversing with Monsieur. 
 
 This word was the name of a woman. 
 
 Scarcely had Louis XIV. heard this word than he 
 heard, or rather listened to, nothing else ; and neglecting 
 the arc of the circle which awaited his visit, his object 
 
68 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 seemed to be to come as quickly as possible to the ex- 
 tremity of the curve. 
 
 Monsieur, like a good courtier, was inquiring of Mon- 
 sieur the Cardinal after the health of his nieces, — for, 
 five or six years before, three nieces to the cardinal had 
 arrived from Italy ; they were Mesdemoiselles Hortense, 
 Olympe, and Marie de Mancini. Monsieur, then, in- 
 quired of the cardinal concerning the health of his nieces ; 
 he regretted, he said, not having the pleasure of receiving 
 them at the same time with their uncle ; they must cer- 
 tainly have grown in stature, beauty, and grace, as they 
 had promised to do the last time Monsieur had seen 
 them. 
 
 What had first struck the king was a certain contrast 
 in the voices of the two interlocutors. The voice of Mon- 
 sieur was calm and natural while he spoke thus, while 
 that of M. de Mazarin in reply jumped by a note and 
 a half above his ordinary tone. It might have been said 
 that he wished that voice to strike, at the end of the 
 salon, an ear that was receding too far. 
 
 “ Monseigneur,” replied he, “ Mesdemoiselles de Maza- 
 rin have still to finish their education ; they have duties 
 to fulfil, and a position to make. An abode in a young 
 and brilliant court tends to frivolity.” 
 
 Louis, at this last sentence, smiled sadly. The court 
 was young, it was true, but the avarice of the cardinal 
 had taken good care that it should not be brilliant. 
 
 “ You have, nevertheless, no intention,” replied Mon- 
 sieur, “ to cloister them or make them bourgeoises ? ” 
 
 “ Not at all,” replied the cardinal, forcing his Italian 
 pronunciation in such a manner that, from being soft and 
 velvety, it became sharp and vibrating, — “ not at all ; 
 I have a full and fixed intention to marry them, and that 
 as well as I shall be able.” 
 
LOUIS XIV. 
 
 09 
 
 “ Parties will not be wanting, Monsieur the Cardinal,” 
 replied Monsieur, with a bonhommie worthy of one trades- 
 man congratulating another. 
 
 “ I hope not, Monseigneur ; and the more confidently 
 since God has been pleased to give them grace, intelli- 
 gence, and beauty.” 
 
 During this conversation Louis XIV., conducted by 
 Madame, accomplished, as we have described, the circle 
 of presentations. 
 
 “ Mademoiselle Arnoux,” said the princess, presenting 
 to his Majesty a fat, fair girl of two-and-twenty, who at a 
 village fete might have been taken for a peasant in Sunday 
 finery, — “ the daughter of my music-mistress.” 
 
 The king smiled. Madame had never been able to ex- 
 tract four correct notes from either viol or harpsichord. 
 
 “ Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais,” continued Madame ; 
 “ a young lady of rank, and my good attendant.” 
 
 This time it was not the king that smiled ; it was the 
 young lady presented, because, for the first time in her 
 life, she heard given to her by Madame, who generally 
 showed no tendency to spoil her, such an honorable 
 qualification. 
 
 Our old acquaintance Montalais, therefore, made his 
 Majesty a profound courtesy, the more respectful from 
 the necessity she was under of concealing certain contrac- 
 tions of her laughing lips, which the king might not have 
 attributed to their real cause. 
 
 It was just at this moment that the king caught the 
 word which startled him. 
 
 “ And the name of the third ] ” asked Monsieur. 
 
 “ Marie, Monseigneur,” replied the cardinal. 
 
 There was doubtless some magical influence in that 
 word ; for, as we have said, the king started at hearing 
 it, and drew Madame towards the middle of the circle, as 
 
70 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 if he wished to put some confidential question to her, 
 but, in reality, for the sake of getting nearer to the 
 cardinal. 
 
 “ Madame my aunt,” said he, laughing, and in a sup- 
 pressed voice, “ my geography master did not teach me 
 that Blois was at such an immense distance from Paris.” 
 
 “ What do you mean, Nephew?” asked Madame. 
 
 “ Why, because it would appear that it requires several 
 years for fashions to travel the distance ! — Look at those 
 young ladies ! ” 
 
 “Well; I know them all.” 
 
 “ Some of them are pretty.” 
 
 “ Don’t say that too loud, Monsieur my nephew ; you 
 will drive them wild.” 
 
 “ Stop a bit, stop a bit, dear aunt ! ” said the king, smil- 
 ing ; “ for the second part of my sentence will serve as a 
 corrective to the first. Well, my dear aunt, some of them 
 appear old and others ugly, thanks to their ten-year-old 
 fashions.” 
 
 “ But, Sire, Blois is only five days’ journey from Paris.” 
 “Yes, that is it,” said the king; “two years behind 
 for each day.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! do you really think so ? Well, that is 
 strange ! It never struck me.” 
 
 “ Now, look, Aunt,” said Louis XIV., drawing still 
 nearer to Mazarin, under the pretext of gaining a better 
 point of view, “ look at that simple white dress by the 
 side of those antiquated specimens of finery and those 
 pretentious coiffures. She is probably one of my mother’s 
 maids of honor, though I don’t know her. See what an 
 artless figure, what gracious manners ! Well, now, that 
 is a woman ; all the rest are only clothes.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ah ! my dear nephew ! ” replied Madame, laugh- 
 ing; “permit me to tell you that your divinatory science 
 
LOUIS XIV. 
 
 71 
 
 is at fault for once. The young lady you honor with your 
 praise is not a Parisian, but a Blaisoise.” 
 
 tc Oh, Aunt ! ” replied the king, with a look of doubt. 
 
 “ Come here, Louise,” said Madame. 
 
 And the fair girl, already known to you under that 
 name, approached them, timid and blushing, and almost 
 bent beneath the royal glance. 
 
 “ Mademoiselle Louise Frangoise de laBeaume Leblanc, 
 daughter of the Marquis de la Valliere,” said Madame, 
 ceremoniously. 
 
 The young girl bowed with so much grace, mingled 
 with the profound timidity inspired by the presence of 
 the king, that the latter lost, while looking at her, a few 
 words of the conversation of Monsieur and the cardinal. 
 
 “ Daughter-in-law/’ continued Madame, “ of M. de 
 Saint-Bemy, my maitre d’hotel , who presided over the con- 
 fection of that excellent daube truffee which your Majesty 
 seemed so much to appreciate.” 
 
 No grace, no youth, no beauty, could stand out against 
 such a presentation. The king smiled. Whether the 
 words of Madame were a pleasantry, or uttered in all in- 
 nocence, they proved the pitiless immolation of everything 
 that Louis had found charming or poetic in the young 
 girl. Mademoiselle de la Valliere, for Madame, and by 
 rebound for the king, was, for a moment, no more than 
 the daughter of a man of a superior talent over dindes 
 truffees. 
 
 But princes are thus constituted. The gods, too, were 
 just like this in Olympus. Diana and Venus, no doubt, 
 abused the beautiful Alcmena and poor Io, when they de- 
 scended, for distraction’s sake, to speak, amid nectar and 
 ambrosia, of mortal beauties at the table of Jupiter. 
 
 Fortunately, Louise was so bent in her reverential sa- 
 lute that she did not catch either Madame’s words or 
 
72 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the king’s smile. In fact, if the poor child, who had so 
 much good taste as alone to have chosen to dress herself 
 in white amidst all her companions, — if that dove’s heart, 
 so easily accessible to painful emotions, had been touched 
 by the cruel words of Madame or the egotistical cold 
 smile of the king, it would have annihilated her. 
 
 And Montalais herself, the girl of ingenious ideas, would 
 not have attempted to recall her to life ; for ridicule kills 
 beauty even. 
 
 But fortunately, as we have said, Louise, whose ears 
 were buzzing, and whose eyes w r ere veiled by timidity, — 
 Louise saw nothing and heard nothing ; and the king, who 
 had his attention still directed to the conversation of the 
 cardinal and his uncle, hastened to return to them. 
 
 He came up just at the moment Mazarin terminated by 
 saying : “ Marie, as well as her sisters, has just set off for 
 Brouage. I make them follow the bank of the Loire op- 
 posite to that along which we have travelled ; and if I 
 calculate their progress correctly, according to the orders 
 I have given, they will to-morrow be opposite Blois.” 
 
 These words were pronounced with that tact — that 
 measure, that distinctness of tone, of intention and reach 
 — which made Signor Giulio Mazarini the first comedian 
 in the world. 
 
 It resulted that they went straight to the heart of 
 Louis XIV., and that the cardinal, on turning round at 
 the simple noise of the approaching footsteps of his 
 Majesty, saw the immediate effect of them upon the 
 countenance of his pupil, — an effect betrayed to the keen 
 eyes of his Eminence by a slight increase of color. But 
 what was the ventilating of such a secret to him whose 
 craft had for twenty years deceived all the diplomatists 
 of Europe ? 
 
 From the moment the young king heard these last 
 
LOUIS XIV. 
 
 73 
 
 words, he appeared as if he had received a poisoned arrow 
 in his heart. He could not remain quiet in one place, 
 but cast around an uncertain, dead, and aimless look over 
 the assembly. He with his eyes interrogated his mother 
 more than twenty times ; but she, given up to the pleas- 
 ure of conversing with her sister-in-law, and likewise con- 
 strained by the glance of Mazarin, did not appear to 
 comprehend any of the supplications conveyed by the 
 looks of her son. 
 
 From this moment, music, lights, flowers, beauties, all 
 became odious and insipid to Louis XIY. After he had 
 a hundred times bitten his lips, stretched his legs and his 
 arms like a well-bred child who, without daring to gape, 
 exhausts all the modes of evincing his weariness, with- 
 out having uselessly again implored his mother and the 
 minister, he turned a despairing look towards the door, — 
 that is to say, towards liberty. 
 
 At this door, leaning against the embrasure, he saw, 
 standing out strongly, a figure with a brown and lofty 
 countenance, an aquiline nose, a stern but brilliant eye, 
 gray and long hair, a black mustache, — the true type 
 of military beauty, — whose gorget, more sparkling than 
 a mirror, broke all the reflected lights which concentrated 
 upon it, and sent them back in flashes. This officer wore 
 his gray hat with its long red plume upon his head, — a 
 proof that he was called there by duty, and not by pleasure. 
 If he had been brought thither by pleasure, if he had been 
 a courtier instead of a soldier, — as pleasure must always 
 be paid fof at some price, — he would have held his hat 
 in his hand. 
 
 What proved still better that this officer was upon 
 duty, and was accomplishing a task to which he was 
 accustomed, was that he watched, with folded arms, 
 remarkable indifference, and supreme apathy, the joys 
 
74 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and ennuis of this fete. Above all, he appeared, — like 
 a philosopher, and all old soldiers are philosophers, — 
 he appeared, above all, to comprehend the ennuis in- 
 finitely better than the joys ; but in the one he took 
 his part, knowing very well how to do without the 
 other. 
 
 Now, he was leaning, as we have said, against the 
 carved door-frame when the melancholy, weary eyes of 
 the king by chance met his. 
 
 It was not the first time, as it appeared, that the eyes 
 of the officer had met those eyes, and he was perfectly 
 acquainted with the expression of them ; for as soon as 
 he had cast his own look upon the countenance of Louis 
 XIV., and had read by it what was passing in his heart, 
 — that is to say, all the ennui that oppressed him, all 
 the timid desire to go out which agitated him, — he 
 perceived he must render the king a service without 
 his commanding it, almost in spite of himself. Boldly, 
 therefore, as if he had given the word of command to 
 cavalry in battle, “ On the king’s service ! ” cried he, in 
 a clear, sonorous voice. 
 
 At these words, which produced the effect of a peal of 
 thunder, prevailing over the orchestra, the singing, and 
 the buzz of the promenaders, the cardinal and the queen- 
 mother looked at the king with surprise. 
 
 Louis XIV., pale but resolved, supported as he was 
 by that intuition of his own thought which he had found 
 in the mind of the officer of Musketeers, and which he 
 had just manifested by the order given, arose from his 
 chair, and took a step towards the door. 
 
 “Are you going, my son?” said the queen, while 
 Mazarin satisfied himself with interrogating by a look 
 which might have appeared mild if it had not been so 
 piercing. 
 
LOUIS XIV. 
 
 75 
 
 “ Yes, Madame,” replied the king ; “ I am fatigued, 
 and, besides, wish to write this evening.” 
 
 A smile stole over the lips of the minister, who ap- 
 peared, by a bend of the head, to give the king 
 permission. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame hastened to give orders to the 
 officers who presented themselves. 
 
 The king bowed, crossed the hall, and gained the door, 
 where a hedge of twenty musketeers awaited him. At 
 the extremity of this hedge stood the officer, impassible, 
 with his drawn sword in his hand. The king passed, and 
 all the crowd stood on tip-toe to have one more look at 
 him. 
 
 Ten musketeers, opening the crowd of the antecham- 
 bers and the steps, made way for his Majesty. The other 
 ten surrounded the king and Monsieur, who had insisted 
 upon accompanying his Majesty. The domestics walked 
 behind. This little cortege escorted the king to the 
 chamber destined for him. The appartement was the 
 jame that had been occupied by Henry III. during his 
 sojourn in the States. 
 
 Monsieur had given his orders. The musketeers, led 
 by their officer, took possession of the little passage by 
 which one wing of the castle communicates with the 
 other. The beginning of this passage was a small, square 
 antechamber, dark even in the finest days. Monsieur 
 stopped Louis XIY. 
 
 “ You are passing now, Sire,” said he, “ the very spot 
 where the Due de Guise received the first stab of the 
 poniard.” 
 
 The king was ignorant of all historical matters; he 
 had heard of the fact, but he knew nothing of the 
 localities or the details. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said he, with a shudder. 
 
76 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 And he stopped. The rest, both behind him and be* 
 fore him, stopped likewise. 
 
 “ The duke, Sire,” continued Gaston, “ was nearly where 
 I stand ; he was walking in the same direction as your 
 Majesty; M. de Lorgnes was exactly where your lieu- 
 tenant of Musketeers is; M. de Saint-Maline and his 
 Majesty’s Ordinaries were behind him and around him. 
 It was here that he was struck.” 
 
 The king turned towards his officer, and saw something 
 like a cloud pass over his martial and daring countenance. 
 
 “ Yes, from behind ! ” murmured the lieutenant, with 
 a gesture of supreme disdain ; and he endeavored to re- 
 sume the march, as if ill at ease at being between walls 
 formerly defiled by treachery. 
 
 But the king, who appeared to wish to be informed, 
 was disposed to give another look at this dismal spot. 
 
 Gaston perceived his nephew’s desire. 
 
 “ Look, Sire ! ’’said he, taking a flambeau from the hands 
 of M. de Saint-Kemy ; “ this is where he fell. There was 
 a bed there, the curtains of which he tore with catching 
 at them.” 
 
 “ Why does the floor seem hollowed out at this spot 'I ” 
 asked Louis. 
 
 “ Because it was here the blood flowed,” replied Gaston, 
 “ The blood penetrated deeply into the oak, and it was only 
 by cutting it out that they succeeded in making it dis- 
 appear ; and even then,” added Gaston, pointing the flam- 
 beau to the spot, — “ even then this red stain resisted 
 all the attempts made to destroy it.” 
 
 Louis XIV. raised his head. Perhaps he was thinking 
 of that bloody trace which had once been shown him at 
 the Louvre, and which, as a pendant to that of Blois, had 
 been made there one day by the king his father with the 
 blood of Concini. 
 
LOUIS XIV. 
 
 77 
 
 “ Let us go on,” said he. 
 
 The march was resumed promptly ; for emotion, no 
 doubt, had given to the voice of the young prince a tone 
 of command which was not customary with him. When 
 arrived at the appartement destined for the king, which 
 communicated not only with the little passage we have 
 passed through, but further with the great staircase 
 leading to the court, — 
 
 “ Will your Majesty,” said Gaston, “ condescend to 
 occupy this appartement, all unworthy as it is to receive 
 you]” 
 
 Uncle,” replied the young king, “ I render you my 
 thanks for your cordial hospitality.” 
 
 Gaston bowed to his nephew, who embraced him, and 
 then went out. 
 
 Of the twenty musketeers who had accompanied the 
 king, ten reconducted Monsieur to the reception-rooms, 
 which were not yet empty, notwithstanding the king had 
 retired. 
 
 The ten others were posted by their officer, who him- 
 self explored, in five minutes, all the localities, with that 
 cold and certain glance which not even habit gives unless 
 that glance belong to genius. Then, when all were placed, 
 he chose as his headquarters the antechamber, in which 
 he found a large fauteuil , a lamp, some wine, some water, 
 and some dry bread. He revived the light, drank half a 
 glass of wine, curled his lip with a smile full of expression, 
 installed himself in his large arm-chair, and made prepa- 
 rations for sleeping. 
 
78 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 IN WHICH THE UNKNOWN OF THE HOSTELRY OF THE 
 MEDICI LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 This officer, who was sleeping, or preparing to sleep, was, 
 notwithstanding his careless air, charged with a serious 
 responsibility. 
 
 Lieutenant of the king’s Musketeers, he commanded 
 all the company which came from Paris, and that com- 
 pany consisted of a hundred and twenty men ; but, with 
 the exception of the twenty of whom we have spoken, the 
 other hundred were engaged in guarding the queen- 
 mother, and more particularly the cardinal. 
 
 Monsignor Giulio Mazarini economized the travelling 
 expenses of his guards ; he consequently used the king’s, 
 and that largely, since he took fifty of them for himself, — 
 a peculiarity which would not have failed to strike any 
 one unacquainted with the usages of that court. 
 
 What would to a stranger still further have appeared, 
 if not inconvenient, at least extraordinary, was that the 
 side of the castle destined for Monsieur the Cardinal was 
 brilliant, light, and cheerful. The musketeers there 
 mounted guard before every door, and allowed no one to 
 enter except the couriers, who, even while he was travel- 
 ling, followed the cardinal for the carrying on of his 
 correspondence. 
 
 Twenty men were on duty with the queen-mother; 
 thirty rested, in order to relieve their companions the 
 next day. 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 79 
 
 On the king’s side, on the contrary, were darkness, 
 silence, and solitude. When once the doors were closed, 
 there was no longer an appearance of royalty. All the 
 servitors had by degrees retired. Monsieur the Prince 
 had sent to know if his Majesty required his attendance ; 
 and on the customary “ No ” of the lieutenant of Muske- 
 teers, who was habituated to the question and the reply, 
 all prepared to sink into the arms of sleep, as if in the 
 dwelling of a good citizen. 
 
 And yet it was possible to hear from the side of tho 
 house occupied by the young king the music of the ban- 
 quet, and to see the windows of the great hall richly 
 illuminated. 
 
 Ten minutes after his installation in his appartement, 
 Louis XIV. had been able to learn, by a movement much 
 more distinguished than that which marked his own de- 
 parture, the departure of the cardinal, who, in his turn, 
 sought his bedroom, accompanied by a large escort of 
 ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 Besides/to perceive this movement, he had nothing to 
 do but to look out at his window, the shutters of which 
 had not been closed. 
 
 His Eminence crossed the court, conducted by Mon- 
 sieur, who himself held a flambeau ; then followed the 
 queen-mother, to whom Madame familiarly gave her arm ; 
 and both walked chatting away like two old friends. 
 
 Behind these two couples filed nobles, ladies, pages, and 
 officers ; flambeaux gleamed over the whole court, like the 
 moving reflections of a conflagration. Then the noise of 
 steps and voices became lost in the upper floors of the 
 castle. 
 
 No one was then thinking of the king, who, leaning on 
 his elbow at the window, had sadly seen all that light 
 pass away, and heard that noise die off, — no, not one, if 
 
80 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 it was not that unknown of the hostelry of the Medici, 
 whom we have seen go out enveloped in his cloak. 
 
 He had come straight up to the castle, and had, with 
 his melancholy countenance, wandered round and round 
 the palace, from which the people had not yet departed ; 
 and finding that no one guarded the great entrance, or the 
 porch, seeing that the soldiers of Monsieur were frater- 
 nizing with the royal soldiers, — that is to say, swallowing 
 Beaugency at discretion, or rather indiscretion — the un- 
 known penetrated through the crowd, then ascended to 
 the court, and came to the landing of the staircase lead- 
 ing to the cardinal’s apartment. 
 
 What, according to all probability, induced him to di- 
 rect his steps that w T ay, was the splendor of the flambeaux, 
 and the busy air of the pages and domestics. But he was 
 stopped short by a presented musket and the cry of the 
 sentinel. 
 
 “ Where are you going, my friend h ” asked the soldier. 
 
 “ T am going to the king’s appartement,” replied the 
 unknown, haughtily but tranquilly. 
 
 The soldier called one of his Eminence’s officers, who, in 
 the tone in which a youth in office directs a solicitor to a 
 minister, let fall these words : “ The other staircase, in 
 front.” And the officer without further notice of the 
 unknown, resumed his interrupted conversation. 
 
 The stranger, without reply, directed his steps towards 
 the staircase pointed out to him. On this side no more 
 noise, no more flambeaux : obscurity, through which a 
 sentinel glided like a shadow ; silence, which permitted 
 him to hear the sound of his own footsteps, accompanied 
 with the jingling of his spurs upon the stone slabs. 
 
 This guard was one of the twenty musketeers appointed 
 for attendance upon the king, and he mounted guard with 
 the stiffness and consciousness of a statue. 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 81 
 
 “ Who goes there ] 55 said the guard. 
 
 “ A friend / 5 replied the unknown. 
 
 “ What do you want ? ” 
 
 “ To speak to the king .’ 5 
 
 “ Do you, my dear Monsieur] That can hardly be / 5 
 “ Why not ] 55 
 
 “ Because the king has gone to bed / 5 
 
 “ Gone to bed already ] ,5 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “No matter; I must speak to him / 5 
 “And I tell you that is impossible / 5 
 “And yet — 55 
 “ Go back ! 55 
 
 “ Do you require the word ? 55 
 
 “ I have no account to render to you. Stand 
 back ! 55 
 
 And this time the soldier accompanied his word with a 
 threatening gesture ; but the unknown stirred no more 
 than if his feet had taken root. 
 
 “ Monsieur the musketeer/’ said he, “ are you a gentle- 
 man ] 55 
 
 “ I have that honor . 55 
 
 “Very well ! I also am one ; and between gentlemen 
 some consideration ought to be observed / 5 
 
 The soldier lowered his arms, overcome by the dignity 
 with which these words were pronounced. 
 
 “ Speak, Monsieur / 5 said he ; “ and if you ask me any- 
 thing in my power — 55 
 
 “ Thank you. You have an officer, have you not ? 55 
 “ Our lieutenant ] Yes, Monsieur .’ 5 
 “Well, I wish to speak to him .’ 5 
 “Oh, that’s a different thing. Come up, Monsieur . 55 
 The unknown saluted the soldier in a lofty fashion, and 
 ascended the staircase ; while the cry, “ Lieutenant, a 
 
 VOL. i. — 6 
 
82 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 visit ! ” transmitted from sentinel to sentinel, preceded the 
 unknown, and disturbed the slumbers of the officer. 
 
 Dragging on his boot, rubbing his eyes, and hooking 
 his cloak, the lieutenant made three steps towards the 
 stranger. 
 
 “ What can I do to serve you, Monsieur V* asked he. 
 
 “ You are the officer on duty, lieutenant of the Muske- 
 teers, are you 1 ” 
 
 “I have that honor, 5 ’ replied the officer. 
 
 “ Monsieur, it is absolutely necessary that I speak to 
 the king. 5 ’ 
 
 The lieutenant looked attentively at the unknown ; and 
 in that look, although so brief, he saw all he wished to 
 see, — that is to say, a person of high distinction in an 
 ordinary dress. 
 
 “ I do not suppose you to be mad,” replied he ; “ and 
 yet you seem to me to be in a condition to know, Mon- 
 sieur, that people do not enter a king’s apartments in 
 this manner without his consent.” 
 
 “ He will consent.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, permit me to doubt that. The king has 
 retired this quarter of an hour ; he must be now undress- 
 ing. Besides, the word is given.” 
 
 “ When he knows who I am, he will recall the word.” 
 
 The officer was more and more surprised, more and 
 more subdued. 
 
 “ If I consent to announce you, may I at least know 
 whom to announce, Monsieur ] ” 
 
 “You will announce his Majesty Charles II., King of 
 England, Scotland, and Ireland.” 
 
 The officer uttered a cry of astonishment, drew back, 
 and there might be seen upon his pallid countenance one 
 of the most poignant emotions that ever an energetic 
 man endeavored to drive back to his heart. 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 83 
 
 “ Oh yes, Sire ; in fact/’ said he, " I ought to have 
 recognized you.” 
 
 " You have seen my portrait, then 1 ” 
 
 *No, Sire.” 
 
 " Or else you have seen me formerly at court, before I 
 was driven from France 1 ” 
 
 “No, Sire, it is not even that.” 
 
 “ How, then, could you have recognized me, if you 
 have never seen my portrait or my person 'l ” 
 
 " Sire, I saw his Majesty your father at a terrible 
 moment.” 
 
 " The day — ” 
 
 "Yes.” 
 
 A dark cloud passed over the brow of the prince ; then, 
 dashing his hand across it, " Do you still see any difficulty 
 in announcing me ? ” said he. 
 
 "Sire, pardon me,” replied the officer, "but I could 
 not imagine a king under so simple an exterior ; and yet 
 I had the honor to tell your Majesty just now that I had 
 seen Charles I. — But pardon me, Monsieur ; I will go 
 and inform the king.” 
 
 But returning after going a few steps, "Your Majesty 
 is desirous, without doubt, that this interview should be 
 a secret 1 ” said he. 
 
 " I do not require it ; but if it were possible to preserve 
 it—” 
 
 "It is possible, Sire, for I can dispense with informing 
 the first gentleman on duty ; but, for that, your Majesty 
 must please to consent to give up your sw T ord.” 
 
 " True, true ; I had forgotten that no one armed is 
 permitted to enter the chamber of a king of France.” 
 "Your Majesty will form an exception, if you wish it; 
 but then I shall avoid my responsibility by informing the 
 king’s attendant.” 
 
84 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Here is my sword, Monsieur. Will you now please 
 to announce me to his Majesty]” 
 
 “ Instantly, Sire.” And the officer immediately went 
 and knocked at the door of communication, which the 
 valet opened to him. 
 
 “ His Majesty the King of England ! ” said the officer. 
 
 “ His Majesty the King of England ! ” replied his valet 
 de chambre. 
 
 At these words a gentleman opened the folding-doors 
 of the king’s apartment, and Louis XIY. was seen, without 
 hat or sword, and his doublet open, advancing with signs 
 of the greatest surprise. 
 
 “ You, my brother, — you at Blois ! ” cried Louis XIV., 
 dismissing with a gesture both the gentleman and the 
 valet de chambre, who passed out into the next apartment. 
 
 “ Sire,” replied Charles II., “I was going to Paris, in 
 the hope of seeing your Majesty, when report informed 
 me of your approaching arrival in this city. I therefore 
 prolonged my abode here, having something very partic- 
 ular to communicate to you.” 
 
 “Will this closet suit you, my brother 1 ?” 
 
 “ Perfectly well, Sire ; for I think no one can hear us 
 here.” 
 
 “ I have dismissed my gentleman and my watcher ; 
 they are in the next chamber. There, behind that par- 
 tition, is an unoccupied closet, looking into the ante- 
 chamber, and in that antechamber you found nobody but 
 a solitary officer, did you ] ” 
 
 “No, Sire.” 
 
 “Well, then, speak, my brother; I listen to you.” 
 
 “ Sire, I commence, and entreat your Majesty to have 
 pity on the misfortunes of our house.” 
 
 The King of France colored, and drew his chair closer 
 to that of the King of England. 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 85 
 
 “Sire,” said Charles II., “I have no need to ask if 
 your Majesty is acquainted with the details of my deplor- 
 able history.” 
 
 Louis XIY. blushed this time more strongly than before ; 
 then, stretching forth his hand to that of the King of 
 England, “ My brother/’ said he, “I am ashamed to say 
 so, but the cardinal scarcely ever speaks of political affairs 
 before me. Still more, formerly I used to get Laporte, 
 my valet de chambre , to read historical subjects to me ; 
 but he put a stop to these readings, and took away 
 Laporte from me. So that I beg my brother Charles to 
 tell me all those matters as to a man who knows nothing.” 
 “ Well, Sire, I think that by taking things from the 
 beginning I shall have a better chance of touching the 
 heart of your Majesty.” 
 
 “ Speak on, my brother, speak on.” 
 
 “You know, Sire, that, being called in 1650 to Edin- 
 burgh, during Cromwell’s expedition into Ireland, I was 
 crowned at Scone. A year after, wounded in one of the 
 provinces he had usurped, Cromwell returned upon us. 
 To meet him was my object ; to leave Scotland was my 
 wish.” 
 
 “And yet,” interrupted the young king, “Scotland is 
 almost your native country, is it not, my brother ? ” 
 
 Yes ; but the Scots were cruel compatriots for me, 
 Sire : they had forced me to forsake the religion of my 
 fathers ; they had hung Lord Montrose, the most devoted 
 of my servants, because he was not a Covenanter ; and 
 as the poor martyr, to whom they had offered a favor 
 when dying, had asked that his body might be cut into 
 as many pieces as there are cities in Scotland, in order 
 that evidence of his fidelity might be met with every- 
 where, I could not leave one city, or go into another, 
 without passing under some fragments of a body which 
 had acted, fought, and breathed for me. 
 
86 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ By a bold march I passed through Cromwell’s army, 
 and entered England. The Protector set out in pursuit 
 of this strange flight, which had a crown for its object. 
 If I had been able to reach London before him, without 
 doubt the prize of the race would have been mine ; but 
 he overtook me at Worcester. 
 
 “ The genius of England was no longer with us, but 
 with him. On the 3d of September, 1651, Sire, — the 
 anniversary of the other battle of Dunbar, so fatal to 
 the Scots, — I was conquered. Two thousand men fell 
 around me before I thought of retreating a step. At 
 length I was obliged to fly. 
 
 “ From that moment my history became a romance. 
 Pursued with persistent inveteracy, I cut off my hair, 
 I disguised myself as a woodman. One day spent amidst 
 the branches of an oak gave to that tree the name of the 
 royal oak, which it bears to this day. My adventures 
 in the county of Stafford, whence I escaped with the 
 daughter of my host on a pillion behind me, still fill the 
 tales of the country firesides, and would furnish matter 
 for ballads. I will some day write all this, Sire, for the 
 instruction of my brother kings. 
 
 “I will first tell how, on arriving at the residence of 
 Mr. Norton, I met with a court chaplain, who was look- 
 ing on at a party playing at skittles, and an old servant 
 w T ho named me, bursting into tears, and who was as near 
 and as certainly killing me by his fidelity as another 
 might have been by treachery. Then I will tell of my 
 terrors — yes, Sire, of my terrors — when, at the house 
 of Colonel Windham, a farrier who came to shoe our 
 horses declared they had been shod in the north.” 
 
 “How strange!” murmured Louis XIY. “I never 
 heard anything of all that ; I was only told of your 
 embarkation at Brighthelmstone and your landing in 
 Normandy.” 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 87 
 
 “ Oh ! ” exclaimed Charles, “ if Heaven permits kings 
 to be thus ignorant of the histories of each other, how can 
 they render assistance to their brothers who need it?” 
 
 “ But tell me,” continued Louis XIV., “ how, after be- 
 ing so roughly received in England, you can still hope for 
 anything from that unhappy country and that rebellious 
 people?” 
 
 “ Oh, Sire! since the battle of Worcester everything 
 is changed there. Cromwell is dead, after having signed 
 a treaty with France, in which his name was placed above 
 yours. He died oh the 3d of September, 1658, a fresh 
 anniversary of the battles of Dunbar and Worcester.” 
 
 “His son has succeeded him.” 
 
 “But certain men have a family, Sire, and no heir. 
 The inheritance of Oliver was too heavy for Richard, — 
 Richard, who w^as neither a Republican nor a Royalist ; 
 Richard, who allowed his guards to eat his dinner and his 
 generals to govern the Republic. Richard abdicated the 
 protectorate on the 22d of April, 1659, more than a year 
 ago, Sire. 
 
 “ Since that time England has been nothing but a 
 gaming-house, in which the players throw dice for the 
 crown of my father. The two most eager players are 
 Lambert and Monk. Well, Sire, I, in my turn, wish to 
 take part in this game, where the stakes are thrown upon 
 my royal mantle. Sire, it only requires a million to cor- 
 rupt one of these players and make an ally of him, or 
 two hundred of your gentlemen to drive them out of my 
 palace at Whitehall, as Jesus drove the money-changers 
 from the temple.” 
 
 “ You come, then,” replied Louis XIV., “ to ask me — ” 
 
 “ For your assistance, — that is to say, not only for that 
 which kings owe to each other, but that w 7 hich simple 
 Christians owe to each other, — your assistance, Sire, 
 
88 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 either in money or men. Your assistance, Sire, and 
 within a month, whether I oppose Lambert to Monk, or 
 Monk to Lambert, I shall have re-conquered my paternal 
 inheritance, without having cost my country a guinea, or 
 my subjects a drop of blood ; for they are now all drunk 
 with revolutions, protectorates, and republics, and ask 
 nothing better than to fall staggering to sleep in the arms 
 of royalty. Your assistance, Sire, and I shall owe you 
 more than I owe my father, — my poor father, who 
 bought at so dear a rate the ruin of our house ! You 
 may judge, Sire, whether I am unhappy, whether I am 
 in despair, for I accuse my own father ! ” 
 
 And the blood mounted to the pale face of Charles II., 
 who remained for an instant with his head between his 
 hands, and as if blinded by that blood which appeared to 
 revolt against the filial blasphemy. 
 
 The young king was not less affected than his elder 
 brother ; he threw himself about in his fauteuil , and 
 could not find a single word of reply. 
 
 Charles II., to whom ten years in age gave a superior 
 strength to master his emotions, recovered his speech the 
 first. 
 
 “ Sire,” said he, “ your reply ? I wait for it as a crimi- 
 nal waits for his sentence. Must I die ? ” 
 
 “ My brother,” replied the French prince, “you ask me 
 for a million, — me, who was never possessed of a quarter 
 of that sum ! I possess nothing. I am no more king of 
 France than you are king of England. I am a name, 
 a cipher dressed in jleur-dedised velvet, — that is all. I 
 am upon a visible throne ; that is my only advantage 
 over your Majesty. I have nothing ; I can do nothing.” 
 
 “ Can it be so h ” exclaimed Charles II. 
 
 “ My brother,” said Louis, sinking his voice, “ I have 
 undergone miseries with which my poorest gentlemen are 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 89 
 
 unacquainted. If my poor Laporte were here, he would 
 tell you that I have slept in ragged sheets, through the 
 holes of which my legs have passed ; he would tell you 
 that afterwards, when I asked for carriages, they brought 
 me conveyances half destroyed by the rats of the coach- 
 houses; he would tell you that when I asked for my 
 dinner, the servants went to the cardinal’s kitchen to 
 inquire if there were anything for the king to eat. And 
 look ! to-day, this very day even, when I am twenty-two 
 years of age, — to-day, when I have attained the grade 
 of the majority of kings, — to-day, when I ought to have 
 the key of the treasury, the direction of policy, the 
 supremacy in peace and war, — cast your eyes around 
 me, see how I am left ! Look at this abandonment, this 
 disdain, this silence ! While yonder, — look yonder ! 
 View the bustle, the lights, the homage ! There ! — 
 there you see the real king of France, my brother ! ” 
 
 “ In the cardinal’s apartments ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, in the cardinal’s apartments.” 
 
 “ Then I am condemned, Sire ? ” 
 
 Louis XIY. made no reply. 
 
 “ Condemned is the word ; for I will never solicit him 
 who left my mother and sister to die with cold and hun- 
 ger- — the daughter and granddaughter of Henry IV. — 
 if M. de Retz and the Parliament had not sent them wood 
 and bread.’’ 
 
 “ To die 1 ” murmured Louis XIV. 
 
 “ Well ! ” continued the King of England, “ poor Charles 
 II., grandson of Henry IV., as you are, Sire, having nei- 
 ther Parliament nor Cardinal de Retz to apply to, will die 
 of hunger, as his mother and sister had nearly done.” 
 Louis knitted his brow, and twisted violently the lace 
 of his ruffles. 
 
 This prostration, this immobility, serving as a mark to 
 
90 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 an emotion so visible, struck Charles II., and he took the 
 young man’s hand. 
 
 “ Thanks,” said he, “my brother ! You pity me, and 
 ■tfhat is all I can require of you in your present situation.” 
 “Sire,” said Louis XIV., with a sudden impulse, and 
 raising his head, “ it is a million you require, or two hun- 
 dred gentlemen, I think you say 1 99 
 
 “Sire, a million would be quite sufficient.” 
 
 “ That is very little.” 
 
 “ Offered to a single man, it is a great deal. Convic- 
 tions have been purchased at a much lower price ; and I 
 should have to deal only with venalities.” 
 
 “ Two hundred gentlemen ! Keflect ! — that is little 
 more than a single company.” 
 
 “ Sire, there is in our family a tradition that four men, 
 four French gentlemen, devoted to my father, were near 
 saving my father, though condemned by a parliament, 
 guarded by an army, and surrounded by a nation.” 
 
 “ Then, if I can procure you a million, or two hundred 
 gentlemen, you will be satisfied ; and you will consider 
 me your w ell-affect ioned brother 1 ” 
 
 “ I shall consider you as my savior ; and if I recover 
 the throne of my father, England will be, as long as I 
 reign at least, a sister to France, as you will have been a 
 brother to me.” 
 
 “ Well, my brother,” said Louis, rising, “ what you hes- 
 itate to ask for, T will myself demand ; that which I have 
 never done’ on my own account, I will do on yours. I 
 will go and find the King of France — the other — the 
 rich, the powerful one, I mean. I will myself solicit this 
 million, or these two hundred gentlemen ; and — we will 
 see.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried Charles, “ you are a noble friend, Sire — 
 a heart created by God ! You save me, my brother; 
 
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 
 
 91 
 
 and if you should ever stand in need of the life you re- 
 store me, demand it.” 
 
 “ Silence, my brother, — silence ! ” said Louis, in a sup- 
 pressed voice. “ Take care that no one hears you ! We 
 have not obtained our end yet. To ask money of Ma- 
 zarin, — that is worse than traversing the enchanted for- 
 est, each tree of which enclosed a demon. It is more 
 than setting out to conquer a world.” 
 
 “But yet, Sire, when you ask it — 99 
 “ I have already told you that I never asked,” replied 
 Louis, with a haughtiness that made the King of England 
 turn pale. 
 
 And as the latter, like a wounded man, made a retreat- 
 ing movement, “ Pardon me, my brother,” replied he. 
 “ I have neither a mother nor a sister who is suffering. 
 My throne is hard and naked, but I am firmly seated on 
 my throne. Pardon me that expression, my brother ; it 
 was that of an egotist. I will redeem it, therefore, by a 
 sacrifice, — I will go to Monsieur the Cardinal. Wait for 
 me, if you please, — I will return.” 
 
92 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ARITHMETIC OF M. DE MAZARIN. 
 
 While the king was directing his course rapidly towards 
 the wing of the castle occupied by the cardinal, taking 
 nobody with him but his valet de chambre , the officer of 
 Musketeers came out, breathing like a man who has for a 
 long time been forced to hold his breath, from the little 
 cabinet of which we have already spoken, and which the 
 king believed to be quite unoccupied. This little cabinet 
 had formerly been part of the chamber, from which it was 
 only separated by a thin partition ; and this partition, 
 which was only for the eye, permitted the least indis- 
 creet ear to hear every word spoken in the chamber. 
 
 There was no doubt, then, that this lieutenant of Mus- 
 keteers had heard all that had passed in his Majesty’s 
 apartment. 
 
 Warned by the last words of the young king, he came 
 out just in time to salute him on his passage, and to 
 follow him with his eyes till he had disappeared in the 
 corridor. 
 
 Then, as soon as he had disappeared, he shook his head 
 after a fashion peculiarly his own, and in a voice which 
 forty years’ absence from Gascony had not deprived of its 
 Gascon accent, “ A melancholy service,” said he, u and a 
 melancholy master ! ” 
 
 These words pronounced, the lieutenant resumed his 
 place in his fauteuil , stretched his legs, and closed his 
 eyes, like a man who either sleeps or meditates. 
 
THE ARITHMETIC OF M. DE MAZARIN. 
 
 93 
 
 During this short monologue and the mise-en-scene that- 
 had accompanied it, while the king, through the long cor- 
 ridors of the old castle, proceeded to the apartments of 
 M. de Mazarin, a scene of another sort was being enacted 
 in those apartments. 
 
 Mazarin was in bed, suffering a little from the gout. 
 But as he was a man of order, who utilized even pain, he 
 forced his wakefulness to be the humble servant of his 
 labor. He had consequently ordered Bernouin, his valet 
 de chambre , to bring him a little travelling-desk, so that 
 he might write in bed. But the gout is not an adversary 
 that allows itself to be conquered so easily ; therefore at 
 each movement he made, the pain from dull became 
 sharp. 
 
 “ Is Brienne there ] ” asked he of Bernouin. 
 
 “No, Monseigneur, ” replied the valet de chambre ; “ M. 
 de Brienne, with your permission, has gone to bed. But 
 if it is the wish of your Eminence, he can speedily be 
 called.” 
 
 “ No ; it is not worth while. Let us see, however. 
 Cursed ciphers ! ” 
 
 And the cardinal began to think, counting on his fin- 
 gers the while. 
 
 “ Oh ! ciphers, is it 1 ” said Bernouin. “ Very well ! if 
 your Eminence attempts calculations, I will promise you 
 a pretty headache to-morrow ; and with that please to 
 remember M. Guenaud is not here.” 
 
 “You are right, Bernouin. You must take Brienne’s 
 place, my friend. Indeed, I ought to have brought 
 M. Colbert with me. That young man goes on very 
 well, Bernouin, very well ; a very orderly youth.” 
 
 “I do not know,” said the valet de chambre; “but I 
 don’t like the countenance of your young man who goes 
 on so well.” 
 
94 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well, well, Bernouin ! We don’t stand in need of 
 your advice. Place yourself there ; take the pen, and 
 write.” 
 
 “ I am ready, Monseigneur ; what am I to write ? ” 
 
 “ There, that ’s the place ; after the two lines already 
 traced.” 
 
 “ I am there.” 
 
 “ Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres.” 
 
 “ That is written.” 
 
 “ Upon Lyons — ” The cardinal appeared to hesitate. 
 “ Upon Lyons,” repeated Bernouin. 
 
 “ Three million nine hundred thousand livres.” 
 
 “ Well, Monseigneur ? ” 
 
 “ Upon Bordeaux, seven millions.” 
 
 “ Seven ? ” repeated Bernouin. 
 
 “Yes,” said the cardinal, pettishly, “ seven.” Then, 
 recollecting himself, “ You understand, Bernouin,” added 
 he, “ that all this money is to be spent ? ” 
 
 “ Eh ! Monseigneur, whether it be to be spent or put 
 away is of very little consequence to me, since none of 
 these millions are mine.” 
 
 “ These millions are the king’s ; it is the king’s money 
 I am reckoning. Well, what were we saying? You 
 always interrupt me ! ” 
 
 “ Seven millions upon Bordeaux.” 
 
 “ Ah ! yes ; that ’s right. Upon Madrid, four. I give 
 you to understand plainly whom this money belongs to, 
 Bernouin, seeing that everybody has the stupidity to 
 believe me rich in millions. I repel the silly idea. A 
 minister, besides, has nothing of his own. Come, go on ! 
 General revenue, seven millions ; properties, nine millions. 
 Have you written that, Bernouin?” 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “In the funds, six hundred thousand livres; various 
 
THE ARITHMETIC OF M. DE MAZARIN. 
 
 95 
 
 property, two millions. Ah ! I forgot ; the furniture of 
 the different chateaux — ” 
 
 “ Must I put ‘ of the crown ’ % ” asked Eernouin. 
 
 “No, no; it is of no use doing that, — that is under- 
 stood. Have you written that, Bernouin h ” 
 
 “Yes, Monseigneur. ” 
 
 “ And the ciphers h ” 
 
 “ Stand straight under one another.” 
 
 “ Cast them up, Eernouin.” 
 
 “ Thirty-nine million two hundred and sixty thousand 
 livres, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation ; “ there 
 are not yet forty millions ! ” 
 
 Bernouin recommenced the addition. 
 
 “ No, Monseigneur ; there want seven hundred and 
 forty thousand livres.” 
 
 Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully. 
 “ Yes ; but,” said Bernouin, “ thirty-nine million two 
 hundred and sixty thousand livres make a good round 
 sum.” 
 
 “ Ah, Bernouin ; I wish the king had it.” 
 
 “Your Eminence told me that this money was his 
 Majesty’s.” 
 
 “ Doubtless ; as clear, as transparent as possible. These 
 thirty-nine millions are bespoken, and much more.” 
 
 Bernouin smiled after his own fashion — that is, like 
 a man who believes no more than he is willing to believe 
 — while preparing the cardinal’s night-draught and put- 
 ting his pillow to rights. 
 
 “Oh!” said Mazarin, when the valet had gone out; 
 “ not yet forty millions ! I must, however, reach the sum 
 of forty-five millions which I have determined on. But 
 who knows whether I shall have time % I am failing, I 
 depart, I shall never reach it ! And yet, who knows that 
 
96 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 I may not find two or three millions in the pockets of 
 my good friends the Spaniards % They discovered Peru, 
 those people did, and — what the devil ! they must have 
 something left.” 
 
 As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his 
 ciphers, and thinking no more of his gout, repelled by 
 a preoccupation which, with the cardinal, was the most 
 powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin rushed into the 
 chamber, quite in a fright. 
 
 “ Well,” asked the cardinal, “ what is the matter now ? 99 
 
 “ The king, Monseigneur, — the king ! ” 
 
 “How? — the king!” said Mazarin, quickly concealing 
 his paper. “ The king here ! the king at this hour ! I 
 thought he was in bed long ago. What is the matter, 
 then 1 ” 
 
 Louis XIV. could hear these last words, and see the 
 terrified gesture of the cardinal, rising up in his bed, for 
 he entered the chamber at that moment. 
 
 “ It is nothing, Monsieur the Cardinal, or at least noth- 
 ing which can alarm you. It is an important communi- 
 cation which I wish to make to your Eminence to-night, 
 — that is all.” 
 
 Mazarin immediately thought of the marked attention 
 which the king had given to his words concerning Made- 
 moiselle de Mancini, and the communication appeared to 
 him probably to refer to this source. He recovered his 
 serenity then instantly, and assumed his most agreeable 
 air, — a change of countenance which inspired the king 
 with the greatest joy ; and when Louis was seated, — 
 
 “ Sire,” said the cardinal, “ I ought certainly to listen 
 to your Majesty standing, but the violence of my com- 
 plaint — ” 
 
 “ No ceremony between us, my dear Monsieur the Car- 
 dinal,” said Louis, kindly : “ I am your pupil, and not the 
 
THE ARITHMETIC OF M. DE MAZARIN. 
 
 97 
 
 king, you know very well, and this evening in particular, 
 as I come to you as a petitioner, as a solicitor, and one 
 very humble, and desirous to be kindly received too.” 
 Mazarin, seeing the heightened color of the king, was 
 confirmed in his first idea, — that is to say, that love 
 thoughts were hidden under all these fine words. This 
 time, political cunning, keen as it was, made a mistake ; 
 this color was not caused by the bashfulness of a juvenile 
 passion, but only by the painful reaction of the royal 
 pride. 
 
 Like a good uncle, Mazarin felt disposed to facilitate 
 the confidence. 
 
 “ Speak, Sire,” said he ; “ and since your Majesty is 
 willing for an instant to forget that I am your subject 
 and call me your master and instructor, I promise your 
 Majesty my most devoted and tender consideration.” 
 
 “ Thanks, Monsieur the Cardinal,” answered the king 5 
 “ that which I have to ask of your Eminence has but 
 little to do with myself.” 
 
 “ So much the worse ! ” replied the cardinal ; “ so 
 much the worse, Sire ! I should wish your Majesty to 
 ask of me something of importance, even a sacrifice ; but 
 whatever it may be that you ask me, I am ready to set 
 your heart at rest by granting it, my dear Sire.” 
 
 “Well, this is what brings me here,” said the king, 
 with a beating of the heart that had no equal except the 
 beating of the heart of the minister: ‘‘I have just re- 
 ceived a visit from my brother the King of England.” 
 Mazarin bounded in his bed as if he had been brought 
 in contact with a Leyden jar or a voltaic pile, at the same 
 time that a surprise, or rather a manifest disappointment, 
 inflamed his features with such a blaze of anger that 
 Louis XIV., although so little of a diplomatist, saw that 
 the minister had hoped to hear something else. 
 vol. 1 . — 7 
 
98 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Charles II. V 9 exclaimed Mazarin, with a hoarse voice 
 and a disdainful movement of his lips. “ You have re- 
 ceived a visit from Charles II. 1 99 
 
 “ From King Charles II.*” replied Louis, according in a 
 marked manner to the grandson of Henry IV. the title 
 which Mazarin had forgotten to give him. “Yes, Mon- 
 sieur the Cardinal, that unhappy prince has touched my 
 heart with the relation of his misfortunes. His distress 
 is great, Monsieur the Cardinal, and it has appeared pain- 
 ful to me, who have seen my own throne disputed, who 
 have been forced in times of commotion to quit my cap- 
 ital, — tome, in short, who am acquainted with misfor- 
 tune, — to leave a deposed and fugitive brother without 
 assistance.” 
 
 “ Eh ! 99 said the cardinal, sharply ; “ why had he not, 
 as you have, a Jules Mazarin by his side 1 ? His crown 
 would then have remained intact.” 
 
 “I know all that my house owes to your Eminence,” 
 replied the king, haughtily, “ and you may believe well 
 that I, on my part, shall never forget it. It is precisely 
 because my brother the King of England has not about 
 him the powerful genius who has saved me, — it is for that, 
 I say, that I wish to conciliate the aid of that same genius, 
 and beg you to extend your arm over his head, well as- 
 sured, Monsieur the Cardinal, that your hand, by touch- 
 ing him only, would know how to replace upon his brow 
 the crown which fell at the foot of his father’s scaffold.” 
 
 “ Sire,” replied Mazarin, “ I thank you for your good 
 opinion with regard to myself, but we have nothing to do 
 yonder; they are a set of madmen, who deny God, and 
 cut off the heads of their kings. They are dangerous, ob- 
 serve, Sire, and filthy to the touch after having wallowed 
 in royal blood and covenantal dirt. That policy has never 
 suited me, — I scorn it and reject it.” 
 
THE ARITHMETIC OF M. DE MAZARIN. 
 
 99 
 
 “ Therefore you ought to assist in establishing a 
 better.” 
 
 “ What is that ? ” 
 
 “The restoration of Charles II., for example.” 
 
 “ Good heavens ! ” cried Mazarin, “ does the poor prince 
 flatter himself with that chimera ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, he does,” replied the young king, terrified at the 
 difficulties of this project, which the infallible eye of his 
 minister seemed to discover ; “ he only asks for a million 
 to carry out his purpose.” 
 
 “ Is that all % — a little million, if you please ! ” said 
 the cardinal ironically, emphasizing his Italian accent. 
 “ A little million, if you please, brother! Bah ! a family 
 of mendicants ! ” 
 
 “Cardinal,” said Louis, raising his head, “that family 
 of mendicants is a branch of my family.” 
 
 “ Are you rich enough to give millions to other people, 
 Sire % Have you the millions h ” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” replied Louis XIV., wfith great pain, which he, 
 however, by a strong effort prevented from appearing on 
 his countenance, — “ oh ! yes, Monsieur the Cardinal, I 
 am well aware I am poor ; and yet the crown of France is 
 worth a million, and to perform a good action, I would 
 pledge my crown, if it were necessary. I could find 
 Jews who would be willing to lend me a million.” 
 
 “ So, Sire, you say you want a million ” said Mazarin. 
 “Yes, Monsieur, I say so.” 
 
 “You are mistaken, greatly mistaken, Sire • you want 
 much more than that. — Bernouin ! — You shall see, Sire, 
 how much you really want.” 
 
 “ What, Cardinal ! v said the king, “ are you going to 
 consult a lackey upon my affairs % ” 
 
 “ Bernouin ! ” cried the cardinal again, without appear- 
 ing to remark the humiliation of the young prince. 
 
100 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Como here, Bernouin, and describe the account I made 
 you go into just now.” 
 
 “ Cardinal, Cardinal ! did you not hear me ! ” said Louis, 
 becoming pale with anger. 
 
 ‘Do not be angry, Sire ; I deal openly with the affairs 
 of your Majesty. Every one in France knows that ; my 
 books are as open as day. What did I tell you to do just 
 now, Bernouin ? ” 
 
 “ Your Eminence commanded me to cast up an account.” 
 
 ‘'You did it, did you not!” 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “To verify the amount of which his Majesty, at this 
 moment, stands in need. Did I not tell you so ? Be 
 frank, my friend.” 
 
 “Your Eminence said so.” 
 
 “Well, what sum did I say I wanted!” 
 
 “ Forty-five millions, I think.” 
 
 “ And what sum could we find, after collecting all our 
 resources 1 ” 
 
 “ Thirty-nine million two hundred and sixty thousand 
 francs.” 
 
 “ That is correct, Bernouin ; that is all I wanted to 
 know. Leave us now,” said the cardinal, fixing his bril- 
 liant eye upon the young king, who sat mute with 
 stupefaction. 
 
 “ But yet — ” stammered the king. 
 
 “ What, do you still doubt, Sire ! ” said the cardinal. 
 “ Well, here is a proof of what I said.” 
 
 And Mazarin drew from under his bolster the paper 
 covered with figures, which he presented to the king, who 
 turned away his eyes, his vexation was so profound. 
 
 “ Therefore, as it is a million you want, Sire, and that 
 million is not set down here, it is forty-six millions your 
 Majesty stands in need of. Well, I don’t think that any 
 
THE ARITHMETIC OF M. DE MAZARIN. 
 
 101 
 
 Jews in the world would lend such a sum, even upon the 
 crown of F ranee.” 
 
 The king, clenching his hands beneath his ruffles, 
 pushed away his chair. 
 
 “ So it must be, then ! ” said he ; “ my brother the King 
 of England will die of hunger.” 
 
 “ Sire,” replied Mazarin, in the same tone, “ remember 
 this proverb, which I give you as the expression of the 
 soundest policy : ‘ Rejoice at being poor when your neigh- 
 bor is poor likewise.’ ” 
 
 Louis meditated for a few moments, with an inquisitive 
 glance directed to the paper, one end of which remained 
 under the bolster. 
 
 “ Then,” said he, “ it is impossible to comply with my 
 demand for money, Monsieur the Cardinal, is it 1 ” 
 
 “Absolutely, Sire.” 
 
 “ Remember, this will secure me a future enemy, if he 
 succeeds in regaining his crown without my assistance.” 
 
 “ If your Majesty only fears that, you may be quite at 
 ease,” replied Mazarin, eagerly. 
 
 “ Very well, I say no more about it,” exclaimed Louis 
 XIY. 
 
 “Have I at least convinced you, Sirel” placing his 
 hand upon that of the king. 
 
 “ Perfectly.” 
 
 “If there be anything else, ask it, Sire; I shall be 
 most happy to grant it to you, having refused this.” 
 
 “ Anything else, Monsieur 1 ? ” 
 
 “ Why, yes ; am I not, body and soul, devoted to your 
 Majesty 1 — Ho, there ! Bernouin ! — lights and guards 
 for his Majesty ! His Majesty is returning to his own 
 chamber.” 
 
 “ Not yet, Monsieur; since you place your good will at 
 my disposal, I will take advantage of it.” 
 
102 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “For yourself, Sire?” asked the cardinal, hoping that 
 his niece was at length about to be named. 
 
 “No, Monsieur, not for myself,” replied Louis, “but 
 still for my brother Charles.” 
 
 The brow of Mazarin again became clouded, and he 
 grumbled a few words that the king could not catch. 
 
MAZARIN’S POLICY. 
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 mazarin’s policy. 
 
 Instead of the hesitation with which he had accosted the 
 cardinal a quarter of an hour before, there might be read 
 in the eyes of the young king that will against which 
 a struggle might be maintained, and which might be 
 crushed by its own impotence, but which at least would 
 preserve, like a wound in the depth of the heart, the 
 remembrance of its defeat. 
 
 “ This time, Monsieur the Cardinal, we have to do with 
 a thing much more easy to be found than a million.” 
 
 “ Do you think so, Sire ? ” said Mazarin, looking at the 
 king with that penetrating eye which was accustomed to 
 read to the bottom of hearts. 
 
 “ Yes, I think so ; and when you know the object of 
 my request — ” 
 
 “ And do you think I do not know it, Sire 1 ” 
 
 “ You know what remains for me to say to you ? ” 
 
 “ Listen, Sire ; these are King Charles’s own words — ” 
 
 “ Oh, impossible ! ” 
 
 “ Listen. ‘And if that miser, that beggarly Italian,’ 
 said he — ” 
 
 “ Monsieur the Cardinal ! ” 
 
 “ That is the sense, if not the words. Eh ! Good 
 heavens ! I wish him no ill on that account ; every one 
 sees with his passions. He said to you : ‘ If that vile 
 Italian refuses the million we ask of him, Sire, — if we 
 are forced, for want of money, to renounce diplomacy, 
 
104 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 well, then, we will ask him to grant us five hundred 
 gentlemen/ ” 
 
 The king started, for the cardinal was only mistaken 
 in the number. 
 
 “ Is not that it, Sire?” cried the minister, with a tri- 
 umphant accent. “ And then he added some fine words ; 
 he said : 6 1 have friends on the other side of the Channel, 
 and these friends only want a leader and a banner. When 
 they shall see me, when they shall behold the banner of 
 France, they will rally round me, for they will compre- 
 hend that I have your support. The colors of the 
 French uniform will be worth as much to me as the 
 million M. de Mazarin will refuse us/ — for he was pretty 
 well assured I should refuse him that million. — ‘ I shall 
 conquer with these five hundred gentlemen, Sire, and all 
 the honor will be yours/ Now, that is what he said, or 
 to that purpose, was it not ? — turning those plain words 
 into brilliant metaphors and pompous images ; for they 
 are fine talkers, that family ! The father talked, even on 
 the scaffold.” 
 
 The perspiration of shame stood upon the brow of 
 Louis. He felt that it was inconsistent with his dignity 
 to hear his brother thus insulted, but he did not yet 
 know how to act with him before whom he had seen 
 every one blench, even his mother. At last he made an 
 effort. 
 
 “ But,” said he, “ Monsieur the Cardinal, it is not five 
 hundred men, it is only two hundred.” 
 
 “Well, but you see I guessed what he wanted.” 
 
 “ I never denied, Monsieur, that you had a penetrating 
 eye, and that was why I thought you would not refuse 
 my brother Charles a thing so simple and so easy to 
 grant him as what I ask of you in his name, Monsieur 
 the Cardinal, or rather in my own.” 
 
MAZARIN’S POLICY. 
 
 105 
 
 “ Sire,” said Mazarin, “ I have studied policy thirty 
 years, — first with M. le Cardinal de Richelieu, and then 
 alone. This policy has not always been over-honest, it 
 must be allowed, but it has never been unskilful. Now, 
 that which is proposed to your Majesty is dishonest and 
 unskilful at the same time.” 
 
 “ Dishonest, Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ Sire, you entered into a treaty with Cromwell.” 
 
 “Yes, and in that very treaty Cromwell signed his 
 name above mine.” 
 
 “ Why did you sign yours so low down, Sire 1 Crom- 
 well found a good place, and he took it ; that was his 
 custom. I return, then, to Cromwell. You have a 
 treaty with him, — that is to say, with England, since 
 when you signed that treaty Cromwell was England.” 
 “Cromwell is dead.” 
 
 “ Do you think so, Sire ? ” 
 
 “ No doubt he is, since his son Richard has succeeded 
 him, and has abdicated.” 
 
 “Yes, that is it exactly. Richard inherited on the 
 death of his father, and England on the abdication of 
 Richard. The treaty formed part of the inheritance, 
 whether in the hands of Richard or in the hands of 
 England. The treaty is, then, still as good, as valid, as 
 ever. Why should you evade it, Sire ? What is changed 
 Charles II. wants that to-day which we were not willing 
 to grant him ten years ago ; but that was foreseen and 
 provided against. You are the ally of England, Sire, and 
 not of Charles II. It was doubtless wrong, in a family 
 point of view, to sign a treaty with a man who had cut 
 off the head of the brother-in-law of the king your father, 
 and to contract an alliance with a parliament which they 
 call yonder the Rump Parliament; it was unbecoming, 
 I acknowledge, but it was not unskilful in a political 
 
106 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 point of view, since, thanks to that treaty, I saved your 
 Majesty, then a minor, the trouble and danger of a for- 
 eign war, which the Fronde — you remember the Fronde, 
 Sire 1 v — the young king hung down his head — “ which 
 the Fronde might have fatally complicated. And thus 
 I prove to your Majesty, that to change our plan now, 
 without warning our allies, would be at once unskilful 
 and dishonest. We should make war with the aggression 
 on our side ; we should make it, deserving to have it 
 made against us ; and we should have the appearance 
 of fearing it while provoking it, for a permission granted 
 to five hundred men, to two hundred men, to fifty men, 
 to ten men, is still a permission. One Frenchman, that 
 is the nation ; one uniform, that is the army. Suppose, 
 Sire, for example, that, sooner or later, you should have 
 war with Holland, which, sooner or later, will certainly 
 happen ; or with Spain, which will perhaps ensue if your 
 marriage fails ” (Mazarin stole a furtive glance at the king), 
 — “ and there are a thousand causes that might still 
 make your marriage fail, — well, would you approve of 
 England’s sending to the United Provinces or to Spain 
 a regiment, a company, a squadron even, of English 
 gentlemen ] Would you think that they kept wuthin 
 the limits of their treaty of alliance 1 ” 
 
 Louis listened : it seemed so strange to him that Ma- 
 zarin should invoke good faith, — he, the author of so 
 many political tricks, called Mazarinades. “ And yet,” 
 said the king, “ without any manifest authorization, I can- 
 not prevent gentlemen of my States from passing over 
 into England, if such should be their good pleasure.” 
 
 “ You ought to compel them to return, Sire, or at least 
 protest against their presence as enemies in a country 
 allied with you.” 
 
 “ Well, but come, Monsieur the Cardinal, you who are 
 
MAZARIN’S POLICY. 
 
 107 
 
 so profound a genius, try if you cannot find means to as- 
 sist this poor king, without compromising ourselves. ” 
 
 “ And that is exactly what I am not willing to do, my 
 dear Sire,” said Mazarin. “ If England were to act ex- 
 actly according to my wishes, she could not act better 
 than she does ; if I directed the policy of England from 
 this place, I should not direct it otherwise. Governed as 
 she is governed, England is an eternal nest of contention 
 for all Europe. Holland protects Charles II., let Holland 
 do so 5 they will become angry, they will fight. They are 
 the only two maritime powers. Let them destroy each 
 other’s navy; we can construct ours with the wreck of 
 their vessels, and shall save our money to buy nails 
 with.” 
 
 “ Oh, how paltry and mean all that is you tell me, 
 Monsieur the Cardinal ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, but nevertheless it is true, Sire ; you must con- 
 fess that. There is this, still further. Suppose I admit 
 for a moment the possibility of breaking your word and 
 evading the treaty, — it does sometimes happen that one 
 fails to keep his word or breaks an agreement ; but that 
 is when some great interest is at stake, or when the con- 
 tract is found to be too troublesome, — well, you will 
 authorize the engagement asked of you : France — her 
 banner, which is the same thing — will cross the Straits 
 and will fight ; France will be conquered.” 
 
 “ Why so f ” 
 
 “ By my faith ! there is a pretty general for us to fight 
 under, — this Charles II.! Worcester gives us good 
 proofs of that.” 
 
 u But he will no longer have to deal with Cromwell, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 “ But he will have to deal with Monk, who is quite as 
 dangerous. The brave brewer of whom we are speaking, 
 
108 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 was a visionary ; he had moments of exaltation, expan- 
 sion, inflation, during which he opened like u, too full 
 cask ; and from the chinks there always escaped some 
 drops of his thoughts, and by the sample the whole of his 
 thought was to be made out. Cromwell has thus al- 
 lowed us more than ten times to penetrate into his very 
 soul, when one would have conceived that soul to be em 
 veloped in triple brass, as Horace has it. But Monk ! — 
 Oh, Sire, God defend you from ever having anything 
 political to transact with Monk ! It is he who has given 
 me, in one year, all the gray hairs I have. Monk is no 
 fanatic ; unfortunately he is a politician ; he does not 
 split, he keeps close together. For ten years he has had 
 his eyes fixed upon one object, and nobody has yet been 
 able to ascertain what. Every morning, as Louis XL ad- 
 vised, he burns his night-cap. Therefore, on the day 
 when this plan, slowly and solitarily ripened, shall break 
 forth, it will break forth with all the conditions of the 
 success which always accompany an unforeseen event. 
 
 “ That is Monk, Sire, of whom, perhaps, you have 
 never heard, — of whom, perhaps, you did not know the 
 name even, before your brother Charles II., who knows 
 what he is, pronounced it before you. He is a wonder of 
 depth and tenacity, the two things alone against which 
 intelligence and ardor are blunted. Sire, I had ardor 
 when I was young ; I always had intelligence. I may 
 safely boast of it, because I am reproached with it. I 
 have done very well with these two qualities, since, from 
 the son of a fisherman of Piscina, 1 have become first min- 
 ister of the King of France ; and in that quality your 
 Majesty will perhaps acknowledge I have rendered some 
 services to the throne of your Majesty. Well, Sire, if I 
 had met with Monk on my way, instead of M. de Beau- 
 fort, M. de Retz, or Monsieur the Prince, — well, we should 
 
MAZARIN’S POLICY. 
 
 109 
 
 have been ruined. If you engage yourself rashly, Sire, 
 you will fall into the talons of this politic soldier. The 
 casque of Monk, Sire, is an iron coffer, in the recesses of 
 which he shuts up his thoughts, and no one has the key 
 of it. Therefore, near him, or rather before him, I bow, 
 Sire, for I have nothing but a velvet cap.” 
 
 “ What do you think Monk wishes to do, then ] ” 
 
 “ Eh ! Sire, if I knew that, I would not tell you to mis- 
 trust him, for I should be stronger than he ; but with 
 him I am afraid to guess — to guess ! — you understand 
 my word ] — for if I thought I had guessed, I should 
 stop at an idea, and, in spite of myself, should pursue 
 that idea. Since that man has been in power yonder, I 
 am like those damned souls in Dante, whose necks Satan 
 has twisted, and who walk forward, looking behind them. 
 I am travelling towards Madrid, but I never lose sight of 
 London. To guess, with that devil of a man, is to deceive 
 one’s self, and to deceive one’s self is to ruin one’s self. 
 God keep me from ever seeking to guess what he aims at ; 
 I confine myself to watching what he does, and that is 
 quite enough. Now I believe — you observe the extent 
 of the word I believe ? — I believe , with respect to Monk, 
 ties one to nothing — I believe that he has a strong incli- 
 nation to succeed Cromwell. Your Charles IT. has al- 
 ready caused proposals to be made to him by ten persons ; 
 he has satisfied himself with driving these ten meddlers 
 from his presence, without saying anything to them but, 
 
 ‘ Begone, or I will have you hung.’ That man is a sepul- 
 chre ! At this moment Monk is affecting devotion to the 
 Rump Parliament ; of this devotion, observe, I am not 
 the dupe. Monk has no w T ish to be assassinated, — an 
 assassination would stop him in the midst of his opera- 
 tions ; and his work must be accomplished ; — so I be- 
 lieve — but do not you believe what I believe, Sire : for 
 
110 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 I say I believe from habit — I believe that Monk is keep- 
 ing well with the Parliament till the day comes for his 
 dispersing it. Yon are asked for swords, but they are to 
 fight against Monk. God preserve us from fighting against 
 Monk, Sire ; for Monk would beat us, and I should never 
 console myself after being beaten by Monk. I should say 
 to myself, Monk has foreseen that victory ten years. For 
 God’s sake, Sire, out of friendship for you, if not out of 
 consideration for himself, let Charles II. keep quiet. 
 Your Majesty will make him a little revenue here ; you 
 will give him one of your chateaux. Yes, yes — wait 
 awhile. But I forgot the treaty, — that famous treaty 
 of which we were just now speaking. Your Majesty has 
 not even the right to give him a chateau.” 
 
 “ How is that % ” 
 
 “ Yes, yes ; your Majesty is bound not to afford hospi- 
 tality to King Charles, and to compel him to leave France 
 even. it was on this account we forced him to quit it ; 
 and yet here he is returned again. Sire, I hope you will 
 give your brother to understand that he cannot remain 
 with us ; that it is impossible ; that he compromises us, 
 
 • — or I myself — ” 
 
 u Enough, Monsieur,” said Louis XIV., rising. “ To 
 refuse me a million, perhaps you have the right ; your 
 millions are your own. To refuse me two hundred gen- 
 tlemen, you have still the right ; for you are first minis- 
 ter, and you have, in the eyes of France, the responsibility 
 of peace and war. . But that you should pretend to pre- 
 vent me, who am king, from affording hospitality to the 
 grandson of Henry IV., to my cousin-german, to the com- 
 panion of my childhood, — there your power stops, and 
 there commences my will.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said Mazarin, who was delighted at being let 
 off so cheaply, and who had, besides, only fought so 
 
M AZARIN’S POLICY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 earnestly to arrive at that, — “ Sire, I will always bend 
 before the will of my king. Let my king, then, keep near 
 him, or in one of his chateaux, the King of England ; let 
 Mazarin know it, but let not the minister know it.” 
 
 “ Good-night, Monsieur,” said Louis XIY. ; U I go 
 away in despair.” 
 
 “ But convinced ; and that is all I desire, Sire,” replied 
 Mazarin. 
 
 The king made no answer, and retired quite pensive, 
 convinced, not of all Mazarin had told him, but of one 
 thing which he took care not to mention to him ; and that 
 was that it was necessary for him to study seriously both 
 his own affairs and those of Europe, for he found them 
 very difficult and very obscure. Louis found the King of 
 England seated in the same place where he had left him. 
 On perceiving him, the English prince arose ; but at the 
 first glance he saw discouragement in dark letters upon 
 his cousin’s brow. Then, speaking first, as if to facilitate 
 the painful avowal that Louis had to make to him, — 
 
 “ Whatever may it be,” said he, “I shall never forget 
 all the kindness, all the friendship, you have exhibited 
 towards me.” 
 
 “ Alas ! ” replied Louis, in a melancholy tone, “ only 
 sterile good-will, my brother.” 
 
 Charles IT. became extremely pale ; he passed his cold 
 hand over his brow, and struggled for a few instants 
 against a faintness that made him tremble. “I under- 
 stand,” said he at last ; “ no more hope ! ” 
 
 Louis seized the hand of Charles II. “Wait, my 
 brother,” said he ; “ precipitate nothing ; everything may 
 change ; it is extreme resolutions that ruin causes ; add 
 another year of trial, I implore you, to the years you have 
 already undergone. You have, to induce you to act now 
 rather than at another time, neither occasion nor oppor 
 
112 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 tunity. Come with me, my brother; I will give you one 
 of my residences, whichever you prefer, to inhabit. I, 
 with you, will keep my eye upon events ; we will prepare. 
 Come, then, my brother, have courage ! ” 
 
 Charles II. withdrew his hand from that of the king, 
 and drawing back, to salute him with more ceremony, 
 replied, “ Thanks, Sire, with all my heart ! But I 
 have prayed without success to the greatest king on 
 earth ; now I will go and ask a miracle of God.” And he 
 went out without being willing to hear any more, his 
 head carried loftily, his hand trembling, with a painful 
 contraction of his noble countenance, and that profound 
 gloom which, finding no more hope in the world of men, 
 appeared to go beyond it, and ask it in worlds unknown. 
 
 The officer of Musketeers, on seeing him pass by thus 
 pale, bowed almost to his knees as he saluted him. He 
 then took a flambeau, called two musketeers, and de- 
 scended the deserted staircase with the unfortunate king, 
 holding in his left hand his hat, the plume of which swept 
 the steps. Arrived at the door, the officer asked the 
 king which way he was going, that he might direct the 
 musketeers. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied Charles II., in a subdued voice, 
 “you who have known my father, say, did you ever pray 
 for him ? If you have done so, do not forget me in your 
 prayers. Now, I am going alone, and beg of you not to 
 accompany me, or have me accompanied further.” 
 
 The officer bowed, and sent away the musketeers into 
 the interior of the palace. But he himself remained an 
 instant under the porch to watch the departure of Charles 
 II., till he was lost in the shadows of the winding street. 
 “To him, as to his father formerly murmured he, 
 “ Athos, if he were here, would say with reason, ‘Salu- 
 tation to fallen majesty ! ’ ” Then reascending the stair- 
 
MAZARIN’S POLICY. 
 
 1155 
 
 case : “Oh the vile service that I follow ! ” said he, at 
 every step. “ Oh, my pitiful master ! Life thus spent 
 is no longer tolerable, and it is at length time that I do 
 something ! No more generosity, no more energy ! The 
 master has succeeded, the pupil is starved forever. Mor- 
 dioux ! I will not resist. Come, you men,” continued he, 
 entering the antechamber, “ why are you all looking at 
 me so h Extinguish these flambeaux, and return to your 
 posts. Ah ! you were guarding me i Yes, you watch 
 over me, do you not, worthy fellows % Brave fools ! 1 
 
 am not the Due de Guise. Begone ! They will not as- 
 sassinate me in the little passage-way. Besides,'’ added 
 he, in a low voice, “ that would be a resolution, and 
 no resolutions have been formed since M. le Cardinal de 
 Richelieu died. Now, with all his faults, that was a 
 man ! It is decided : to-morrow I will throw my uniform 
 to the nettles ” 
 
 Then, reflecting, “ No,” said he, “ not yet ! I have 
 one great trial to make, and I will make it ; but that 
 — and I swear it — shall be the last, mordioux ! 99 
 
 He had not finished speaking, when a voice issued from 
 the king’s chamber. “ Monsieur the Lieutenant ! ” said 
 this voice. 
 
 “ I am here,” replied he. 
 
 “ The king desires to speak to you.” 
 
 “ Humph!” said the lieutenant; “ perhaps it is for 
 what I was thinking about ; ” and he went into the king’s 
 appartement. 
 
 VOL. i. — 8 
 
114 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 
 
 As soon as the king saw the officer enter, he dismissed his 
 valet de chambre and his gentleman. “ Who is on duty 
 to-morrow, Monsieur ]” asked he. 
 
 The lieutenant bowed his head with military politeness, 
 and replied, “ I am, Sire.” 
 
 “ How ! you still ? ” 
 
 “ I always, Sire.” 
 
 “ How can that be, Monsieur ” 
 
 “ Sire, when travelling, the Musketeers supply all the 
 posts of your Majesty’s household ; that is to say, yours, 
 her Majesty the Queen’s, and Monsieur the Cardinal’s, 
 the latter of whom borrows of the king the best part, or 
 rather the most numerous part, of the royal guard.” 
 
 “ But in the interims'?” 
 
 “ There are no interims, Sire, but for twenty or thirty 
 men who rest out of a hundred and twenty. At the 
 Louvre it is very different, and if I were at the Louvre, I 
 should rest upon my brigadier ; but when travelling, 
 Sire, no one knows what may happen, and I prefer doing 
 my duty myself.” 
 
 “ Then you are on guard every day h ” 
 
 “ And every night. Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I cannot allow that, — I will have you 
 rest.” 
 
 “ That is very kind, Sire ; but I will not.” 
 
THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 
 
 115 
 
 “ What do you say 1 ” said the king, who did not at 
 first comprehend the full meaning of this reply. 
 
 “ I say, Sire, that I will not expose myself to the 
 chance of a fault. If the devil had an ill turn to play 
 me, you understand, Sire, as he knows the man with 
 whom he has to deal, he would choose the moment when 
 I should not be there. My duty and the peace of my 
 conscience before everything, Sire.” 
 
 “But such duty will kill you, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Eh ! Sire, I have performed it thirty-five years, 
 and in all France and Navarre there is not a man in 
 better health than I am. Moreover, I entreat you, Sire, 
 not to trouble yourself about me. That would appear 
 very strange to me, seeing that I am not accustomed to 
 it.” 
 
 The king cut short the conversation by a fresh ques- 
 tion. “ Shall you be here, then, to-morrow morning ? ” 
 “As at present'? Yes, Sire.” 
 
 The king walked several times up and down his cham- 
 ber; it was very plain that he burned with a desire to 
 speak, but that he was restrained by some fear or other. 
 The lieutenant, standing motionless, hat in hand, leaning 
 on his hip, watched him making these evolutions, and 
 while looking at him, grumbled to himself, biting his 
 mustache: “For a demi-pistole, he has not resolution 
 enough ! Parole cTkonneur l I would lay a wager he 
 does not speak at all ! ” 
 
 The king continued to walk about, casting from time 
 to time a side glance at the lieutenant. “He is his father 
 over again,” continued the latter, in his secret monologue ; 
 “ he is at once proud, avaricious, and timid. The devil 
 take his master, say I.” 
 
 The king stopped. “ Lieutenant,” said he. 
 
 “I am here, Sire.” 
 
116 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Why did you cry out this evening, down below in 
 the salons, ‘ On the king’s service ! His Majesty’s 
 Musketeers ! ’ ” 
 
 4 4 Because you gave me the order, Sire.” 
 
 “II” 
 
 “Yourself.” 
 
 “ Indeed, I did not say a word, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Sire, an order is given by a sign, by a gesture, by a 
 glance, as intelligibly, as freely, and as clearly as by word 
 of mouth. A servant who has nothing but ears is only 
 half a good servant.” 
 
 “Your eyes are very penetrating, then, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ How is that, Sire 1 ” 
 
 “ Because they see what is not.” 
 
 “ My eyes are good, though, Sire, although they have 
 served their master long and much; when they have 
 anything to see, they seldom miss the opportunity. 
 Now, this evening, they saw that your Majesty colored 
 with endeavoring to conceal your inclination to gape ; 
 that your Majesty looked with eloquent supplications, 
 first at his Eminence, and then at her Majesty the 
 Queen-mother, and at length to the door of entrance ; 
 and they so thoroughly remarked all I have said, that 
 they saw your Majesty’s lips articulate these words : 
 4 Who will get me out of this ? 9 ” 
 
 “ Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ Or something to this effect, Sire : ‘ My Muske- 
 teers ! 9 I could then no longer hesitate. That look 
 was for me ; the order was for me. I cried out in- 
 stantly, 1 His Majesty’s Musketeers ! ’ And, besides, that 
 is proved to be true, Sire, not only by your Majesty’s 
 not saying I was wrong, but proving I was right by going 
 out at once.” 
 
 The king turned away to smile ; then, after a few 
 
THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 
 
 117 
 
 seconds, he again fixed his limpid eye upon that coun- 
 tenance, — so intelligent, so bold, and so firm that it 
 might have been said to be the proud and energetic 
 profile of the eagle in face of the sun. “ That is all very 
 well,” said he, after a short silence, during which he 
 endeavored, in vain, to look his officer down. 
 
 But, seeing the king said no more, the latter pirouetted 
 on his heels, and made three steps towards the door, 
 muttering, “ He will not speak ! Mordioux ! he will not 
 speak ! ” 
 
 “ Thank you, Monsieur,” said the king at last. 
 
 “ Humph ! ” continued the lieutenant ; “ there only 
 wanted that, — to be blamed for having been less of a 
 fool than another might have been.” And he gained the 
 door, allowing his spurs to jingle in true military style. 
 But when he was upon the threshold, feeling that the 
 king’s desire drew him back, he returned. 
 
 “ Has your Majesty told me all 1 ” asked he, in a tone 
 we cannot describe, but which, without appearing to 
 solicit the royal confidence, contained so much persuasive 
 frankness that the king immediately replied, — 
 
 “ Yes ; but draw near, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Now, then,” murmured the officer, “he is coming to 
 it at last.” 
 
 “ Listen to me.” 
 
 “ I will not lose a word, Sire.” 
 
 “You will mount on horseback to-morrow, at about 
 half-past four in the morning, and you will have a horse 
 saddled for me.” 
 
 “From your Majesty’s stables ? ” 
 
 “ No ; one of your Musketeers’ horses.” 
 
 “ Yery well, Sire. Is that all ? ” 
 
 “ And you will accompany me.” 
 
 “ Alone ? ” 
 
118 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Alone.” 
 
 “ Shall I come to seek your Majesty, or shall I wait ?” 
 
 “ You will wait for me.” 
 
 “ Where, Sire ? ” 
 
 “ At the little park-gate.” 
 
 The lieutenant bowed, understanding that the king 
 had told him all he had to say. In fact, the king dis- 
 missed him with a gracious wave of the hand. The 
 officer left the chamber of the king, and returned to 
 place himself philosophically in his fauteuil , where, far 
 from sleeping, as might have been expected, considering 
 how late it was, he began to reflect more profoundly than 
 he had ever reflected before. The result of these reflec- 
 tions was not so melancholy as the preceding ones had 
 been. 
 
 “ Come, he has begun,” said he. “ Love urges him on, 
 and he goes forward, — he goes forward ! The king is 
 nobody in his own palace ; but the man perhaps may 
 prove to be worth something. Well, we shall see to- 
 morrow morning. Oh ! oh ! ” cried he, all at once start- 
 ing up, “ that is a gigantic idea, mordioux ! and perhaps 
 my fortune depends, at least, upon that idea ! ” After 
 this exclamation, the officer arose and marched, with 
 his hands in his coat-pockets, about the immense ante- 
 chamber that served him as an apartment. The wax- 
 light flamed furiously under the stirring of a fresh breeze 
 which stole in through the chinks of the door and the 
 window, and cut the hall diagonally. It threw out a 
 reddish, unequal light, sometimes brilliant, sometimes 
 dull ; and the tall shadow of the lieutenant was seen 
 marching on the wall, in profile, like a figure by Callot, 
 with his long sword and feathered hat. 
 
 “ Surely,” said he, “I am mistaken if Mazarin is 
 not laying a snare for this amorous boy. Mazarin, this 
 
THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 
 
 119 
 
 evening, gave an address, and made an appointment as 
 complacently as M. Dangeau himself could have done, — 
 I heard him, and I know the meaning of his words. ‘To- 
 morrow morning,’ said he, ‘they will pass opposite the 
 bridge of Blois.’ Mordioux ! that is clear enough, and 
 particularly for a lover. That is the cause of this embar- 
 rassment ; that is the cause of this hesitation ; that is 
 the cause of this order, — ‘ Monsieur the Lieutenant of 
 my Musketeers, be on horseback to-morrow at four o’clock 
 in the morning ; • which is as clear as if he had said, 
 ‘ Monsieur the Lieutenant of my Musketeers, to-morrow, 
 at four, at the bridge of Blois, — do you understand?’ 
 Here is a State secret, then, which I, humble as 1 am, 
 have in my possession while it is in action. And how do 
 I get it? Because I have good eyes, as his Majesty just 
 now said. They say he loves this little Italian doll furi- 
 ously. They say he threw himself at his mother’s feet, 
 to ask her to allow him to marry her. They say the 
 queen went so far as to consult the court of Rome, whether 
 such a marriage, contracted against her will, would be 
 valid. Oh, if I were but twenty-five ! If I had by my 
 side those I no longer have ! If I did not despise the 
 whole world most profoundly, I would embroil Maza- 
 rin with the queen-mother, France with Spain, and I 
 would make a queen after my own fashion. But let 
 that pass ; ” and the lieutenant snapped his fingers in 
 disdain. 
 
 “ This miserable Italian, this poor creature, this sor- 
 did wretch, who has just refused the King of England a 
 million, would not perhaps give me a thousand pistoles 
 for the news I could carry him. Mordioux ! I am falling 
 into second childhood, — I am becoming stupid indeed ! 
 The idea of Mazarin giving an}Thing ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ” and 
 he laughed hilariously, though he was alone. 
 
120 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well, let us go to sleep, — let us go to sleep ; and the 
 sooner the better. My mind is fatigued with my evening’s 
 work, and will see things to-morrow more clearly than to- 
 day.” 
 
 And upon this recommendation, made to himself, he 
 folded his cloak around him, thinking with contempt of 
 his royal neighbor. Five minutes after this he was asleep, 
 with his hands clenched and his lips apart, allowing to 
 escape, not his secret, but a sonorous sound, which rose 
 and spread freely beneath the majestic roof of the ante- 
 chamber. 
 
MARIE DE MANCINI. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MARIE DE MANCINI. 
 
 The sun had scarcely lighted the majestic trees of the 
 park and the lofty turrets of the castle with its first beams, 
 when the young king, who had been awake more than 
 two hours, possessed by the sleeplessness of love, opened 
 his shutters himself, and cast an inquiring look into the 
 courts of the sleeping palace. He saw that it was the 
 hour agreed upon; the great court clock pointed to a 
 quarter-past four. Pie did not disturb his valet de chambre , 
 w T ho was sleeping profoundly at some distance ; he dressed 
 himself, and the valet, in a great fright, sprang up, think- 
 ing he had been deficient in his duty ; but the king sent 
 him back again, commanding him to preserve the most 
 absolute silence. He then descended the little staircase, 
 went out at a side-door, and perceived at the end of the 
 wall a mounted horseman, holding another horse by the 
 bridle. This horseman was not to be recognized in his 
 cloak and slouched hat. As to the horse, saddled like 
 that of a rich citizen, it had nothing remarkable about it 
 to the most experienced eye. Louis took the bridle ; the 
 officer held the stirrup without dismounting, and asked 
 his Majesty’s orders in a low voice. 
 
 “ Follow me,” replied the king. 
 
 The officer put his horse to the trot, behind that of his 
 master, and they descended the hill towards the bridge. 
 When arrived at the other side of the Loire, “ Monsieur,” 
 said the king, “you will please to ride on till you see a 
 
122 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 carriage coming ; then return and inform me. I will wait 
 here. ,, 
 
 “ Will your Majesty deign to give me some description 
 of the carriage lam charged to discover ] ” 
 
 “ A carriage in which you will see two ladies, and prob- 
 ably their attendants likewise.” 
 
 “ Sire, I should not wish to make a mistake ; is there 
 no other sign by which I may know this carriage 1 ” 
 
 “ It will bear, in all probability, the arms of Monsieur 
 the Cardinal.” 
 
 “ That is sufficient, Sire,” replied the officer, fully in- 
 structed in the object of his search. He put his horse to 
 the trot, and rode sharply on in the direction pointed out 
 by the king. But he had scarcely gone five hundred 
 paces when he saw four mules, and then a carriage, loom 
 up from behind a little hill. Behind this carriage came 
 another. It required only one glance to assure him that 
 these were the equipages he was in search of ; he there- 
 fore turned his horse, and rode back to the king. 
 
 “Sire,” said he, “here are the carriages. The first, 
 as you said, contains two ladies with their femmes de 
 chambre ; the second contains the footmen, provisions, and 
 necessaries.” 
 
 “ That is well,” replied the king, in an agitated voice. 
 “ Please to go and tell those ladies that a cavalier of the 
 court wishes to pay his respects to them alone.” 
 
 The officer set off at a gallop. “ Mordioux ! ” said -he, 
 as he rode on, “ here is a new and honorable employment, 
 I hope ! I complained of being nobody. I am the king’s 
 confidant, — that is enough to make a musketeer burst 
 with pride.” 
 
 He approached the carriage, and delivered his message 
 gallantly and intelligently. There were two ladies in the 
 carriage, — one of great beauty, although rather thin ; 
 
MARIE DE MANCINI. 
 
 123 
 
 the other less favored by nature, but lively, graceful, and 
 uniting in the light folds of her brow all the signs of a 
 strong will. Her eyes, in particular, animated and pierc- 
 ing, were more eloquent in expression than all the amor- 
 ous phrases in fashion in those days of gallantry. It was 
 to her D’Artagnan addressed himself, without fear of 
 being mistaken, — although the other was, as we have 
 said, the more handsome of the two. 
 
 “ Madame,” said he, “ I am the lieutenant of the Mus- 
 keteers, and there is on the road a cavalier who awaits 
 you, and is desirous of paying his respects to you.” 
 
 At these words, the effect of which he watched closely, 
 the lady with the black eyes uttered a cry of joy, leaned 
 out of the carriage window, and seeing the cavalier ap- 
 proach, held out her arms, exclaiming, “ Ah, my dear 
 sire ! ” and the tears gushed from her eyes. 
 
 The coachman stopped his team. The women rose in 
 confusion from the carriage ; and the second lady made 
 a slight reverence, terminated by the most ironical smile 
 that jealousy ever imparted to the lips of woman. 
 
 “ Marie, dear Marie ! ” cried the king, taking the hand 
 of the black-eyed lady in both his. And opening the 
 heavy door himself, he drew her out of the carriage 
 with so much ardor that she was in his arms before she 
 touched the ground. The lieutenant, posted on the 
 other side of the carriage, saw and heard all without 
 being observed. 
 
 The king offered his arm to Mademoiselle de Mancini, 
 and made a sign to the coachman and lackeys to proceed. 
 It was nearly six o’clock ; the road was fresh and pleas- 
 ant ; tall trees, with the foliage still enclosed in the 
 golden down of their buds, let the dew of morning filter 
 from their trembling branches, like liquid diamonds ; the 
 grass was bursting at the foot of the hedges ; the swal- 
 
124 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 lows, only a few days returned, described their graceful 
 curves between the heavens and the water ; a breeze, per- 
 fumed by the blossoming woods, sighed along the road, 
 and wrinkled the surface of the waters of the river. All 
 these beauties of the day, all these perfumes of the plants, 
 all these aspirations of the earth towards the heavens, in- 
 toxicated the two lovers, v T ho, walking side by side, lean- 
 ing upon each other, eyes fixed upon eyes, hand clasped 
 within hand, went slowly by a mutual inclination, and 
 did not venture to speak, they had so much to say. 
 
 The officer saw that the king’s horse pulled this way 
 and that, and inconvenienced Mademoiselle de Mancini. 
 On the pretext of taking the horse, he drew near to them, 
 dismounted, and walking between the two horses he led, 
 did not lose a single word or gesture of the lovers. It 
 was Mademoiselle de Mancini who at length began. 
 
 “ Ah, my dear sire ! ” said she, “ you do not abandon 
 me, then ? ” 
 
 “No,” replied the king; “you see I do not, Marie.” 
 
 “ I had been so often told, though, that as soon as 
 we should be separated you would no longer think of 
 me.” 
 
 “ Dear Marie, is it then to-day only that you have dis- 
 covered we are surrounded by people interested in deceiv- 
 ing us ? ” 
 
 “ But then, Sire, this journey, this alliance with Spain'? 
 They are going to marry you ! ” 
 
 Louis hung his head. At the same time the officer 
 could see in the sunlight the eyes of Marie de Mancini 
 shine with the brilliancy of a poniard starting from its 
 sheath. “ And you have done nothing in favor of our 
 love?” asked the girl, after a silence of a moment. 
 
 “Ah! Mademoiselle, how could you believe that? I 
 threw myself at the feet of my mother ; I begged her, I 
 
MARIE DE MANCINI. 
 
 125 
 
 implored her ; I told her all my hopes of happiness were 
 in you; I even threatened — ” 
 
 “ Well 1 ? ” asked Marie, eagerly. 
 
 “ Well, the queen-mother wrote to the court of Rome, 
 and received as answer, that a marriage between us would 
 have no validity, and would be dissolved by the holy 
 father. At length, finding there was no hope for us, I 
 requested to have my marriage with the infanta at least 
 delayed.” 
 
 “ And yet that does not prevent your being on the road 
 to meet her 1 ” 
 
 “ What would you have ? To my prayers, to my sup- 
 plications, to my tears, I received no answer but reasons 
 of State.” 
 
 “ Well, well ? ” 
 
 “ Well, what is to be done, Mademoiselle, when so 
 many wills are leagued against me ? ” 
 
 It was now Marie’s turn to hang her head. “ Then I 
 must bid you adieu forever,” said she. “ You know that 
 they banish me ; you know that they bury me ; you know 
 that they go still further, — you know that they are 
 marrying me also, — me! ” 
 
 Louis became very pale, and placed his hand upon his 
 heart. 
 
 “ If I had thought that my life only had been at stake, 
 I have been so persecuted that I might have yielded ; but 
 I thought yours was concerned, my dear sire, and I stood 
 out for the sake of preserving your happiness.” 
 
 “ Oh yes ! my happiness, my treasure ! ” murmured 
 the king, more gallantly than passionately perhaps. 
 
 “ The cardinal might have yielded,” said Marie, “ if you 
 had addressed yourself to him, if you had pressed him. 
 For the cardinal to call the King of France his nephew ! 
 — do you not perceive, Sire ? He would have made war 
 
126 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 even for that honor ; the cardinal assured of governing 
 alone, under the double pretext of having brought up the 
 king, and given his niece to him in marriage, — the cardi- 
 nal would have combated all wills, overcome all obstacles. 
 Oh, Sire ! I can answer for that. I am a woman, and I 
 see clearly into everything where love is concerned.” 
 
 These words produced a strange effect upon the king. 
 Instead of heightening his passion, they cooled it. He 
 stopped, and said with precipitation : “ What is to be 
 said, Mademoiselle 1 ? Everything has failed.” 
 
 “ Except your will, I trust, my dear sire ? ” 
 
 “ Alas ! ” said the king, coloring, “ have I a willl ” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” Mademoiselle de Mancini murmured mourn- 
 fully, wounded by that expression. 
 
 •“ The king has no will but that which policy dictates, 
 but that which reasons of State impose upon him.” 
 
 “ Oh ! it is because you have no love,” cried Marie ; “ if 
 you loved, Sire, you would have a will.” 
 
 On pronouncing these words, Marie raised her eyes to 
 her lover, whom she saw more pale and more cast down 
 than an exile who is about to quit his native land forever. 
 “ Accuse me,” murmured the king, “ but do not say I do 
 not love you.” 
 
 A long silence followed these words, which the young 
 king had pronounced with a perfectly true and profound 
 feeling. 
 
 “ I am unable to think, Sire,” continued Marie, “ that 
 to-morrow, and after to-morrow, I shall see you no more ; 
 I cannot think that I am going to end my sad days at a 
 distance from Paris ; that the lips of an old man, of an 
 unknown, should touch that hand which you hold within 
 yours, — no, in truth, I cannot think of all that, my dear 
 sire, without my poor heart bursting with despair.” 
 
 And Marie de Mancini did shed floods of tears. On 
 
MARIE DE MANCINI. 
 
 127 
 
 his part, the king, affected, carried his handkerchief to his 
 mouth, and stifled a sob. 
 
 “ See,” said she, “the carriages have stopped, my sister 
 waits for me, the time has come ; what you are about to 
 decide upon will be decided for life. Oh, Sire ! you are 
 willing, then, that I should lose you h You are willing, 
 then, Louis, that she to whom you have said ‘ I love you ’ 
 should belong to another man than her king, her master, 
 her lover ? Oh ! courage, Louis ! courage ! One word, 
 a single word ! Say ‘ I will ! ’ and all my life is enchained 
 to yours, and all my heart is yours forever.” 
 
 The king made no reply. Marie then looked at him as 
 Dido looked at iEneas in the Elysian fields, fiercely and 
 disdainfully. “ Adieu, then,” said she; “ adieu life! adieu 
 love ! adieu heaven ! ” 
 
 And she made a step to depart. The king detained' 
 her, seized her hand, which he glued to his lips, and, de- 
 spair prevailing over the resolution he appeared to have 
 inwardly formed, he let fall upon that beautiful hand a 
 burning tear of regret, which made Marie start, so really 
 had that tear burned her. She saw the humid eyes of 
 the king, his pale brow, his convulsed lips, and cried with 
 an accent that cannot be described : “ Oh, Sire ! you are 
 a king, you weep, and I depart ! ” 
 
 As his sole reply, the king concealed his face in his 
 handkerchief. The officer here uttered something so like 
 a roar that it frightened the horses. Mademoiselle de 
 Mancini, quite indignant, quitted the king’s arm, got 
 precipitately into the carriage, crying to the coachman, 
 “ Go on, go on quickly ! ” 
 
 The coachman obeyed, flogged his mules, and the 
 heavy carriage rocked upon its creaking axle ; while the 
 King of France, alone, cast down, annihilated, did not 
 dare to look either behind or before him. 
 
128 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT EACH GIVE 
 PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 When the king, like all the people in the world who are 
 in love, had long and attentively watched the disappear- 
 ance in the horizon of the carriage which bore away his 
 mistress ; wffien he had turned and turned again a hun- 
 dred times to the same way, and had at length succeeded 
 in calming in a degree the agitation of his heart and 
 thoughts, he recollected that he was not alone. The 
 officer still held the horse by the bridle, and had not lost 
 all hope of seeing the king recover his resolution. He 
 had still the resource of mounting, and riding after the 
 carriage ; they would have lost nothing by waiting a 
 little. But the imagination of the lieutenant was too 
 rich and too brilliant ; it left far behind it that of the 
 king, who took care not to allow himself to be carried 
 away by any such luxurious excess. He contented him- 
 self with approaching the officer, and in a doleful voice, 
 “ Come,” said he, “ all is ended. To horse ! ” 
 
 The officer imitated this carriage, this slowness, this 
 sadness, and leisurely mounted his horse. The king 
 pushed on sharply ; the lieutenant followed him. At the 
 bridge Louis turned round for the last time. The lieu- 
 tenant, patient as a god who has eternity behind and 
 before him, still hoped for a return of energy, — but in 
 vain ; nothing happened. Louis gained the street which 
 led to the castle, and entered as seven was striking. 
 
PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 129 
 
 When the king had returned, and the musketeer, who 
 saw everything, had seen a corner of the tapestry rise 
 at the window of the cardinal, he breathed a profound 
 sigh, like a man unloosed from the tightest bonds, and 
 said in a low voice : “Now then, my officer, I hope that 
 it is over.” 
 
 The king summoned his gentleman. “ Please to under- 
 stand I shall receive nobody before two o’clock,” said he. 
 
 “ Sire,” replied the gentleman, “ there is, however, some 
 one who requests admittance.” 
 
 “ Who is that ” 
 
 “Your lieutenant of Musketeers.” 
 
 “ He who accompanied meV f 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the king, “ let him come in.” 
 
 The officer entered. The king made a sign, and the 
 gentleman and the valet retired. Louis followed them 
 with his eyes until they had shut the door, and when the 
 tapestries had fallen behind them, — “ You remind me 
 by your presence, Monsieur, of something I had forgotten 
 to recommend to you, — that is to say, the most absolute 
 discretion.” 
 
 “ Oh ! Sire, why does your Majesty give yourself the 
 trouble of making me such a recommendation h It is 
 plain you do not know me.” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur, that is true. I know that you are 
 discreet ; but as I had prescribed nothing — ” 
 
 The officer bowed. “ Has your Majesty nothing else 
 to say to me 1 ” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur ; you may retire.” 
 
 “Shall I obtain permission not to do so till I have 
 spoken to the king, Sire ] ” 
 
 “ What have you to say to me 1 Explain yourself. 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 VOL. i. — 9 
 
130 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Sire, a thing without importance to you, but which 
 interests me greatly. Pardon me, then, for speaking of 
 it. Without urgency, without necessity, I never would 
 have done it, and I would have disappeared, mute and 
 insignificant as I always have been. ,, 
 
 “How! Disappeared! I do not understand you, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Sire, in a word,” said the officer, “ I have come to ask 
 for my discharge from your Majesty’s service.” 
 
 The king made a movement of surprise, but the officer 
 remained as motionless as a statue. 
 
 “Your discharge — yours, Monsieur ? and for how long 
 a time, I pray ? ” 
 
 “Why, forever, Sire.” 
 
 “What! you would quit my service, Monsieur'?” said 
 Louis, with an expression that revealed something more 
 than surprise. 
 
 “ Sire, I have that regret.” 
 
 “ Impossible ! ” 
 
 “ It is so, however, Sire. I am getting old ; I have 
 worn harness now thirty-four or thirty-five years ; my 
 poor shoulders are tired ; I feel that I must give place to 
 the young. I don’t belong to this age ; I have still one 
 foot in the old one ; and in consequence everything is 
 strange in my eyes, everything astonishes and bewilders 
 me. In short, I have the honor to ask your Majesty for 
 my discharge.” 
 
 “Monsieur,” said the king, looking at the officer, who 
 wore his uniform with an ease that would have awakened 
 envy in a young man, “you are stronger and more 
 vigorous than I am.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” replied the officer, with an air of assumed mod- 
 esty, “your Majesty says so because I still have a good eye 
 and a tolerably firm foot, because I can still ride a horse, 
 
PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 131 
 
 and my mustache is black; but, Sire, vanity of vanities 
 all that, illusions all that, — appearance, smoke, Sire ! I 
 have still a young air, it is true, but I am old at bottom ; 
 and within six months I feel certain I shall be broken 
 down, gouty, impotent. Therefore, Sire — ” 
 
 “ Monsieur/’ interrupted the king, “ remember your 
 words of yesterday. You said to me, in that very place 
 where you now are, that you were endowed with better 
 health than any other man in France ; that fatigue was 
 unknown to you ; that you cared not for passing whole 
 days and nights at your post. Did you tell me that, 
 Monsieur, or not'? Exercise your memory, Monsieur.” 
 The officer breathed a sigh. “ Sire,” said he, “ old age 
 is boastful ; and it is pardonable for old men to sound 
 their own praises when others no longer praise them. It 
 is very possible I said that ; but the fact is, Sire, I am 
 very much fatigued, and request permission to retire.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king, advancing towards the offi- 
 cer with a gesture at once full of address and majesty, 
 “you are not assigning me the true reason. You wish 
 to quit my service, it may be true, but you disguise from 
 me the motive for your retreat.” 
 
 “Sire, believe that — ” 
 
 “ I believe what I see, Monsieur ; I see a vigorous, en- 
 ergetic man, full of presence of mind, the best soldier in 
 France perhaps; and this person cannot persuade me the 
 least in the world that he stands in need of rest.” 
 
 “ Ah, Sire,” said the lieutenant, with bitterness, “ what 
 praises ! Indeed, your Majesty confounds me ! Ener- 
 getic, vigorous, brave, intelligent, the best soldier in the 
 army ! But, Sire, your Majesty exaggerates my small 
 portion of merit to such a point that, however good an 
 opinion I may have of myself, in very truth I no longer 
 recognize myself. If 1 were vain enough to believe only 
 
132 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 half of your Majesty’s words, I should consider myself a 
 valuable, indispensable man. I should say that a ser- 
 vant possessed of such brilliant qualities was a treasure 
 beyond all price. Now, Sire, I have been all my life, — I 
 feel bound to say it, — except at the present time, appre- 
 ciated, in my opinion, much beneath my value. I there- 
 fore repeat, your Majesty exaggerates.” 
 
 The king knitted his brow, for he saw a bitter raillery 
 beneath the words of the officer. “ Come, Monsieur,” 
 said he, “ let us meet the question frankly. Tell me, are 
 you dissatisfied with my service] No evasions; speak 
 boldly, frankly, — I demand it.” 
 
 The officer, who had been twisting his hat in his hands 
 with an embarrassed air for several minutes, raised his 
 head at these words. “ Oh, Sire,” said he, “ that puts 
 me a little more at my ease. To a question put so frankly, 
 I will reply frankly. To tell the truth is a good thing, — 
 as much from the pleasure one feels in relieving one’s 
 heart, as on account of its rarity. I will speak the truth, 
 then, to my king, at the same time imploring him to 
 excuse the frankness of an old soldier.” 
 
 Louis looked at his officer with anxious inquietude, 
 which was manifested by the agitation of his gesture. 
 “ Well, then, speak,” said he, “ for I am impatient to hear 
 the truths you have to tell me.” 
 
 The officer threw his hat upon a table, and his coun- 
 tenance, always so intelligent and martial, assumed all 
 at once a strange character of grandeur and solemnity. 
 “ Sire,” said he, “ I quit the king’s service because I am 
 dissatisfied. The valet, in these times, can approach his 
 master as respectfully as I do, can give him an account of 
 his labor, bring back his tools, render the funds that have 
 been intrusted to him, and say, ‘ Master, my day’s work 
 is done ; pay me, if you please, and let us part.’ ” 
 
PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 133 
 
 “ Monsieur ! Monsieur ! ” exclaimed the king, purple 
 with rage. 
 
 “ Ah, Sire/’ replied the officer, bending his knee for a 
 moment, “ never was servant more respectful than I am 
 before your Majesty ; only you commanded me to tell 
 the truth. Now I have begun to tell it, it must come 
 out, even if you command me to hold my tongue.” 
 
 There was so much resolution expressed in the deep- 
 sunk muscles of the officer’s countenance that Louis XIV. 
 had no occasion to tell him to continue ; he continued, 
 then, while the king looked at him with a curiosity 
 mingled with admiration : — 
 
 “ Sire, I have, as I have said, now served the house of 
 France thirty-five years ; few people have worn out so 
 many swords in that service as I have, and the swords I 
 speak of were good swords too, Sire. I was a boy, igno- 
 rant of everything except courage, when the king your 
 father divined that there was a man in me. I was a man, 
 Sire, when the Cardinal de Richelieu, who was a judge of 
 manhood, divined an enemy in me. Sire, the history of 
 that enmity between the ant and the lion may be read, 
 from the first to the last line, in the secret archives of 
 your family. If ever you feel an inclination to view it, 
 do it, Sire ; the history is worth the trouble, — it is I 
 who tell you so. You will there read that the lion, 
 fatigued, harassed, out of breath, at length cried for 
 quarter ; and the justice must be rendered him to say that 
 he gave as much as he required. Oh ! those were glori- 
 ous times, Sire, strewed over with battles like one of 
 Tasso’s or Ariosto’s epics ! The wonders of those times, to 
 which the people of ours would refuse belief, were every- 
 day occurrences. For five years together I was a hero 
 every day, — at least, so I was told by personages of 
 merit, — and that is a long period for heroism, trust me, 
 
134 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Sire, a period of five years. Nevertheless, I haye faith in 
 what these people told me, for they were good judges. 
 They were named M. de Richelieu, M. de Buckingham, 
 M. de Beaufort, M. de Retz, — a rough genius himself in 
 street warfare, — in short, the king Louis XIII., and 
 even the queen, your august mother, who one day conde- 
 scended to say, ‘ Thanh you' I don’t know what service 
 I had had the good fortune to render her. Pardon me, 
 Sire, for speaking so boldly ; but what I relate to you, as 
 I have already had the honor to tell your Majesty, is 
 history.” 
 
 The king bit his lips, and threw himself violently into 
 liis fauteuil. 
 
 “ I appear importunate to your Majesty,” said the liem 
 tenant. “ Eh ! Sire, that is the fate of truth ; she is a 
 stern companion ; she bristles all over with steel ; she 
 wounds those she attacks, and sometimes him who de- 
 livers her.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur,” replied the king; “ I bade you speak, 
 — speak then.” 
 
 “ After the service of the king and the cardinal, came the 
 ^service of the regency, Sire ; I fought pretty well in the 
 Fronde, — much less, though, than the first time. The 
 men began to diminish in stature. I have, nevertheless, 
 led your Majesty’s Musketeers on some perilous occasions, 
 which stand upon the orders of the day of the company. 
 Mine was a beautiful lot then ! I was the favorite of M. 
 de Mazarin. Lieutenant here ! lieutenant there ! lieuten- 
 ant to the right ! lieutenant to the left ! There was not a 
 buffet dealt in France, of which your humble servant was 
 not charged with the dealing. But they soon became not 
 contented with France ; Monsieur the Cardinal, he sent 
 me to England on Cromwell’s account, — another gentle- 
 man who was not over gentle, I assure you, Sire. I had 
 
PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 135 
 
 fche honor to know him, and I was well able to appreciate 
 him. A great deal was promised me on account of that 
 mission. So, as I did in it quite contrary to all I had 
 been bidden to do, I was generously paid, for I was at 
 length appointed captain of the Musketeers ; that is to 
 say, to the post most envied at court, which gives prece- 
 dence before the marshals of France, — and with justice ; 
 for when one mentions the captain of the Musketeers 
 he speaks of the flower of the soldiers and the king of 
 the brave.” 
 
 “ Captain, Monsieur!” interrupted the king; “you 
 make a mistake. Lieutenant, you mean to say.” 
 
 “ Not at all, Sire, — I make no mistake ; your Majesty 
 may rely upon me in that respect. Monsieur the Cardi- 
 nal gave me the commission himself.” 
 
 “ Well ! ” 
 
 “ But M. de Mazarin, as you know better than any- 
 body, does not often give, and sometimes takes back what 
 he has given ; he took it back again as soon as peace was 
 made and he was no longer in want of me. True enough, 
 I was not worthy to replace M. de Treville, of illustrious 
 memory ; but they had promised me, and they had given 
 me ; they ought to have stopped there.” 
 
 “Is that what dissatisfies you, Monsieur? Well, I will 
 make inquiries. I love justice ; and your claim, though 
 made in military fashion, does not displease me.” 
 
 “ Oh, Sire ! ” said the officer, “ your Majesty has ill 
 understood me ; I no longer claim anything now.” 
 
 “Excess of delicacy, Monsieur; but I will keep my 
 eye upon your affairs, and hereafter — ” 
 
 “Oh, Sire! what a word! — hereafter! Thirty }mars 
 have I lived upon that promising word, which has been 
 pronounced by so many great personages, and which 
 your mouth has, in its turn, just pronounced. Here* 
 
136 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 after ! that is how I have received a score of w T ounds, 
 and how I have reached fifty-four years of age, without 
 ever having had a louis in my purse, and without ever 
 having met with a protector in my road, — I, who have 
 protected so many people ! So I change my formula, 
 Sire ; and when any one says to me ‘ Hereafter ,’ I reply 
 'Now.' It is repose I solicit, Sire. That may be easily 
 granted me. That will cost nobody anything.” 
 
 “ I did not look for this language, Monsieur, particu- 
 larly from a man who has always lived among the great. 
 You forget you are speaking to the king, to a gentleman 
 who is, I suppose, of as good a house as yourself ; and 
 when I say ‘ Hereafter,’ it is a certainty.” 
 
 “I do not at all doubt it, Sire ; but this is the end of 
 the terrible truth I had to tell you. If I were to see 
 upon that table a marshal’s baton, the sword of con- 
 stable, the crown of Poland, instead of Hereafter , I swear 
 to you, Sire, that I should still say Now ! Oh, excuse 
 me, Sire ! I am from the country of your grandfather, 
 Henry IV. I do not speak often ; but when I do speak, 
 I speak all.” 
 
 “ The future of my reign has little temptation for you, 
 Monsieur, it appears,” said Louis, haughtily. 
 
 “ Forgetfulness, forgetfulness everywhere!” cried the 
 officer, with a noble air; “the master has forgotten the 
 servant, so that the servant is reduced to forget his 
 master. I live in unfortunate times, Sire. I see youth 
 full of discouragement and fear, I see it timid and de- 
 spoiled, when it ought to be rich and powerful. I yes- 
 terday evening, for example, open the door of the King 
 of France to a King of England, whose father, humble as 
 I am, I was near saving, if God had not been against me, 
 — God, who inspired his elect, Cromwell ! I open, I said, 
 the door, that is to say, of the palace of one brother to 
 
PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 137 
 
 another brother, and I see — stop, Sire, that presses upon 
 my heart ! — I see the minister of that king drive away 
 the proscribed prince, and humiliate his master by con- 
 demning to want another king, his equal. Then I see 
 my prince, who is young, handsome, and brave, who has 
 courage in his heart and lightning in his eye, — I see him 
 tremble before a priest, who laughs at him behind the 
 curtains of his alcove, where upon his bed he absorbs all 
 the gold of France, which he afterwards stuffs into secret 
 coffers. Yes, I understand your looks, Sire. I am bold 
 to madness ; but what is to be said ] I am an old man, 
 and I tell you here, Sire, to you, my king, things which 
 I would cram down the throat of any one who should 
 dare to pronounce them before me. You have com- 
 manded me to pour out my heart before you, Sire, and 
 I cast at the feet of your Majesty the bile which I have 
 been collecting during thirty years, as I would pour out 
 all my blood, if your Majesty commanded me to do 
 so.” 
 
 The king, without speaking a word, wiped the drops 
 of cold and abundant sweat which trickled from his 
 temples. The moment of silence which followed this 
 vehement outbreak represented for him who had spoken, 
 and for him who had listened, ages of suffering. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king, at length, “you have pro- 
 nounced the word 4 forgetfulness.’ I have heard nothing 
 but that word ; I will reply, then, to it alone. Others 
 have perhaps been able to forget, but I have not ; and the 
 proof is, that I remember that one day of riot, — that one 
 day in which the furious people, furious and roaring as 
 the sea, invaded the royal palace, — that one day when 
 I feigned to sleep in my bed, one man alone, naked 
 sword in hand, concealed behind my bolster, watched 
 over my life, ready to risk his own for me, as he had 
 
138 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 before risked it twenty times for the lives of my family. 
 Was not the gentleman, whose name I then demanded, 
 called M. d’Artagnan 'l Tell me, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Your Majesty has a good memory,” replied the 
 officer, coldly. 
 
 “ You see, then,’’ continued the king, “ if I have such 
 remembrances of my childhood, what a power of remem- 
 brance I may acquire in the years of reason.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty has been richly endowed by God,” said 
 the officer, in the same tone. 
 
 “ Come, M. d’Artagnan,” continued Louis, with fever- 
 ish agitation, “ ought you not to be as patient as I am ? 
 Ought you not to do as I do 1 Come ! ” 
 
 “ And what do you do, Sire ] ” 
 
 “ I wait.” 
 
 “Your Majesty may do so, because you are young; 
 but I, Sire, have not time to wait : old age is at my door, 
 and death follows, looking into the very depths of my 
 house. Your Majesty is beginning life, its future is full 
 of hope and fortune ; but I, Sire, — I am at the other side 
 of the horizon, and we are so far from each other that 
 I should never have time to wait till your Majesty came 
 up to me.” 
 
 Louis made another turn in his apartment, still wiping 
 the sweat from his brow, in a manner that would have 
 terrified his physicians, if his physicians had witnessed 
 the state his Majesty was in. 
 
 “Very well, Monsieur,” said Louis XI Y., in a sharp 
 voice ; “you desire your discharge, and you shall have it. 
 You offer me your resignation of the rank of lieutenant 
 of the Musketeers ” 
 
 “ I deposit it humbly at your Majesty’s feet, Sire.” 
 
 “ That is sufficient. I will order your pension.” 
 
 “ I shall have a thousand obligations to your Majesty.” 
 
PROOFS OF MEMORY. 
 
 139 
 
 “ Monsieur,’' said the king, with a violent effort, “I 
 think you are losing a good master.” 
 
 “ And I am sure of it. Sire.” 
 
 “ Shall you ever find such another ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, Sire ! I know that your Majesty is without equal 
 in the world ; therefore will I never again take service 
 with any king upon earth, and will never again have 
 other master than myself.” 
 
 “ You say sol” 
 
 “ I swear so, your Majesty.” 
 
 “ I shall remember that word, Monsieur.” 
 
 D’Artagnan bowed. 
 
 “And you know I have a good memory?” said the 
 king. 
 
 “Yes, Sire ; and yet I should desme that that memory 
 should fail your Majesty in this instance, in order that 
 you might forget all the miseries I have been forced to 
 spread before your eyes. Your Majesty is so much above 
 the poor and the mean, that I hope — ” 
 
 “ My Majesty, Monsieur, will act like the sun, which 
 looks upon all, great and small, rich and poor, giving 
 lustre to some, warmth to others, life to all. Adieu? 
 M. d’Artagnan, adieu ; you are free.” 
 
 And the king, with a hoarse sob, which was lost in his 
 throat, passed quickly into the next chamber. D’Artagnan 
 took up his hat from the table, upon which he had thrown 
 it, and went out. 
 
140 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PROSCRIBED. 
 
 D’Artagnan had not reached the bottom of the staircase, 
 when the king called his gentleman. “ I have a commis- 
 sion to give you, Monsieur,” said he. 
 
 “ I am at your Majesty’s commands.’’ 
 
 “ Wait, then.” And the young king began to write 
 the following letter, which cost him more than one sigh, 
 although at the same time something like a feeling of 
 triumph glittered in his eyes. 
 
 Mqnsieur the Cardinal, — Thanks to your good coun- 
 sels, and, above all, thanks to your firmness, I have succeeded 
 in overcoming a weakness unworthy of a king. You have so 
 ably arranged my destiny that I have been arrested by grat- 
 itude at the moment I was about to destroy your work. I 
 have perceived that I was wrong in wishing to make my life 
 deviate from the course you had marked out for it. Assuredly 
 it would have been a misfortune to France and my family if a 
 misunderstanding had taken place between me and my min- 
 ister. This, however, would certainly have happened if I had 
 made your niece my wife. I am perfectly aware of this, and 
 will henceforth oppose nothing to the accomplishment of my 
 destiny. I am prepared, then, to marry the Infanta Maria 
 Theresa. You may at once open the conference. 
 
 Your affectionate Louis. 
 
 The king, after re-perusing the letter, sealed it himself. 
 “ This letter for Monsieur the Cardinal,” said he. 
 
THE PROSCRIBED. 
 
 141 
 
 The gentleman took it. At Mazarin’s door he found 
 Bernouin waiting with anxiety. 
 
 “Well?” asked the minister’s valet de chambre. 
 
 “Monsieur,” said the gentleman, “ here is a letter for 
 his Eminence.” 
 
 “ A letter ! Ah ! we expected one, after the little jour- 
 ney of the morning.” 
 
 “Oh ! you knew, then, that his Majesty — ” 
 
 “ In quality of first minister, it belongs to the duties of 
 our charge to know everything. And his Majesty prays 
 and implores, I presume.” 
 
 “ I don’t know ; but he sighed frequently while he was 
 writing.” 
 
 “Yes, yes, yes; we understand all that: people 
 sigh sometimes from happiness as well as from grief, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 “ And yet the king did not look very happy when he 
 returned, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ You did not see clearly. Besides, you saw his Maj- 
 esty only on his return, for he was unaccompanied except 
 by the lieutenant of the Guards. But I had his Emi- 
 nence’s telescope ; I looked through it when he was tired, 
 and I am sure they both wept.” 
 
 “ Well ! was it for happiness they wept? ” 
 
 “ No, but for love ; and they vowed to each other a 
 thousand tendernesses, which the king asks no better 
 than to fulfil. Now, this letter is a beginning of the 
 fulfilment.” 
 
 “ And what does his Eminence think of this love, which 
 is, by the by, no secret to anybody ? ” 
 
 Bernouin took the messenger of Louis by the arm, and 
 while ascending the staircase, — “ In confidence,” said he, 
 in a low voice, “ his Eminence looks for success in the 
 affair. I know very well we shall have war with Spain ; 
 
142 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 but, bah ! war will please the nobles. Monsieur the Car- 
 dinal, besides, can endow his niece royally, nay, more 
 than royally. There will be money, festivities, and fire- 
 works, — everybody will be delighted.” 
 
 “Well, for my part,” replied the gentleman, shaking 
 his head, “ it appears to me that this letter is very light 
 to contain all that.” 
 
 44 My friend,” replied Bernouin, 44 I am certain of what 
 I say. M. d’Artagnan has told me all.” 
 
 “ Ay, ay! and what did he tell you? Let us hear.” 
 
 “ I accosted him by asking him, on the part of the car- 
 dinal, if there were any news, - — without discovering 
 my designs, observe, for M. d’Artagnan is a cunning 
 hand. 4 My dear M. Bernouin/ he replied, 4 the king is 
 madly in love with Mademoiselle de Mancini, — that is 
 all I have to tell you.’ And then I asked him : 4 To such 
 a degree, do you think, that it will urge him to act con- 
 trary to the designs of his Eminence? ’ 4 Ah ! don’t ques- 
 tion me/ said he ; 4 1 think the king capable of anything : 
 he has a head of iron, and what he wills he wills in 
 earnest. If he takes it into his head to marry Mademoi- 
 selle de Mancini, he will marry her.’ And thereupon he 
 left me and went straight to the stables, took a horse, 
 saddled it himself, jumped upon its back, and set off as if 
 the devil were at his heels.” 
 
 44 So that you believe, then — ” 
 
 44 1 believe that Monsieur the lieutenant of the Guards 
 knew more than he was willing to say.” 
 
 44 In your opinion, then, M. d’Artagnan — ” 
 
 44 Has gone, according to all probability, after the exiles, 
 to take all measures for the success of the king’s love.” 
 Chatting thus, the two confidants arrived at the door 
 of his Eminence’s appartement. His Eminence’s gout 
 had left him ; he was walking about his chamber in a 
 
THE PROSCRIBED 
 
 143 
 
 state of great anxiety, listening at doors and looking out 
 of windows. Bernouin entered, followed by the gentle- 
 man, who had orders from the king to place the letter in 
 the hands of the cardinal himself. Mazarin took the 
 letter ; but before opening it, he got up a ready smile, — 
 a smile of circumstance, an expression convenient for the 
 concealment of emotions of whatever sort they might be. 
 So prepared, whatever was the impression received from 
 the letter, no reflection of that impression was allowed to 
 appear upon his countenance. 
 
 “Well!” said he, when he had read and re-read the 
 letter, “ exceedingly well, Monsieur ! Inform the king 
 that I thank him for his obedience to the wishes of the 
 queen-mother, and that I will set about doing everything 
 for the accomplishment of his will.” 
 
 The gentleman left the room. The door had scarcely 
 closed before the cardinal, who had no mask for Bernouin, 
 took off that with which he had so recently covered his 
 face, and with his most sombre expression, — “ Call M. de 
 Brienne,” said he. Five minutes afterwards, the secretary 
 entered. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Mazarin, “ I have just rendered a 
 great service to the monarchy, the greatest I have ever 
 rendered it. You will carry this letter, which proves it, 
 to her Majesty the queen-mother; and when she shall 
 have returned it to you, you will lodge it in portfolio B, 
 which is filled with documents and papers relative to my 
 ministry.” 
 
 Brienne went as desired, and, as the letter was un- 
 sealed, did not fail to read it on his way. And of course 
 Bernouin, who was on good terms with everybody, ap- 
 proached so near to the secretary as to be able to read 
 the letter over his shoulder; so that the news spread with 
 such activity through the castle, that Mazarin feared for 
 
144 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 a moment it would reach the ears of the queen-mother 
 before M. de Brienne could convey Louis XIV. ’s letter to 
 her. A moment after, orders were given for departure ; 
 and M. de Conde, having been to pay his respects to the 
 king at his pretended rising, inscribed the city of Poitiers 
 upon his tablets, as the place of sojourn and repose for 
 their Majesties. Thus in a few instants was unravelled 
 an intrigue which had covertly occupied all the diploma- 
 cies of Europe. It had nothing, however, very clear as a 
 result, but to make a poor lieutenant of Musketeers lose 
 his commission and his fortune. It is true that in ex- 
 change he gained his liberty. We shall soon know how 
 M. d’Artagnan profited by this. For the moment, if the 
 reader will permit us, we will return to the hostelry of 
 the Medici, of which one of the windows opened at the 
 very moment the orders were given for the departure of 
 the king. 
 
 The window that opened was that of one of the cham- 
 bers of Charles II. The unfortunate prince had passed 
 the night in reflection, his head supported by his hands, 
 and his elbows on the table ; while Parry, infirm and old, 
 fatigued in body and in mind, had fallen asleep in a 
 corner. A singular fortune was that of this faithful ser- 
 vant, who saw recommencing for the second generation 
 the fearful series of misfortunes which had weighed so 
 heavily on the first. When Charles II. had well thought 
 over the fresh defeat he had experienced, when he per- 
 fectly comprehended the complete isolation into which 
 he had just fallen, on seeing his fresh hope left behind 
 him, he was seized as with a vertigo, and sank back in 
 the large fauteuil in which he was seated. Then God 
 took pity on the unhappy prince, and sent to console him 
 sleep, the innocent brother of death. He did not wake 
 till half-past six, — that is to say, till the sun shone brightly 
 
THE PROSCRIBED. 
 
 145 
 
 into his chamber ; and Parry, motionless through fear of 
 waking him, was observing with profound grief the eyes 
 of the young man already red with wakefulness, and his 
 cheeks pale with suffering and privations. 
 
 At length the noise of some heavy carts descending 
 towards the Loire awakened Charles. He arose, looked 
 around him like a man who has forgotten everything, 
 perceived Parry, shook him by the hand, and commanded 
 him to settle the reckoning with Master Cropole. Mas- 
 ter Cropole, being called upon to settle his account with 
 Parry, acquitted himself, it must be allowed, like an hon- 
 est man ; he only made his customary remark, that the 
 two travellers had eaten nothing, which had the double 
 disadvantage of being humiliating for his kitchen, and of 
 forcing him to ask payment for a repast not consumed, 
 but not the less lost. Parry had nothing to reply, and 
 paid. 
 
 “I hope,” said the king, “it has not been the same 
 with the horses. I don’t see that they have eaten at 
 your expense, and it would be a misfortune for travellers 
 like us, who have a long journey to make, to have our 
 horses fail us.” 
 
 But Cropole, at this doubt, assumed his majestic air, 
 and replied that the manger of the Medici was not less 
 hospitable than its refectory. 
 
 The king mounted his horse ; his old servant did the 
 same ; and both set out towards Paris, without meeting a 
 single person on their road, in the streets or the faubourgs 
 of the city. For the prince the blow was the more severe, 
 because it was another banishment. The unfortunate 
 cling to the smallest hopes, as the happy do to the great- 
 est good ; and when they are obliged to quit the place 
 where that hope has soothed their hearts, they experience 
 the mortal regret which the banished man feels when he 
 VOL. i. — 10 
 
146 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 places his foot upon the vessel which is to bear him into 
 exile. It appears that the heart already wounded so 
 many times suffers from the least scratch ; it appears 
 that it considers as a good the momentary absence of evil, 
 which is nothing but the absence of pain ; and that God, 
 into the most terrible misfortunes, has thrown hope as 
 the drop of water which the rich bad man in hell entreated 
 of Lazarus. 
 
 For one instant even the hope of Charles II. had been 
 more than a fugitive joy ; that was when he found him- 
 self so kindly welcomed by his brother Louis ; then it 
 had taken a form and had become a reality ; then, all at 
 once, the refusal of Mazarin had reduced the factitious 
 reality to the state of a dream. This promise of Louis 
 XIV., so soon withdrawn, had been nothing but a mock- 
 ery, — a mockery like his crown, like his sceptre, like 
 his friends, like all that had surrounded his royal child- 
 hood, and had abandoned his proscribed youth. Mockery ! 
 everything was a mockery for Charles II. except the cold, 
 black repose promised by death. 
 
 Such were the ideas of the unfortunate prince while 
 sitting listlessly upon his horse, to which he abandoned 
 the reins. He rode along slowly beneath the warm and 
 pleasant sun of May, in which the sombre misanthropy 
 of the exile perceived a last insult to his grief. 
 
“ REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTEK XVI. 
 
 “ REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 A horseman who was riding rapidly along the road lead- 
 ing towards Blois, which he had left nearly half an hour 
 before, passed the two travellers, and, though apparently 
 in haste, raised his hat as he went by. The king scarcely 
 observed this young man, who was about twenty-five 
 years of age. Turning round several times, he made 
 friendly gestures to a man standing before the gate of a 
 handsome white-and-red house, — that is to say, built of 
 brick and stone, with a slated roof, situated on the left 
 hand of the road the prince was travelling. 
 
 This man, old, tall, and thin, with white hair, — we 
 speak of the man standing by the gate, — this man replied 
 to the farewell signals of the youth by signs of parting as 
 tender as could have been made by a father. The young 
 man disappeared at the first turning of the road, bordered 
 by fine trees ; and the old man was preparing to return to 
 the house, when the two travellers, arriving in front of 
 the gate, attracted his attention. 
 
 The king, we have said, was riding with his head cast 
 down, his arms inert, leaving his horse to go what pace 
 he liked ; while Parry, behind him, the better to imbibe 
 the genial influence of the sun, had taken off his hat, and 
 was looking about to the. right and left. His eyes en- 
 countered those of the old man leaning against the gate, 
 who, as if struck by some strange spectacle, uttered an 
 exclamation, and made one step towards the two travellers. 
 
148 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 From Parry his eyes immediately turned towards the 
 king, upon whom they stopped for an instant. This ex- 
 amination, however rapid, was reflected instantly in a 
 visible manner upon the features of the tall old man. 
 For scarcely had he recognized the younger of the travel- 
 lers — and we say recognized, for nothing but a perfect 
 recognition could have explained such an act — scarcely, 
 we say, had he recognized the younger of the two travel- 
 lers, than he joined his hands in respectful surprise, and 
 raising his hat from his head, bowed so profoundly that 
 it might have been said he was kneeling. This demon- 
 stration, however distracted, or rather however absorbed, 
 was the king in his reflections, attracted his attention in- 
 stantly ; and checking his horse and turning towards 
 Parry, he exclaimed, “ Good God, Parry ! who is that man 
 who salutes me in such a marked manner'? Can he know 
 me, think you ? ” 
 
 Parry, much agitated and very pale, had already turned 
 his horse towards the gate. “x4h, Sire!” said he, stop- 
 ping suddenly at five or six paces’ distance from the still 
 bending old man ; u Sire, I am seized with astonishment, 
 for I think I recognize that brave man. Yes, it must be 
 he ! Will your Maiesty permit me to speak to him'?” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ Can it be you, M. Grimaud?” asked Parry. 
 
 “Yes, it is,” replied the tall old man, straightening 
 himself, but without abandoning his respectful attitude. 
 
 “ Sire,” then said Parry, “ I was not deceived. This 
 good man is the servant of the Comte de la Fere ; and the 
 Comte de la Fere, if you remember, is the worthy gentle- 
 man of whom I have so often spoken to your Majesty 
 that the remembrance of him must remain, not only in 
 your mind, but in your heart.” 
 
 “ He who was present at the last moments of the 
 
REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 149 
 
 king my father!” asked Charles, evidently affected at 
 the remembrance. 
 
 “ The same, Sire.” 
 
 “ Alas ! ” said Charles ; and then addressing Grimaud, 
 whose penetrating and intelligent eyes seemed to search 
 and divine his thoughts, “ My friend,” said he, “does 
 your master, M. le Comte de la Fere, live in this 
 neighborhood h ” 
 
 “ There,” replied Grimaud, pointing with his out- 
 stretched arm to the white-and-red house behind the 
 gate. 
 
 “ And is M. le Comte de la Fere at home at present 1 ” 
 
 “At the back, under the chestnut-trees.” 
 
 “ Parry,” said the king, “ I will not miss this oppor- 
 tunity, so precious for me, to thank the gentleman to 
 whom our house is indebted for such a noble example of 
 devotedness and generosity. Hold my horse, my friend, 
 if you please.” And, throwing the bridle to Grimaud, 
 the king entered the abode of Athos, quite alone, as one 
 equal enters the dwelling of another. Charles had been 
 informed by the concise explanation of Grimaud, “At 
 the back, under the chestnut-trees ; ” he left, therefore, 
 the house on the left, and went straight down the path 
 indicated. The thing was easy ; the tops of those noble 
 trees, already covered with leaves and flowers, rose above 
 all the rest. On arriving under the lozenges, by turns 
 luminous and dark, which checkered the ground of this 
 path according as the trees were more or less in leaf, the 
 young prince perceived a gentleman walking with his 
 arms behind him, apparently plunged in a profound 
 reverie. No doubt he had often had this gentleman 
 described to him, for without hesitating, Charles IT. 
 walked straight up to him. At the sound of his foot- 
 steps the Comte de la Fere raised his head, and seeing 
 
150 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 an unknown man of a noble and elegant carriage coming 
 towards him, he lifted his hat and waited. At some 
 paces from him, Charles II. likewise took off his hat. 
 Then, as if in reply to the count’s mute interrogation, — 
 
 “ Monsieur the Count,” said he, “ I come to discharge 
 a duty towards you. I have, for a long time, had the 
 expression of a profound gratitude to bring you. I am 
 Charles II., son of Charles Stuart, who reigned in Eng- 
 land, and died on the scaffold.” 
 
 On hearing this illustrious name, Athos felt a kind of 
 shudder creep through his veins ; but at the sight of the 
 young prince standing uncovered before him and stretch- 
 ing out his hand towards him, two tears, for an instant, 
 dimmed his brilliant eyes. He bent respectfully, but the 
 prince took him by the hand. 
 
 “ See how unfortunate I am, Monsieur the Count ; it 
 is only due to chance that I have met with you. Alas ! 
 I ought to have people around me whom I love and honor, 
 whereas I am reduced to preserve their services in my 
 heart, and their names in my memory ; so that if your 
 servant had not recognized mine, I should have passed 
 by your door as by that of a stranger.” 
 
 “ It is but too true,” said Athos, replying with his 
 voice to the first part of the king’s speech, and with 
 a bow to the second, — “ it is but too true, indeed, that 
 your Majesty has seen very evil days.” 
 
 “ And worse, alas ! ” replied Charles, “ are perhaps still 
 to come.” 
 
 “ Sire, let us hope.” 
 
 “ Count, Count,” continued Charles, shaking his head, 
 “ I entertained hope till last night, in the manner of a 
 good Christian, I assure you.” 
 
 Athos looked at the king as if to question him. 
 
 “ Oh, the story is soon told,” said Charles. “ Pro- 
 
REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 151 
 
 scribed, despoiled, disdained, I resolved, in spite of all 
 my repugnance, to tempt fortune one last time. Is it 
 not written above, that, for our family, all good fortune 
 and all bad fortune shall always come from France? 
 You know something of that, Monsieur, — you, who are 
 one of the Frenchmen whom my unfortunate father found 
 at the foot of his scaffold, on the day of his death, after 
 having found them at his right hand on the days of 
 battle.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said Athos, modestly, “ I was not alone. I and 
 my companions did, under the circumstances, our duty 
 as gentlemen, and that was all. Your Majesty was about 
 to do me the honor to relate — ” 
 
 “That is true. I had the protection — pardon my 
 hesitation, Count, but, for a Stuart, you, who understand 
 everything, you will comprehend that the word is hard 
 to pronounce, — I had, I say, the protection of my cousin 
 the Stadtholder of Holland ; but without the interven- 
 tion, or at least without the authorization of France, the 
 stadtholder would not take the initiative. I came, then, 
 to ask this authorization of the King of France, who has 
 refused me.” 
 
 “ The king has refused you, Sire ! ” 
 
 “Oh, not he; all justice must be rendered to my 
 young brother Louis ; but M. de Mazarin — ” 
 
 Athos bit his lips. 
 
 “ You perhaps think I had a right to expect this 
 refusal ? ” said the king, who had remarked the move- 
 ment. 
 
 “That was, in truth, my thought, Sire,” replied Athos, 
 respectfully; “ I know that Italian of old.” 
 
 “ Then I determined to push the matter to a conclu- 
 sion and know at once the last word of my destiny. I 
 told my brother Louis that, not to compromise either 
 
152 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 France or Holland, I would tempt fortune myself in 
 person, as I had already done, with two hundred gentle- 
 men, if he would give them to me ; and a million, if he 
 would lend it me.” 
 
 “ Well, Sire ? ” 
 
 “ Well, Monsieur, I am suffering at this moment some- 
 thing strange ; and that is, the satisfaction of despair. 
 There is in certain souls — and I have just discovered 
 that mine is of the number — a real satisfaction in the 
 assurance that all is lost, and the time is come to yield.” 
 
 “Oh, I hope,” said Athos, “that your Majesty has not 
 come to that extremity.” 
 
 “ To say so, Monsieur the Count, to endeavor to revive 
 hope in my heart, you must have ill understood what 
 I have just told you. I came to Blois to ask of my 
 brother Louis the alms of a million, with which I had the 
 hope of re-establishing my affairs ; and my brother Louis 
 has refused me. You see, then, plainly that all is lost.” 
 
 “Will your Majesty permit me to express a contrary 
 opinion 1 ” 
 
 “ How is that, Count ? Do you take me for a soul 
 so commonplace as not to know how to confront my 
 position ? ” 
 
 “ Sire, I have always seen that it was in desperate po- 
 sitions that suddenly the great turns of fortune have 
 taken place.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Count ; it is some comfort to meet with a 
 heart like yours, — that is to say, sufficiently trustful in 
 God and in monarchy never to despair of a royal fortune, 
 however low it may be fallen. Unfortunately, my dear 
 count, your words are like those remedies they call ‘ sov- 
 ereign,’ and which, notwithstanding, being only able to 
 cure curable wounds or diseases, fail against death. 
 Thank you for your perseverance in consoling me, Count, 
 
REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 153 
 
 thanks for your devoted remembrance, but I know what 
 I have to trust to, — nothing will save me now. And see, 
 my friend, I was so convinced that I was taking the route 
 of exile, with my old Parry ; I was returning to consume 
 my poignant griefs in the little hermitage offered me by 
 Holland. There, believe me, Count, all will soon be over, 
 and death will come quickly; it is called for so often by 
 this body, which the soul consumes, and by this soul, 
 which aspires to heaven.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty has a mother, a sister, and brothers; 
 your Majesty is the head of the family ; you ought, there- 
 fore, to ask a long life of God, instead of imploring him 
 for a prompt death. Your Majesty is proscribed, a fugi- 
 tive, but you have right on your side ; you ought to as- 
 pire to combats, dangers, business, and not to the repose 
 of the heavens.” 
 
 “ Count,” said Charles II., with a smile of indescribable 
 sadness, “ have you ever heard of a king who re-conquered 
 his kingdom with one servant of the age of Parry, and 
 with three hundred crowns which that servant carries in 
 his purse 1 ” 
 
 “ No, Sire; but I have heard — and that more than 
 once — that a dethroned king has recovered his kingdom 
 with a firm will, perseverance, some friends, and a million 
 francs skilfully employed.” 
 
 “ But you cannot have understood me. That million 
 I have asked of my brother Louis ; he has refused me.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said Athos, “ will your Majesty grant me a 
 few minutes, and listen attentively to wdiat remains for 
 me to say to you ” 
 
 Charles II. looked earnestly at Athos. “ Willingly, 
 Monsieur,” said he. 
 
 “Then I will show your Majesty the way,” resumed 
 the count, directing his steps towards the house. He 
 
154 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 then conducted the king to his cabinet, and begged him 
 to be seated. “ Sire/’ said he, “ your Majesty just now 
 told me that, in the present state of England, a million 
 would suffice for the recovery of your kingdom.” 
 
 “ To attempt it at least, Monsieur ; and to die as a king 
 if I should not succeed.” 
 
 “ Well, then, Sire, let your Majesty, according to the 
 promise you have made me, have the goodness to listen 
 to what I have to say.” Charles made an affirmative 
 sign with his head. Athos walked straight up to the door, 
 the bolts of which he drew, after having looked to see if 
 anybody was near, and then returned. “ Sire,” said he, 
 “your Majesty lias kindly remembered that I lent assist- 
 ance to the very noble and very unfortunate Charles I., 
 when his executioners conducted him from St. James’s to 
 Whitehall.” 
 
 “ Yes, certainly I do remember it, and always shall 
 remember it.” 
 
 “ Sire, it is a dismal history for a son to listen to, 
 who no doubt has had it related to him many times; and 
 yet I ought to repeat it to your Majesty without omitting 
 one detail.” 
 
 “ Speak on, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ When the king your father ascended the scaffold, or 
 rather when he passed from his chamber to the scaffold, 
 even with his window, everything was prepared for his 
 escape. The executioner was got out of the way ; a hole 
 was contrived under the floor of his apartment ; I myself 
 was beneath the funereal structure, which I heard all at 
 once creak under his feet.” 
 
 “ Parry has related to me all these terrible details, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 Athos bowed, and resumed. “ But here is something 
 he has not related to you, Sire, for what follows passed 
 
“REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 155 
 
 between God, your father, and myself ; and never has the 
 revelation of it been made even to my dearest friends. 
 ‘ Go a little farther off,’ said the august sufferer to the 
 masked executioner; ‘it is but for an instant, and I know 
 that I belong to you ; but remember not to strike till 
 I give the signal. I wish to offer up my prayers in 
 freedom.’ ” 
 
 “ Pardon me,” said Charles II., turning .very pale, “ but 
 you, Count, who know so many details of this melancholy 
 event, — details which, as you said just now, have never 
 been revealed to any one, — do you know the name of 
 that infernal executioner, of that base wretch who con- 
 cealed his face that he might assassinate a king with 
 impunity ? ” 
 
 Athos became slightly pale. “ His name ? ” said he ; 
 “yes, I know it, but cannot tell it.” 
 
 “ And what has become of him, for nobody in England 
 knows his fate ] ” 
 
 “ He is dead.” 
 
 “ But he did not die in his bed ; he did not die a calm 
 and peaceful death ; he did not die the death of the good 1 ” 
 
 “ He died a violent death, in a terrible night, rendered 
 so by the passions of man and a tempest from God. His 
 body, pierced by a poniard, sank to the depths of the 
 ocean. God pardon his murderer ! ” 
 
 “ Proceed then,” said Charles II., seeing that the count 
 was unwilling to say more. 
 
 “ The King of England, after having, as I have said, 
 spoken thus to the masked executioner, added : ‘ Ob- 
 serve, you will not strike till I shall stretch out my arms, 
 saying, Remember ! ’ ” 
 
 “ I was aware,” said Charles, in an agitated voice, 
 “that that was the last word pronounced by my unfortu- 
 nate father. But with what aim '! for whom h ” 
 
156 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ For the French gentleman placed beneath his scaf- 
 fold.” 
 
 “For you, then, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Yes, Sire ; and every one of the words which he spoke 
 to me, through the planks of the scaffold covered with a 
 black cloth, still sounds in my ears. The king knelt down 
 on one knee : 4 Comte de la Fere/ said he, 4 are you there 1 ’ 
 4 Yes, Sire/ replied I. Then the king stooped towards the 
 boards.” 
 
 Charles II. also, palpitating with interest, burning 
 with grief, stooped towards Athos, to catch, one by one, 
 every word that escaped from him. His head touched 
 that of the count. 
 
 “Then,” continued Athos, “ the king stooped. 6 Comte 
 de la Fere/ said he, ‘it was not possible for me to be 
 saved by you ; it was not to be. Now, even though I 
 commit a sacrilege, I must speak to you. Yes, I have 
 spoken to men, — yes, I have spoken to God, and I speak 
 to you the last. By supporting a cause which I thought 
 sacred, I have lost the throne of my fathers, and diverted 
 the heritage of mv children.’ ” 
 
 Charles II. concealed his face in his hands, and a bitter 
 tear glided between his white and slender fingers. 
 
 “ 4 1 still have a million in gold/ continued the king. 
 4 1 buried it in the vaults of the castle of Newcastle, when 
 1 was leaving that city.’” 
 
 Charles raised his head with an expression of such 
 painful joy as would have drawn tears from any one 
 acquainted with his misfortunes. “ A million ! ” mur- 
 mured he. 44 Oh, Count ! ” 
 
 44 ‘ You alone know that this money exists ; employ it 
 when you think it can be of the greatest service to my 
 eldest son. And now, Comte de la Fere, bid me adieu ! ’ 
 
 6 Adieu, adieu, Sire ! ’ cried I.” 
 
" REMEMBER ! ” 
 
 157 
 
 Charles arose, and went and leaned his burning brow 
 against the window. 
 
 “ It was then/ 5 continued Athos, 44 the king pronounced 
 the word 4 Remember ! ’ addressed to me. You see, Sire, 
 that I have remembered.” 
 
 The king could not resist or conceal his emotion. 
 Athos beheld the movement of his shoulders, which 
 undulated convulsively; he heard the sobs which burst 
 from his overcharged breast. He was silent himself, 
 suffocated by the flood of bitter remembrances he had 
 just poured upon that royal head. Charles II., with a 
 violent effort, left the window, repressed his tears, and 
 came and reseated himself by Athos. 44 Sire,” said the 
 latter, 44 1 thought till to-day that the time had not yet 
 arrived for the employment of that last resource; but, 
 with my eyes fixed upon England, I believed it was 
 approaching. To-morrow I meant to go and inquire in 
 what part of the world your Majesty was, and then I 
 purposed going to you. You come to me, Sire ; that is 
 an indication that God is with us.” 
 
 44 Monsieur,” said Charles, in a voice choked by emo- 
 tion, 44 you are, for me, what an angel sent from heaven 
 would be, — you are a preserver, sent to me from the 
 tomb of my father by himself ; but, believe me, in ten 
 years civil wars have passed over my country, striking 
 down men, tearing up the soil ; it is no more probable 
 that gold should remain in the entrails of the earth, than 
 love in the hearts of my subjects.” 
 
 44 Sire, the spot in which his Majesty buried the million 
 is well known to me ; and no one, I am sure, has been 
 able to discover it. Besides, is the castle of Newcastle 
 quite destroyed! Have they demolished it stone by 
 stone, and uprooted the soil to the last fibre 1 ” 
 
 44 No, it is still standing ; but at this moment General 
 
158 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Monk occupies it, and is encamped there. The only spot 
 from which I could look for succor, where I possess a 
 single resource, you see, is invaded by my enemies / 7 
 “ General Monk, Sire, cannot have discovered the 
 treasure I speak of.” 
 
 “ Yes, but can I go and deliver myself up to Monk 
 in order to recover this treasure ? Ah, Count ! you see 
 plainly I must yield to destiny, since it strikes me to the 
 earth every time I rise. What can I do, with Parry as 
 my only servant, — with Parry, whom Monk has already 
 driven from his presence? No, no, no, Count, we must 
 yield to this last blow.” 
 
 “ But w T hat your Majesty cannot do, and what Parry 
 can no more attempt, do you not believe that I could 
 succeed in ? ” 
 
 “ You — you, Count — you would go ? ” 
 
 “If it pleases your Majesty,” said Athos, bowing to 
 the king, “yes, I will go, Sire.” 
 
 “ What ! you, who are so happy here, Count?” 
 
 “ I am never happy when I have a duty left to accom- 
 plish ; and it is an imperative duty which the king your 
 father left me to watch over your fortunes, and make 
 a royal use of his money. So, if your Majesty honors me 
 with a sign, I will go with you.” 
 
 “Ah, Monsieur!” said the king, forgetting all royal 
 etiquette, and throwing his arms round the neck of Athos, 
 “you prove to me that there is a God in heaven, and that 
 this God sometimes sends messengers to the unfortunate 
 who groan upon the earth.” 
 
 Athos, exceedingly moved by this burst of feeling of the 
 young man, thanked him with profound respect, and ap- 
 proached the window. “ Grimaud ! ” said he, “ my horses.” 
 “What, now — immediately!” said the king. “Ah, 
 Monsieur, you are indeed a wonderful man ! ” 
 
“REMEMBER ! 
 
 159 
 
 “ Sire,” said Athos, “ I know of nothing more pressing 
 than your Majesty’s service. Besides,” added he, smiling, 
 “ it is a habit contracted long since, in the service of the 
 queen your aunt, and of the king your father. How is 
 it possible for me to lose it at the moment yo ur Majesty’s 
 service calls for it 1” 
 
 “ What a man ! ” murmured the king. 
 
 Then, after a moment’s reflection, — “ But no, Count, 
 I cannot expose you to such privations. I have no means 
 of rewarding such services.” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” said Athos, laughing. “ Your Majesty is 
 joking ; have you not a million 'l Ah ! why am I not 
 possessed of the half of such a sum ] I would already 
 have raised a regiment. But, thank God ! I have still 
 a few rouleaux of gold and some family diamonds left. 
 Your Majesty will, I hope, deign to share with a devoted 
 servant.” 
 
 “ With a friend — yes, Count ; hut on condition that, 
 in his turn, that friend will share with me hereafter.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said Athos, opening a casket, from which he 
 drew both gold and jewels, “you see, Sire, we are too 
 rich. Fortunately, there are four of us, in the event of 
 meeting with thieves.” 
 
 Joy made the blood rush to the pale cheeks of Charles 
 II., as he saw Athos’ s two horses, led by Grimaud, already 
 booted for the journey, advance towards the peristyle. 
 
 “ Blaisois, this letter for the Vieomte de Bragelonne. 
 To everybody else, I have gone to Paris. I confide the 
 house to you, Blaisois.” Blaisois bowed, shook hands 
 with Grimaud, and shut the gate. 
 
160 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN WHICH ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR, AND ONLY BAZIN 
 FOUND. 
 
 Two hours had scarcely passed away after the departure 
 of the master of the house, who, in Blaisois’ sight, had 
 taken the road to Paris, when a cavalier, mounted on 
 a good piebald horse, stopped before the gate, and with 
 a sonorous “ Holloa ! ” called the horse-boys, who, with 
 the gardeners, had formed a circle round Blaisois, the 
 historian-in-ordinary to the household of the chateau. 
 This “ Holloa ! ” doubtless well known to Master Blaisois, 
 made him turn his head and exclaim, “ M. d’Artagnan! 
 Run quickly, you chaps, and open the gate.” 
 
 A swarm of eight brisk lads flew to the gate, which was 
 opened as if it had been made of feathers ; and every one 
 loaded him with attentions, for they knew the welcome 
 this friend was accustomed to receive from their master. 
 The eye of the valet may always be depended upon for 
 discoveries of that kind. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said M. d’Artagnan, with an agreeable smile, 
 balancing himself upon his stirrup to jump to the ground, 
 “ where is my dear count ? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! how unfortunate you are, Monsieur ! 99 said Blai- 
 sois ; “ and how unfortunate will Monsieur the Count, our 
 master, think himself when he hears of your coming ! 
 By bad luck, Monsieur the Count left home two hours 
 
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 1G1 
 
 D’Artagnan did not trouble himself about such trifles. 
 “Very good ! ” said he. “ You always speak the best 
 French in the world ; you shall give me a lesson in gram- 
 mar and correct language, while I await the return of 
 your master.” 
 
 “ That is impossible, Monsieur,” said Blaisois ; “ you 
 would have to wait too long.” 
 
 “Will he not come back to-day, then % ” 
 
 “No, nor to-morrow, nor the day after to-morrow. 
 Monsieur the Count has gone on a journey.” 
 
 “ A journey ! ” said D’Artagnan, surprised ; “ that’s a 
 fable, Master Blaisois.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, it is no more than the truth. Monsieur 
 has done me the honor to commit the house to my charge ; 
 and he added, with his voice so full of authority and 
 kindness, that is all one to me : ‘ You will say I have 
 gone to Paris.’ ” 
 
 “ Well ! ” cried D’Artagnan, “ since he has gone towards 
 Paris, that is all I wanted to know ! you should have told 
 me so at first, booby ! He is then two hours in advance 1 ” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I shall soon overtake him. Is he alone ] ” 
 
 “No, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Who is with him, then ? ” 
 
 “ A gentleman whom I don’t know, an old man, and 
 M. Grimaud.” 
 
 “ Such a party cannot travel as fast as I can, — I will 
 start.” 
 
 “Will Monsieur listen to me an instant h ” said Blai- 
 sois, laying his hand gently on the reins of the horse. 
 
 “Yes, if you don’t favor me with fine speeches, and 
 will make haste.” 
 
 “Well, then, Monsieur, that word c Paris ? appears to 
 me to be only a lure.” 
 
 VOL. i. — 11 
 
162 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Oh, oh ! ” said D’Artagnan, seriously; “ a lure, eh % ” 
 “ Yes, Monsieur ; and Monsieur the Count is not going 
 to Paris, I will swear. ” 
 
 “ What makes you think so h ” 
 
 “ This : M. Grimaud always knows where our master is 
 going ; and he had promised me that the first time he 
 went to Paris, he would take a little money for me to 
 my wife.” 
 
 “ What ! have you a wife, then ? ” 
 
 “ I had one, — she was of this country ; but Monsieur 
 found her too garrulous, and I sent her to Paris : it is 
 sometimes inconvenient, but very agreeable at others.” 
 
 “ I understand ; but go on. You do not believe the 
 count has gone to Paris 1 ” 
 
 “No, Monsieur; for then M. Grimaud would have 
 broken his word, he would have been perjured — and that 
 is impossible.” 
 
 “That is impossible,” repeated D’Artagnan, quite 
 in a study, because he was quite convinced. “ Well, 
 my brave Blaisois, many thanks to you.” Blaisois bowed. 
 “ Come, you know I am not curious — I have serious 
 business with your master. Could you not, by a little 
 end of a word, — you who speak so well, — give me to 
 understand — one syllable only — I will guess the 
 rest % ” 
 
 “ Upon my word, Monsieur, I cannot. I am quite ig- 
 norant where Monsieur the Count has gone. As to listen- 
 ing at doors, that is contrary to my nature ; and besides, 
 it is forbidden here.” 
 
 “ My dear lad,” said D’Artagnan, “ this is a very bad 
 beginning for me. Never mind ; you know when Mon- 
 sieur the Count will return, at least ] ” 
 
 “ As little, Monsieur, as the place of his destination.” 
 
 “ Come, Blaisois, come, search.” 
 
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 163 
 
 “ Monsieur doubts my sincerity ? Ah, Monsieur, that 
 grieves me sensibly.” 
 
 “ The devil take his gilded tongue ! ” grumbled D’Ar- 
 tagnan. “ A clown with a word would be worth a dozen 
 of him. Adieu ! ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I have the honor to present you my re- 
 spect s.” 
 
 “ Cuistre ! ” said D’Artagnan to himself, “ the fellow is 
 insupportable.” He gave another look up to the house, 
 turned his horse’s head, and set off like a man who has 
 nothing either annoying or embarrassing in his mind. 
 When he was at the end of the wall, and out of sight, — 
 “Well, now, I wonder,” said he, breathing quickly, 
 “ whether Athos was at home. No ; all those idlers, 
 standing in the court with their arms crossed, would 
 have been at work if the eye of the master was near. 
 Athos gone a journey ? — that is incomprehensible. Bah ! 
 it is all devilish mysterious ! And then — no — he is not 
 the man I want. I want one of a cunning, patient mind. 
 My business is at Melun, in a certain presbytery I know. 
 Forty-five leagues, — four days and a half ! Well, it is fine 
 weather, and I am free. We will swallow the distance ! ” 
 
 And he put his horse into a trot, directing his course 
 towards Paris. On the fourth day he alighted at Melun, 
 as he had intended. 
 
 D’Artagnan was never accustomed to ask anybody the 
 road, or for any common information. For details of that 
 kind, unless in very serious circumstances, he confided in 
 his perspicacity, never at fault, in his experience of thirty 
 years, and in a great habit of reading the physiognomies 
 of houses as well as those of men. At Melun, D’Ar- 
 tagnan directly found the presbytery, — a charming house, 
 with coatings of plaster over red brick, with vines climb- 
 ing along the gutters, and a cross, in sculptured stone, 
 
164 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 surmounting the ridge of the roof. From the ground- 
 floor of this house escaped a noise, or rather a confusion 
 of voices, like the chirping of young birds when the brood 
 is just hatched under the down. One of these voices was 
 spelling the alphabet distinctly. A voice, thick but yet 
 pleasant, at the same time scolded the talkers and cor- 
 rected the faults of the reader. D’Artagnan recognized 
 that voice ; and as the window of the ground -floor was 
 open, he leaned down from his horse under the branches 
 and red fibres of the vine, and cried, “ Bazin, my dear 
 Bazin! good-day to you.” 
 
 A short fat man, with a flat face, a cranium ornamented 
 with a crown of gray hairs, cut short, in imitation of a 
 tonsure, and covered with an old black velvet cap, arose 
 as soon as he heard D’Artagnan, — we ought not to say 
 arose , but bounded up. In fact, Bazin bounded up, draw- 
 ing with him his little low chair, which the children tried 
 to take away, with battles more fierce than those of the 
 Greeks endeavoring to recover the body of Patroclus 
 from the hands of the Trojans. Bazin did more than 
 bound ; he let fall both his alphabet and his ferule. 
 “ You ! ” said he ; “ you, Monsieur d’Artagnan 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, myself ! Where is Aram is — no, M. le Chevalier 
 d’Herblay — no, I am still mistaken — Monsieur the 
 Vicar-General ? ” 
 
 <k Ah, Monsieur/’ said Bazin, with dignity, “ Mon- 
 seigneur is at his diocese.” 
 
 “ What did you say?” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 Bazin repeated the sentence. 
 
 “ Ah, ah ! but has Aramis a diocese ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur. Why not ? ” 
 
 “ Is he a bishop, then?” 
 
 “ Why, where can you come from/’ said Bazin, rather 
 irreverently, “ that you don’t know that ?” 
 
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 165 
 
 “ My dear Bazin, we pagans, we men of the sword, 
 know very well when a man is made a colonel, or com- 
 mander, or marshal of France ; but if he be made bishop, 
 archbishop, or pope, — devil take me, if the news reaches 
 us before the three quarters of the earth have had the 
 advantage of it ! ” 
 
 “ Hush ! hush ! ” said Bazin, opening his eyes ; 16 do 
 not spoil these poor children, in whom I am endeavor- 
 ing to inculcate good principles.” In fact, the children 
 had surrounded D’Artagnan, whose horse, long sword, 
 spurs, and martial air they very much admired. But, 
 above all, they admired his strong voice ; so that, when 
 he uttered his oath, the whole school cried out, “ Devil 
 take me ! ” with fearful bursts of laughter, shouts, and 
 stamping, which delighted the musketeer and bewildered 
 the old pedagogue. 
 
 ct There ! ” said he, “ hold your tongues, you brats ! 
 You are come, M. d’Artagnan, and all my good principles 
 fly away. With you, as usual, comes disorder. Babet is 
 revived. Ah ! good Lord ! Ah ! the wild little wretches ! ” 
 and the worthy Bazin distributed right and left blows 
 which redoubled the cries of his scholars, while changing 
 their significance. “At least/’ said he, “you cannot 
 debauch any one here.” 
 
 “ Do you think so 1 ” said D’Artagnan, with a smile 
 which made a shudder creep over the shoulders of 
 Bazin. 
 
 “He is capable of it,” murmured he. 
 
 “ Where is your master’s diocese ? ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur Rene is bishop of Vannes.” 
 
 “ Who caused him to be nominated 1 ” 
 
 “ Why, Monsieur the superintendent, our neighbor.” 
 
 “ What ! M. Fouquet 1 ” 
 
 “ To be sure.” 
 
166 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Is Aramis on good terms with him, then? ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur preached every Sunday at the house of 
 Monsieur the superintendent at Vaux; then they hunted 
 together.” 
 
 “Ah!” 
 
 “And Monseigneur composed his homilies — no, I 
 mean his sermons — with Monsieur the superintendent.” 
 “ Bah ! he preached in verse, then, this worthy 
 bishop ? ” 
 
 “Monsieur, for the love of heaven, do not jest with 
 sacred things.” 
 
 “ There, Bazin, there ! So, then, Aramis is at Vannes ? ” 
 “At Vannes, in Bretagne.” 
 
 “You are a deceitful old hunks, Bazin; that is not 
 true.” 
 
 “ See, Monsieur, if you please ; the apartments of the 
 presbytery are empty.” 
 
 “ He is right there,” said D’Artagnan, looking atten- 
 tively at the house, the aspect of which announced that 
 it was unoccupied. 
 
 “ But Monseigneur must have written you an account 
 of his promotion.” 
 
 “From when does it date?” 
 
 “A month back.” 
 
 “ Oh ! then there is no time lost. Aramis cannot yet 
 have wanted me. But how is it, Bazin, you do not follow 
 your master ? ” 
 
 “Monsieur, I cannot; I have occupations.” 
 
 “Your alphabet ?” 
 
 “And my penitents.” 
 
 “What! you confess? You are a priest ?” 
 
 “ The same as one. I have such a call.” 
 
 “ But the orders ? ” 
 
 “Oh ! ” said Bazin, with an air, “now that Monseigneur 
 
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 167 
 
 is a bishop, I shall soon have my orders, or at least my 
 dispensations ; ” and he rubbed his hands. 
 
 “ Decidedly,” said D’Artagnan to himself, “ there will 
 be no uprooting these people. Get me some supper, 
 Bazin. ” 
 
 “With pleasure, Monsieur.” 
 
 “A fowl, a bouillon , and a bottle of wane.” 
 
 “ This is Saturday, Monsieur, — it is a fast-day.” 
 
 “ I have a dispensation,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 Bazin looked at him suspiciously. 
 
 “ Ah, ah, master hypocrite ! ” said the musketeer, “ for 
 whom do you take me ? If you, who are the valet, hope 
 for dispensation for committing a crime, shall not I, the 
 friend of your bishop, have dispensation for eating meat 
 at the call of my stomach? Make yourself agreeable 
 with me, Bazrn, or, by heaven ! I will complain to the 
 king, and you shall never confess. Now, you know that 
 the nomination of bishops rests with the king, — I have 
 the king, I am the stronger.” 
 
 Bazin smiled hypocritically. “ Ah, but we — we have 
 Monsieur the superintendent,” said he. 
 
 “ And you laugh at the king, then?” 
 
 Bazin made no reply ; his smile was sufficiently 
 eloquent. 
 
 “ My supper,” said D’Artagnan ; “ it is getting towards 
 seven o’clock.” 
 
 Bazin turned round and ordered the eldest of the pupils 
 to inform the cook. In the mean time D’Artagnan sur- 
 veyed the presbytery. 
 
 “ Pugh ! ” said he, disdainfully, “ Monseigneur lodged 
 his grandeur but very meanly here.” 
 
 “We have the Chateau de Vaux,” said Bazin. 
 
 “ Which is perhaps equal to the Louvre ? ” said 
 D’Artagnan, jeeringly. 
 
168 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Which is better,” replied Bazin, with the greatest 
 coolness imaginable. 
 
 “ Ah, ah ! ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 He would perhaps have prolonged the discussion, and 
 maintained the superiority of the Louvre, but the lieu- 
 tenant perceived that his horse remained fastened to the 
 bars of a gate. 
 
 “ The devil ! ” said he. “ Get my horse looked after ; 
 your master the bishop has none like him in his stables.” 
 
 Bazin cast a sidelong glance at the horse, and replied, 
 “ Monsieur the superintendent gave him four from his 
 own stables ; and each of the four is worth four of 
 yours.” 
 
 The blood mounted to the face of D’Artagnan. His 
 hand itched, and he selected on the head of Bazin the 
 place to plant his fist. But that flash passed away ; re- 
 flection came, and D’Artagnan contented himself with 
 saying : “ The devil ! the devil ! I have done well to 
 quit the service of the king. Tell me, worthy Master 
 Bazin,” added he, “ how many musketeers has Monsieur 
 the superintendent 1 ” 
 
 “ He could have all there are in the kingdom with his 
 money,” replied Bazin, closing his book, and dismissing 
 the boys with noisy strokes of his ferule. 
 
 “The devil! the devil!” repeated D’Artagnan, once 
 more. 
 
 Supper was now announced ; and he followed the cook, 
 who introduced him into the refectory, where it awaited 
 him. D’Artagnan placed himself at table, and com- 
 menced a hearty attack upon his fowl. 
 
 “ It appears to me,” said D’Artagnan, biting with all his 
 might at the tough fowl which they had served up to him, 
 and which they had evidently forgotten to fatten, — “it 
 appears to me that 1 have done wrong in not going to 
 
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 169 
 
 take service in the suite of that master yonder. A pow- 
 erful noble this intendant, seemingly ! In good truth, 
 we poor fellows know nothing at the court ; and the rays 
 of the sun prevent our seeing the large stars, which are 
 suns also, at a little greater distance from our earth, — 
 that is all.” 
 
 As D’Artagnan delighted, both from pleasure and 
 system, in making people talk about things which in- 
 terested him, he fenced in his best style with Master 
 Bazin, but it was pure loss of time ; beyond the fatiguing 
 and hyperbolical praises of Monsieur the superintendent 
 of the finances, Bazin, who, on his side, was on his 
 guard, afforded nothing but platitudes to the curiosity 
 of D’Artagnan ; so that our musketeer, in a tolerably 
 bad humor, desired to go to bed as soon as he had supped. 
 D’Artagnan was introduced by Bazin into a mean cham- 
 ber, in which there was as poor a bed; but D’Artagnan 
 was not fastidious in that respect. He had been told 
 that Aramis had taken away the keys of his own private 
 apartment ; and as he knew Aramis was a very particular 
 man, and had generally many things to conceal in his 
 apartment, that had not at all astonished him. He had, 
 therefore, — although it appeared comparatively even 
 harder, — attacked the bed as bravely as he had done 
 the fowl ; and as he had as good an inclination to sleep 
 as he had had to eat, he took scarcely longer time to fall 
 asleep than he had employed in picking the last bones of 
 the bird. 
 
 Since .he was no longer in the service of any one, 
 D’Artagnan had promised himself to indulge in sleeping 
 as soundly as he had formerly slept lightly ; but with 
 whatever good faith D’Artagnan had made himself this 
 promise, and whatever desire he might have to keep it 
 religiously, he was awakened in the middle of the night 
 
170 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 by a loud noise of carriages, and servants on horseback. 
 A sudden illumination flashed over the walls of his 
 chamber ; he jumped out of bed and ran to the window 
 in his shirt. 
 
 “Can the king be coming this way?” thought he, 
 rubbing his eyes ; “ in truth, such a suite can only be 
 attached to royalty.” 
 
 “ Yive Monsieur le Surintendant ! ” cried, or rather 
 vociferated, from a window on the ground-floor, a voice 
 which he recognized as Bazin’s, who, while so crying, 
 waved a handkerchief with one hand, and held a large 
 candle in the other. D’Artagnan then saw something 
 like a brilliant human form leaning out at the window 
 of the principal carriage ; at the same time loud bursts 
 of laughter, provoked no doubt by the strange figure of 
 Bazin, and which issued from the same carriage, left, as 
 it were, a train of joy upon the passage of the rapid 
 cortege. 
 
 “ I might easily see it was not the king,” said D’Ar- 
 tagnan; “people don’t laugh so heartily when the king 
 passes. Holloa, Bazin ! ” cried he to his neighbor, who was 
 still leaning three parts out of the window, to follow the 
 carriage with his eyes as long as he could. “ What is all 
 that about ? ” 
 
 “ It is M. Fouquet,” replied Bazin, in a patronizing 
 tone. 
 
 “ And all those people ? ” 
 
 “ That is the court of M. Fouquet.” 
 
 “ Oh, oh ! 97 said D’Artagnan ; “ what would M. de 
 Mazarin say to that if he heard it ? ” and he lay down 
 again, asking himself how Aram is always contrived to 
 be protected by the most powerful person in the king- 
 dom. “ Is it that he has more luck than I, or that I am 
 a greater fool than he ? Bah ! ” That w 7 as the concluding 
 
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 
 
 171 
 
 word by the aid of which D’Artagnan, become wise, now 
 terminated every thought and every period of his style. 
 Formerly he said, Mordioux ! which was a prick of the 
 spur ; but now he had become older, he murmured that 
 philosophical Bah ! which served as a bridle to all the 
 passions. 
 
172 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IN WHICH D’aRTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS, AND ONLY 
 FINDS MOUSQUETON. 
 
 When D’Artagnan had perfectly convinced himself that 
 the absence of the Vicaire-General d’Herblay was real, and 
 that his friend was not to be found at Melun or in its 
 environs, he left Bazin without regret, gave an ill-natured 
 glance at the magnificent Chateau de Vaux, which was 
 beginning to shine with that splendor which brought on 
 its ruin, and, compressing his lips like a man full of mis- 
 trust and suspicion, he put spurs to his piebald horse, 
 saying, “Well, well! I have still Pierrefonds left, and 
 there I shall find the best man and the best-filled coffer. 
 And that is all I want, for I have an idea of my own.” 
 
 We will spare our readers the prosaic incidents of 
 D’Artagnan’s journey, which terminated on the morning 
 of the third day within sight of Pierrefonds. D’Artagnan 
 came by the way of Xanteuil-le-Hardouin and Crepy. 
 At a distance he perceived the Castle of Louis d’Orleans, 
 which, having become part of the crown domain, was 
 kept by an old concierge. This was one of those mar- 
 vellous manors of the middle ages, with walls twenty 
 feet in thickness, and towers a hundred in height. D’Ar- 
 tagnan rode slowly past its walls, measured its towers 
 with his eyes, and descended into the valley. From a 
 distance he looked down upon the chateau of Porthos, 
 situated on the shores of a large pond, and contiguous 
 to a magnificent forest. It was the same place we have 
 
D’ARTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS. 
 
 173 
 
 already had the honor of describing to our readers ; we 
 shall therefore satisfy ourselves with naming it. The 
 first thing D’Artagnan perceived after the fine trees, 
 the sun of May gilding the sides of the green hills, long 
 rows of feather- topped wood which stretched out towards 
 Compiegne, was a large rolling box, pushed forward by 
 two servants and dragged by two others. In this box 
 there was an enormous green- and-gold thing, which moved 
 along the smiling glades of the park, thus dragged and 
 pushed. This thing, at a distance, was not to be made 
 out, and signified absolutely nothing ; nearer, it was a 
 tun muffled in gold-bound green cloth; nearer still, it 
 was a man, or rather an animal, the lower part of which, 
 extending itself in the interior of the box, entirely filled 
 it ; nearer still, the man was Mousqueton — Mousqueton, 
 with gray hair and a face as red as Punchinello’s. 
 
 “ Pardieu ! ” cried D’Artagnan ; “ why, that ’s my dear 
 M. Mousqueton ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” cried the fat man, “ ah ! what happiness ! 
 what joy ! There ’s M. d’Artagnam Stop, you rascals ! ” 
 These last words were addressed to the lackeys who 
 pushed and dragged him. The box stopped; and the 
 four lackeys, with a precision quite military, took off 
 their laced hats and ranged themselves behind it. 
 
 “ Oh, M. d’Artagnan ! ” said Mousqueton ; “ why can I 
 not embrace your knees'? But I am become impotent, 
 as you see.” 
 
 “Dame! my dear Mousqueton, it is age.” 
 
 “No, Monsieur, it is not age ; it is infirmities, — 
 troubles.” 
 
 “ Troubles ! you, Mousqueton *? ” said D’Artagnan, mak- 
 ing the tour of the box ; “ are you out of your mind, my 
 dear friend *? Thank God ! you are as hearty as a three- 
 hundred-year-old oak.” 
 
174 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 44 Ah ! but my legs, Monsieur, — my legs ! ” groaned the 
 faithful servant. 
 
 “ What ’s the matter with your legs ? ” 
 
 44 Oh, they will no longer bear me ! ” 
 
 44 Ah, the ingrates ! And yet you feed them well, 
 Mousqueton, apparently.” 
 
 44 Alas, yes ! They have nothing to reproach me with 
 in that respect,” said Mousqueton, with a sigh; “I have 
 always done what I could for my poor body ; I am not 
 selfish ; ” and Mousqueton sighed afresh. 
 
 44 I wonder whether Mousqueton wants to be a baron 
 too, as he sighs after that fashion ?” thought D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Mon Dieu , monsieur ! ” said Mousqueton, as if rousing 
 himself from a painful revery ; 44 how happy Monseigneur 
 will be that you have thought of him ! ” 
 
 44 Kind Porthos ! ” cried D’Artagnan, “ I am anxious to 
 embrace him.” 
 
 44 Oh ! ” said Mousqueton, much affected, 44 I will cer- 
 tainly write to him.” 
 
 44 How ! ” cried D’Artagnan, 44 you will write to him ? ” 
 44 This very day ; at once.” 
 
 44 Is he not here, then ? ” 
 
 44 No, Monsieur.” 
 
 44 But is he near at hand ? Is he far off? ” 
 
 “ Oh, can I tell, Monsieur, can I tell? ” 
 
 44 Mordioux ! ” cried the musketeer, stamping with his 
 foot. 44 1 am the sport of misfortune. Porthos such a 
 stay-at-home ! ” 
 
 44 Monsieur, there is not a more sedentary man than 
 Monseigneur; but — ” 
 
 44 But what ?” 
 
 44 When a friend presses you — ” 
 
 44 A friend ? ” 
 
 44 Doubtless, — the worthy M. d’Herblay.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS. 
 
 175 
 
 “ What ! has Ararriis pressed Porthos? ” 
 
 “This is how the thing happened, M. d’Artagnan. 
 M. d’Herblay wrote to Monseigneur — 99 
 “ Indeed ! ” 
 
 “ A letter, Monsieur, — such a pressing letter that it 
 threw us all into a terrible excitement.” 
 
 “ Tell me all about it, my dear friend , 99 said D’Artagnan ; 
 “ but remove these people a little farther off first.” 
 
 Mousqueton shouted, “ Fall back, you sirs ! ” with such 
 powerful lungs that the breath, without the words, would 
 have been sufficient to disperse the four lackeys. D’Ar- 
 tagnan seated himself on the shaft of the box and opened 
 his ears. “ Monsieur,” said Mousqueton, “ Mon seigneur, 
 then, received a letter from M. le Vicaire-General d’Herblay, 
 eight or nine days ago ; it was the day of the pleasures — 
 sylvan; yes, it was therefore Wednesday.” 
 
 “ What does that mean ? ” said D’Artagnan, — “ the 
 day of the sylvan pleasures'?” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur ; we have so many pleasures to take 
 in this delightful country, that we were encumbered by 
 them, — so much so that we have been forced to reduce 
 them to a system.” 
 
 “ How easily do I recognize Porthos’s love of order in 
 that ! Now, that idea would never have occurred to me ; 
 but then I am not encumbered with pleasures.” 
 
 “We were, though,” said Mousqueton. 
 
 “ And how did you regulate the matter 1 Let me know,” 
 said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “It is rather long, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Never mind, we have plenty of time ; and you speak 
 so well, my dear Mousqueton, that it is really a pleasure 
 to hear you.” 
 
 “It is true,” said Mousqueton, with a sigh of satisfac- 
 tion, which emanated evidently from the justice which 
 
176 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 had been rendered him, — “ it is true I have made great 
 progress in the company of Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ I am waiting for the distribution of the pleasures, 
 Mousqueton, and with impatience. I want to know if I 
 have arrived on a lucky day.” 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Mousqueton in a 
 melancholy tone, “ since Monseigneur’s departure all the 
 pleasures are gone too.” 
 
 “ Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory.” 
 
 “ With what day shall I begin V* 
 
 “ Eh, pardieu ! begin with Sunday, that is the Lord’s 
 day.” 
 
 “ Sunday, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Sunday pleasures are religious : Monseigneur goes to 
 Mass, makes the bread-offering, and has discourses and 
 instructions made to him by his almoner-in-ordinary. 
 That is not very amusing ; but we expect a Carmelite from 
 Paris who will do the duty of our almonry, and who, we 
 are assured, speaks very well, — which will keep us awake, 
 whereas our present almoner always sends us to sleep. 
 These are Sunday, religious pleasures. On Monday 
 worldly pleasures.’ ’ 
 
 “ Ah, ah ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ what do you mean by 
 that, Mousqueton ? Let us have a glimpse at your 
 worldly pleasures.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, on Monday we go into the world ; we pay 
 and receive visits, we play on the lute, we dance, we make 
 verses, and burn a little incense in honor of the ladies.” 
 
 “ Peste! that is the height of gallantry,” said the mus- 
 keteer, who was obliged to call to his aid all the strength 
 of his mastoid muscles to suppress a great inclination 
 to laugh. 
 
 “ Tuesday, pleasures of learning.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS. 
 
 177 
 
 “Good!” cried D’Artagnan. “What are they? De- 
 tail them, my dear Mousqueton.” 
 
 “Monseigneur has bought a sphere or globe, which I 
 will show you ; it fills all the perimeter of the great 
 tower, except a gallery which he has had built over the 
 sphere ; there are little strings and brass wires to which 
 the sun and moon are hooked. It all turns ; and that is 
 very beautiful. Monseigneur points out to me seas and 
 distant countries. We don’t intend to visit them, but it 
 is very interesting.” 
 
 “Interesting! yes, that’s the word,” repeated D’Ar- 
 tagnan. “ And Wednesday ? ” 
 
 “ Sylvan pleasures, as I have had the honor to tell you, 
 Monsieur the Chevalier. We look over Monseigneur’s 
 sheep and goats ; we make the shepherds dance to pipes 
 and reeds, as is written in a book Monseigneur has in his 
 library, which is called ‘ Bergeries.’ The author died 
 about a month ago.” 
 
 “ M. Racan, perhaps,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Yes, that was his name, — M. Racan. But that is 
 not all ; we angle in the little canal, after which we dine, 
 crowned with flowers. That is Wednesday.” 
 
 “ Peste ! ” said D’Artagnan ; “ you don’t divide your 
 pleasures badly. And Thursday ? — what can be left for 
 poor Thursday ? ” 
 
 “It is not very unfortunate, Monsieur,” said Mousque- 
 ton, smiling. “ Thursday, Olympic pleasures. Ah, Mon- 
 sieur, that is superb ! We get together all Monseigneur’s 
 young vassals, and we make them throw the disc, wrestle, 
 and run races. Monseigneur can’t run now, no more can 
 I ; but Monseigneur throws the disc as nobody else can 
 throw it. And when he does deal a blow with his fist, 
 oh, that proves a misfortune ! ” 
 
 “ How so ? ” 
 
 VOL. i. — 12 
 
178 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur, we were obliged to renounce the ces- 
 tus. He cracked heads ; he broke jaws, beat in ribs. 
 It was charming sport ; but nobody was willing to play 
 with him. ,, 
 
 “ Then his wrist — ” 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur, more firm than ever. Monseigneur 
 gets a little weaker in his legs, — he confesses that 
 himself; but his strength has all gone to his arms, so 
 that — ” 
 
 “So that he can knock down bullocks, as of old.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, better than that, — he beats in walls. 
 Lately, after having supped with one of our farmers, — 
 you know how popular and kind Monseigneur is, — after 
 supper, as a joke, he struck the wall a blow. The wall 
 crumbled away beneath his hand, the roof fell, and three 
 men and an old woman were stifled.” 
 
 “ Good God, Mousqueton ! And your master 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, Monseigneur, his head had a little skin rubbed 
 off. We bathed the wounds with the water which the 
 monks give us. But there was nothing the matter with 
 his hand.” 
 
 “ Nothing] ” 
 
 “No, nothing, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Deuce take the Olympic pleasures ! They must cost 
 your master too dear ; for widows and orphans — 99 
 
 “ They all had pensions, Monsieur ; a tenth of Mon- 
 seigneur’s revenue was spent in that way.” 
 
 “Then pass on to Friday,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we 
 fence, we dress falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday 
 is the day for intellectual pleasures : we furnish our 
 minds ; we look at Monseigneur’s pictures and statues ; 
 we write, even, and trace plans ; and then we fire 
 Monseigneur’s cannon.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS. 
 
 179 
 
 “ You draw plans, and fire cannon ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Why, my friend,” said D’Artagnan, “M. du Vallon, 
 in truth, possesses the most subtle and amiable mind 
 that I know. But there is one kind of pleasure you 
 have forgotten, it appears to me.” 
 
 “What is that, Monsieur'?” asked Mousqueton, with 
 anxiety. 
 
 “ The material pleasures.” 
 
 Mousqueton colored. “ What do you mean by that, 
 Monsieur? ” said he, casting down his eyes. 
 
 “ I mean the table — good wine — evenings occupied 
 in the circulation of the bottle.” 
 
 “ Ah, Monsieur, we don’t reckon those pleasures, — we 
 practise them every day.” 
 
 “ My brave Mousqueton,” resumed D’Artagnan, “ par- 
 don me, but I was so absorbed in your charming recital 
 that I have forgotten the principal object of our con- 
 versation, which was to learn what M. le Vicaire-General 
 d’Herblay could have to write to your master about?” 
 “That is true, Monsieur,” said Mousqueton; “the 
 pleasures have misled us. Well, Monsieur, this is the 
 whole affair.” 
 
 “I am all attention, Mousqueton.” 
 
 “ On Wednesday — ” 
 
 “ The day of the sylvan pleasures ? ” 
 
 “Yes — a letter arrived ; he received it from my hands. 
 I had recognized the writing.” 
 
 “ Well ? ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur read it and cried out, ( Quick ! my horses ! 
 my arms ! ’ ” 
 
 “ Oh, good Lord ! then it was for some duel ? ” said 
 D’Artagnan. 
 
 “No, Monsieur, there were only these words: ‘Dear 
 
180 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Porthos, set out. if you would wish to arrive before the 
 Equinox. I expect you.’ ” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! " said D’Artagnan, thoughtfully, “that is 
 pressing, apparently.” 
 
 “ I think so ; therefore,” continued Mousqueton, “ Mon- 
 seigneur set out the very same day with his secretary, in 
 order to endeavor to arrive in time.” 
 
 “ And did he arrive in time 1 ” 
 
 “ I hope so ; Monseigneur, who is hasty, as you know, 
 Monsieur, repeated unceasingly, ‘ Tonne Dieu ! What 
 can this mean ? The Equinox ? Never mind, the fellow 
 must be well mounted if he arrives before I do.’ ” 
 
 “And you think Porthos will have arrived first, do 
 you ? ” asked D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ I am sure of it. This Equinox, however rich he may 
 be, has certainly no horses so good as Monseigneur’s.” 
 
 D’Artagnan repressed his inclination to laugh, because 
 the brevity of Aramis’s letter gave rise to reflection. He 
 followed Mousqueton, or rather Mousqueton’s chariot, to 
 the castle. He sat down to a sumptuous table, of which 
 they did him the honors as to a king. But he could draw 
 nothing from Mousqueton, — the faithful servant shed 
 tears at will, but that was all. 
 
 D’Artagnan, after a night passed in an excellent bed, 
 reflected much upon the meaning of Aramis’s letter ; 
 puzzled himself as to the relation of the Equinox with the 
 affairs of Porthos ; and being unable to make anything 
 out, unless it concerned some amour of the bishop, for 
 which it was necessary that the days and nights should 
 be equal, D’Artagnan left Pierrefonds as he had left 
 Melun, as he had left the chateau of the Comte de 
 la Fere. It was not, however, without melancholy, 
 which might by good right pass for one of the dullest 
 of D’Artagnan’s humors. His head cast down, his eyes 
 
D’ARTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS. 
 
 181 
 
 fixed, he suffered his legs to hang on each side of his 
 horse, and said to himself, in that vague sort of reverie 
 which reaches sometimes the sublimest eloquence, — 
 
 “ No more friends ! no more future ! no more anything ! 
 My energies are broken like the bonds of our ancient 
 friendship. Oh, old age arrives, cold and inexorable ; it 
 envelops in its funereal crape all that was brilliant, all 
 that was of sweet odor in my youth ; then it throws that 
 pleasant burden on its shoulders and carries it away with 
 the rest into the fathomless gulf of death.” 
 
 A shudder crept through the heart of the Gascon, so 
 brave and so strong against all the misfortunes of life ; 
 and for some moments the clouds appeared black to him, 
 the earth slippery and full of pits as that of cemeteries. 
 
 “ Whither am I going 1 ?? said he to himself. “ AVhat 
 am I going to do 1 Alone, quite alone, — without family, 
 without friends ! Bah ! ” cried he, all at once. And he 
 clapped spurs to his horse, who, having found nothing 
 melancholy in the heavy oats of Pierrefonds, profited by 
 this permission to show his gayety in a gallop which 
 covered two leagues. “ To Paris ! ” said D’Artagnan to 
 himself. And on the morrow he alighted in Paris. He 
 had devoted ten days to this journey. 
 
182 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WHAT D’aRTAGNAN DID IN PARIS. 
 
 The lieutenant dismounted before a shop in the Rue 
 des Lombards, at the sign of the Pilon d’Or. A man of 
 good appearance, wearing a white apron, and stroking his 
 gray mustache with a large hand, uttered a cry of joy 
 on perceiving the piebald horse. “ Monsieur the Chev- 
 alier ! ” said he, “ ah, is that you ” 
 
 “ Good-day, Planchet,” replied D’Artagnan, stooping 
 to enter the shop. 
 
 “ Quick, somebody, ” cried Planchet, “to look after 
 M. d’Artagnan’s horse, — somebody to get ready his 
 chamber, — somebody to prepare his supper. 55 
 
 “Thanks, Planchet. Good-day, my children,” said 
 D’Artagnan to the eager boys. 
 
 “ Allow me to send off this coffee, this molasses, and 
 these raisins,” said Planchet ; “ they are for the office of 
 Monsieur the superintendent.” 
 
 “ Send them off, send them off ! ” 
 
 “ That is only the affair of a moment ; then we will sup.” 
 
 “Order so that we may sup alone,” said D’Artagnan; 
 “ I want to speak to you.” 
 
 Planchet looked at his old master in a significant 
 manner. 
 
 “ Oh, be at ease ! it is nothing unpleasant,” said 
 D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ So much the better, so much the better ! ” and 
 Planchet breathed freely again, while D’Artagnan seated 
 
D’ARTAGNAN IN PARIS. 
 
 183 
 
 himself quietly down in the shop, upon a bale of corks, 
 and observed his surroundings. The shop was well 
 stocked; there was a mingled perfume of ginger, cinna- 
 mon, and ground pepper, which made D’Artagnan sneeze. 
 The shop-boys, proud of being in company with so re- 
 nowned a soldier, a lieutenant of Musketeers, who ap- 
 proached the person of the king, began to work with an 
 enthusiasm which was something like delirium, and to 
 serve the customers with a disdainful precipitation that 
 was remarked by several. 
 
 Planchet put away his money, and made up his ac- 
 counts, amidst civilities addressed to his old master. 
 Planchet exercised towards his customers the short speech 
 and the haughty familiarity of the rich shopkeeper who 
 serves everybody and waits for nobody. D’Artagnan ob- 
 served this difference with a pleasure which presently we 
 will analyze. He saw night come on by degrees ; and at 
 length Planchet conducted him to a chamber on the first 
 story, where, amidst bales and chests, a table very nicely 
 set out awaited the two guests. 
 
 D’Artagnan took advantage of a moment’s pause to 
 examine the countenance of Planchet, whom he had not 
 seen for a year past. The shrewd Planchet had acquired 
 a slight protuberance in front, but his countenance was 
 not puffed. His keen eyes still played easily in their 
 deep-sunk orbits ; and fat, which levels all the character- 
 istic saliences of the human face, had not yet touched 
 either his high cheek-bones, the index of cunning and 
 cupidity, or his pointed chin, the index of acuteness and 
 perseverance. Planchet reigned with as much majesty 
 in his dining-room as in his shop. He set before his mas- 
 ter a frugal, but a perfectly Parisian repast, — roast meat 
 cooked at the baker’s, with vegetables, salad, and a des- 
 sert borrowed from the shop itself. D’Artagnan was 
 
184 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 pleased that the grocer had drawn from behind the fag- 
 ots a bottle of that Anjou wine which, during all his life, 
 had been D’Artagnan’s chosen wine. 
 
 “ Formerly, Monsieur,” said Planchet, with a smile full 
 of comradeship, “ it was I who drank your wine ; now 
 you do me the honor to drink mine.” 
 
 “ And, thank God, friend Planchet, I shall drink it for 
 a long time to come, I hope ; for at present I am 
 free.” 
 
 “ Free ? You have leave of absence, Monsieur? ” 
 
 “ Unlimited.” 
 
 “ You are leaving the service ? ” said Planchet, stupefied. 
 “Yes, I am resting.” 
 
 “And the king?” cried Planchet, who could not sup- 
 pose it possible that the king could do without the services 
 of such a man as D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ The king will try his fortune elsewhere. But we 
 have supped well, you are disposed to enjoy yourself ; 
 you provoke me to repose confidence in you. Open your 
 ears, then.” 
 
 “ They are open;” and Planchet, with a laugh more 
 frank than cunning, opened a bottle of white wine. 
 “Leave me my reason, though.” 
 
 “ Oh, as to you losing your head, — you, Monsieur ! ” 
 “Now my head is my own, and I mean to take better 
 care of it than ever. In the first place, we will talk of 
 finance. How fares your money-box ? ” 
 
 “ Wonderfully well, Monsieur. The twenty thousand 
 livres I had of you are still employed in my trade, in 
 which they bring me nine per cent. I give you seven, so 
 I gain two by you.” 
 
 “ And you are still satisfied ? ” 
 
 “ Delighted. Have you brought me any more ? ” 
 “Better than that. But do you want any? ” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN IN PARIS. 
 
 185 
 
 “ Oh ! not at all. Every one is willing to trust me 
 now. I am extending my business.” 
 
 “ That was your project.” 
 
 “I play the banker a little. I buy goods of my neces- 
 sitous brethren ; I lend money to those who are not ready 
 for their payments.” 
 
 “ Without usury ? ” 
 
 “Oh ! Monsieur, in the course of the last week I have 
 had two meetings on the boulevards, on account of the 
 word you have just pronounced.” 
 
 “What?” 
 
 “ You shall see : it concerned a loan. The borrower 
 gives me in pledge some raw sugars, upon condition that 
 I should sell if repayment were not made at a fixed period. 
 I lend a thousand livres. He does not pay me, and I 
 sell the sugars for thirteen hundred livres. He learns 
 this and claims a hundred crowns. Ma foi ! I refused, 
 pretending that I could not sell them for more than nine 
 hundred livres. He accused me of usury. I begged him 
 to repeat that word to me behind the boulevards. He 
 was an old guard, and he came ; and I passed your sword 
 through his left thigh.” 
 
 “ Tudieu ! what a pretty sort of banker you make ! ” 
 said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ For above thirteen per cent I fight,” replied Plan- 
 chet ; “ that is my character.” 
 
 “Take only twelve,” said D’Artagnan, “and call the 
 rest premium and brokerage.” 
 
 “ You are right, Monsieur ; but to your business.” 
 
 “ Ah ! Planchet, it is very long and very hard to speak.” 
 “ Speak it, nevertheless.” D’Artagnan twisted his mus- 
 tache like a man embarrassed with the confidence he is 
 about to repose, and mistrustful of his confidant. 
 
 “ Is it an investment ? ” asked Planchet. 
 
186 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Why, yes.” 
 
 “ At good profit % ” 
 
 “ A capital profit, — four hundred per cent, Planchet.” 
 Planchet gave such a blow with his fist upon the table 
 that the bottles bounded as if they had been frightened. 
 
 “ Good heavens ! is that possible ] ” 
 
 “ I think it will be more,” replied D’Artagnan, coolly ; 
 “ but I like to lay it at the lowest.” 
 
 “ The devil ! ” said Planchet, drawing nearer. “ Why, 
 Monsieur, that is magnificent ! Can one place much 
 money in it ] ” 
 
 “ Twenty thousand livres each, Planchet.” 
 
 “ Why, that is all you have, Monsieur. For how long a 
 time ] ” 
 
 “ For a month.” 
 
 “ And that will give us — ” 
 
 “ Fifty thousand livres each, profit.” 
 
 “ It is monstrous ! It is worth while to fight for such 
 interest as that.” 
 
 “ In fact, I believe it will be necessary to fight not a 
 little,” said D’Artagnan, with the same tranquillity ; “but 
 this time there are two of us, Planchet, and I will take all 
 the blows to myself.” 
 
 “Oh, Monsieur, I will not allow that.” 
 
 “ Planchet, you cannot be concerned in it ; you would 
 be obliged to leave your business and your family.” 
 
 “ The affair is not in Paris, then.” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “ Ah ! abroad ] ” 
 
 “In England.” 
 
 “A speculative country, that is true,” said Planchet, — 
 “a country I am well acquainted with. What sort of an 
 affair, Monsieur, — without too much curiosity]” 
 
 “ Planchet, it is a restoration.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN IN PARIS. 
 
 187 
 
 “ Of monuments % ” 
 
 “ Yes, of monuments ; we will restore Whitehall.” 
 
 “ That is important. And in a month, you think ? ” 
 
 “ I will undertake it .* 9 
 
 “ That concerns you, Monsieur ; and when once you are 
 engaged — ” 
 
 “ Yes, that concerns me. I know what I am about ; 
 nevertheless, I will freely consult with you.” 
 
 “ You do me great honor ; but I know very little about 
 architecture.” 
 
 “ Planchet, you are wrong ; you are an excellent archi- 
 tect, — quite as good as I am, for the case in question.” 
 
 “ Thanks — ” 
 
 “ I have been, I confess, tempted to name the thing to 
 those gentlemen we know of, but they are all absent from 
 their houses. It is vexatious, for I know none more bold 
 or more able.” 
 
 “ Ah ! then it appears there will be an opposition, and 
 the enterprise will be disputed 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh yes, Planchet, yes.” 
 
 “I burn to know the details, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ They are these, Planchet. Close all the doors 
 firmly.” 
 
 “ Yes, monsieur ; ” and Planchet double-locked them. 
 “That is well; now draw near.” Planchet obeyed. 
 “ And open the window, because the noise of the passers- 
 by and the carts will deafen all who might hear us.” 
 Planchet opened the window as desired, and the puff of 
 tumult which filled the chamber with cries, wheels, bark- 
 ings, and steps deafened D’Artagnan himself, as he had 
 wished. He then swallowed a glass of white wine, and 
 began in these terms : “ Planchet, I have an idea.” 
 
 “Ah ! Monsieur, I recognize you so well in that ! ” re- 
 plied Planchet, panting with emotion. 
 
188 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 OF THE SOCIETY WHICH WAS FORMED IN THE RUE DES LOM- 
 BARDS, AT THE SIGN OF THE PILON D ? OR, TO CARRY 
 OUT THE IDEA OF M. d’aRTAGNAN. 
 
 After an instant of silence, in which D’Artagnan ap- 
 peared to be collecting, not one idea, but all his ideas — 
 “It cannot be, my dear Planchet,” said he, “that you 
 have not heard mention of his Majesty Charles I., King of 
 England » ” 
 
 “Alas ! yes, Monsieur, since you left France in order to 
 carry him assistance, and since, in spite of that assistance, 
 he fell, and was near dragging you down in his fall. ?? 
 
 “ Exactly so ; I see you have a good memory, Planchet.” 
 “ Peste ! Monsieur, the astonishing thing would be, if I 
 could have lost that memory, however bad it might have 
 been. When one has heard Grimaud, who, you know, is 
 not given to talking, relate how the head of King Charles 
 fell, how you sailed the half of a night in a scuttled vessel, 
 and saw rise upon the surface of the water that good M. 
 Mordaunt with a certain gold-hafted poniard sticking in 
 his breast, one is not very likely to forget such things.” 
 
 “ And yet there are people who forget them, Planchet.” 
 “Yes; such as have not seen them, or have not heard 
 Grimaud relate them.” 
 
 “ Well, it is all the better that you recollect all that ; I 
 shall only have to remind you of one thing, and that is, 
 that Charles I. had a son.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEA. 
 
 189 
 
 “ Without contradicting you, Monsieur, he had two,” 
 said Planchet ; “ for I saw the second in Paris, Monsieur 
 the Duke of York, one day, as he was going to the Palais 
 Royal, and I was told that he was only the second son of 
 Charles I. As to the eldest, I have the honor of knowing 
 him by name, but not personally.” 
 
 " That is exactly the point, Planchet, we must come to, 
 
 — to this eldest son, formerly called the Prince of Wales, 
 and who is now styled Charles II., King of England.” 
 
 “ A king without a kingdom, Monsieur,” replied Plan- 
 chet, sententiously. 
 
 “ Yes, Planchet ; and you may add an unfortunate 
 prince, more unfortunate than a man of the dregs of the 
 people in the worst quarter of Paris.” 
 
 Planchet made a gesture full of that easy compassion 
 which we grant to strangers with whom we think we can 
 never possibly find ourselves in contact. Besides, he did 
 not see in these politico-sentimental utterances any sign 
 of the commercial idea of M. D’Artagnan, and it was in 
 this that he was principally interested. D’Artagnan, 
 who was, by habit, pretty well acquainted with men and 
 things, understood Planchet. 
 
 “I am coming to our business,” said he. “This young 
 Prince of Wales — a king without a kingdom, as you 
 have so well said, Planchet — has interested me, — me, 
 D’Artagnan. I have seen him begging assistance of 
 Mazarin, who is a dirty pedant, and the aid of Louis, 
 who is a child; and it appeared to me, who am ac- 
 quainted with such things, that in the intelligent eye 
 of the fallen king, in the nobleness of his whole person, 
 
 — a nobleness apparent above all his miseries, — I could 
 discern the stuff of a man and the heart of a king.” 
 
 Planchet tacitly approved of all this ; but it did not 
 at all, in his eyes at least, throw any light upon D’Ar- 
 
190 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 tagnan’s idea. The latter continued : “ This, then, is the 
 reasoning which I made with myself. Listen attentively, 
 Planchet, for we are coming to the conclusion.” 
 
 “I am listening.” 
 
 “ Kings are not so thickly sown upon the earth that 
 people can find them whenever they want them. Now, 
 this king without a kingdom is, in my opinion, a grain 
 of seed which will blossom in some season or other, pro - 
 vided a skilful, discreet, and vigorous hand sow it duly 
 and truly, selecting soil, sky, and time.” 
 
 Planchet still approved by a nod of his head, which 
 showed that he did not perfectly comprehend all that 
 was said. 
 
 “ ‘ Poor little seed of a king ! ’ said I to myself ; “ and 
 really I was affected, Planchet, which leads me to think 
 I am entering upon a foolish business. And that is why 
 I wished to consult you, my friend.” 
 
 Planchet colored with pleasure and pride. 
 
 “ ‘ Poor little seed of a king ! I will pick you up and 
 cast you into good ground.’ ” 
 
 “ Good God ! ” said Planchet, looking earnestly at his 
 old master, as if in doubt of the state of his reason. 
 
 “Well, what is it'?” said D’Artagnan; “ what hurts 
 you ? ” 
 
 “ Me ! nothing, Monsieur.” 
 
 “You said ‘ Good God!”’ 
 
 “ Did I ? ” 
 
 “ I am sure you did. Can you already understand ? ” 
 
 “ I confess, M. d’Artagnan, that I am afraid — ” 
 
 “ To understand ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ To understand that I wish to replace upon his throne 
 this King Charles II., who has no throne? Is that it?” 
 Planchet made a prodigious bound in his chair. “ Ah, 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEA. 
 
 191 
 
 ah ! ” said he, in evident terror, “ that is what you call 
 a restoration ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, Planchet ; is not that the proper term for it ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no doubt, — no doubt! But have you reflected 
 seriously ? ” 
 
 “ Upon what?” 
 
 “ Upon what is going on yonder/’ 
 
 “ Where ? ” 
 
 “ In England.” 
 
 “ And what is that ? Let us see, Planchet.” 
 
 “ In the first place, Monsieur, I ask your pardon for 
 meddling in these things which have nothing to do with 
 my trade ; but since it is an affair that you propose to 
 me, — for you propose an affair to me, do you not ? — ” 
 
 “ A superb one, Planchet.” 
 
 “ But as you propose to me an affair, I have the right 
 to discuss it.” 
 
 “ Discuss it, Planchet ; out of discussion light is born.” 
 “ Well, then, since I have Monsieur’s permission, I 
 will tell him that there is yonder, in the first place, the 
 Parliament.” 
 
 “ Well, next ? ” 
 
 “ And then the army.” 
 
 “ Good ! Do you see anything else ? ” 
 
 “ And then the nation.” 
 
 “ Is that all? ” 
 
 “ The nation, which consented to the overthrow and 
 death of the late king, the father of this, and which will 
 not be willing to belie its acts.” 
 
 “ Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, “ you reason like a 
 cheese ! The nation — the nation is tired of these gen- 
 tlemen who give themselves barbarous names and sing 
 psalms to it. Chant for chant, my dear Planchet ; 
 I have remarked that nations prefer singing a merry 
 
192 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 chant to the plain chant. Remember the Fronde ; what 
 did they sing in those times'? Well, those were good 
 times.” 
 
 “Not too good, — not too good! I was near being 
 hung in those times.” 
 
 “ Well, but you were not ] ” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “ And you laid the foundation of your fortune in the 
 midst of all those songs 1 ” 
 
 “ That is true.’ 
 
 “You have nothing to say against them, then! ” 
 
 “ Well, I return, then, to the army and the Parliament.” 
 “ I say that I borrow twenty thousand livres of M. 
 Planchet, and that I put twenty thousand livres of my 
 own to it, and with these forty thousand livres I raise 
 an army.” 
 
 Planchet clasped his hands ; he saw that D’Artagnan 
 was in earnest, and, in good truth, he believed that his 
 master had lost his senses. 
 
 “An army! — ah, Monsieur,” said he, with his most 
 agreeable smile, for fear of irritating the madman and 
 rendering him furious, “ an army ! — large 1 ” 
 
 “ Of forty men,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Forty against forty thousand ! that is not enough. 
 I know very well that you, M. d’Artagnan, alone are 
 equal to a thousand men; but where are we to find 
 thirty-nine men equal to you ? Or, if we could find them, 
 who would furnish you with money to pay them *? ” 
 
 “Not bad, Planchet. Ah, the devil! you play the 
 courtier.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur, I speak what I think ; and that is ex- 
 actly why I say that in the first pitched battle you fight 
 with your forty men I am very much afraid — ” 
 
 “ Therefore I will fight no pitched battles, my dear 
 
d’artagnan’s idea. 
 
 193 
 
 Planchet,” said the Gascon, laughing. “We have very 
 fine examples in antiquity of skilful retreats and marches, 
 which consisted in avoiding the enemy instead of attack- 
 ing them. You should know that, Planchet, who com- 
 manded the Parisians the day on which they ought to 
 have fought against the Musketeers, and who so well 
 calculated marches and countermarches, that you never 
 left the Palais-Royal.” 
 
 Planchet could not forbear laughing. “ It is plain,” 
 replied he, “ that if your forty men conceal themselves, 
 and are not unskilful, they may hope not to be beaten ; 
 but you propose to yourself some result, do you not h ” 
 
 “ No doubt. This then, in my opinion, is the plan to 
 be proceeded upon in order to replace quickly his Majesty 
 Charles II. on his throne.” 
 
 “ Good !” said Planchet, redoubling his attention ; “let 
 us see your plan. But, in the first place, it appears to 
 me we are forgetting something.” 
 
 “ What is that % ” 
 
 “ We have set aside the nation, which prefers singing 
 merry songs to psalms, and the army, which we will 
 not fight ) but the Parliament remains, and that seldom 
 sings.” 
 
 “And it does not fight, either. How is it, Planchet, 
 that an intelligent man like you should take any heed of 
 a set of brawlers who call themselves Rumps and Bare- 
 bones? The Parliament does not trouble me at all, 
 Planchet.” 
 
 “ Since it does not trouble you, Monsieur, let us pass 
 on.” 
 
 “ Yes, and arrive at the result. You remember Cronv 
 well, Planchet ? ” 
 
 “ I have heard a great deal of talk about him.” 
 
 u He was a rough soldier.” 
 
 VOL. I. — 1 3 
 
194 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ And a terrible eater, moreover.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by that ? ” 
 
 “ Why, at one gulp, he swallowed all England.” 
 
 “ Well, Planchet, the evening before the day on which 
 he swallowed England, if any one had swallowed 
 Cromwell 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur, that is one of the first axioms of math- 
 ematics, that the container must be greater than the 
 contained.” 
 
 “Very well ! You see our affair, Planchet.” 
 
 “ But Cromwell is dead, and his container is now the 
 tomb.” 
 
 “ My dear Planchet, I see with pleasure that you have 
 not only become a mathematician, but a philosopher.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, in my grocery business I use much printed 
 paper, and that instructs me.” 
 
 “Bravo ! You know, then, in that case — for you have 
 not learnt mathematics and philosophy without a little 
 history — that after this Cromwell so great, there came 
 one who was very little.” 
 
 “ Yes ; he was named Richard, and he has done as you 
 have, M. d’Artagnan, — he has given in his resignation.” 
 “ Very well said, — very w T ell ! After the great man 
 who is dead, after the little one who gave in his resigna- 
 tion, there has come a third. This one is named Monk. 
 He is an able general, considering that he has never fought 
 a battle ; he is a skilful diplomatist, considering that he 
 never speaks in public, and that, having to say 6 Good- 
 day ’ to a man, he meditates twelve hours, and ends by 
 saying ‘ Good-night,’ — which makes people exclaim, 
 * Miracle ! ’ seeing that it falls out correctly.” 
 
 “ That is rather strong,” said Planchet ; “ but I know 
 another polite man who resembles him very much.” 
 
 “ Mazarin, you mean ? ” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEA. 
 
 195 
 
 “ Himself.” 
 
 “ You are right, Planchet ; only, Mazarin does not 
 aspire to the throne of France, and that changes every- 
 thing, you see. Well, this Monk, who has England 
 ready -roasted in his plate, and who is already opening his 
 mouth to swallow it, — this Monk, who says to the peo- 
 ple of Charles II., and to Charles II. himself, ‘ Nescio 
 vos 9 — ” 
 
 “ I don’t understand English,” said Planchet. 
 
 “ Yes, but I understand it,” said D’Artagnan. “ 6 Nescio 
 vos 9 means C I do not know you.’ This Monk, the most 
 important man in England, when he shall have swallowed 
 it—” 
 
 “ Well h ” asked Planchet. 
 
 “Well, my friend, I will go over yonder, and with my 
 forty men I will carry him off, pack him up, and bring 
 him into France, where two modes of proceeding present 
 themselves to my dazzled eyes.” 
 
 “ Oh ! and to mine too,” cried Planchet, transported 
 with enthusiasm. “ We will put him in a cage and show 
 him for money.” 
 
 “ Well, Planchet, that is a third plan of w T hich I had 
 not thought, and which you have discovered, — you 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ Do you think it a good one h ” 
 
 “ Yes, certainly ; but I think mine better.” 
 
 “ Let us see yours, then.” 
 
 “ In the first place, I will set a ransom on him.” 
 
 “ Of how much 1 ” 
 
 “ Peste! a fellow like that must be well worth a hundred 
 thousand crowns.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes ! ” 
 
 “ You see, then, — in the first place, a ransom of a 
 hundred thousand crowns.” 
 
1 96 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Or else — ” 
 
 “ Or else — which is much better — I deliver him up to 
 King Charles, who, having no longer either a general or an 
 army to fear, nor a diplomatist to trick him, will restore 
 himself, and when once restored will pay down to me the 
 hundred thousand crowns in question. That is the idea 
 I have formed ; what do you say to it, Planchet 1 ” 
 
 “ Magnificent, Monsieur ! ” cried Planchet, trembling 
 with emotion. “ How did you conceive that ideal ” 
 
 “ It came to me one morning on the banks of the Loire, 
 while our beloved king Louis XIY. was snivelling over 
 the hand of Mademoiselle de Mancini.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I declare the idea is sublime. But — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! there is a but ? ” 
 
 “ Permit me ! But this is a little like the skin of that 
 fine bear, you know, that they were about to sell, but 
 which it was necessary to take from the back of the bear, 
 who was still alive. Now, to take Monk, there will be 
 a bit of a scuffle, I should think.” 
 
 “ No doubt ; but as I shall raise an army — ” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, — I understand, parbleu ! — an exploit. Yes, 
 then, Monsieur, you will triumph, for no one equals you 
 in that sort of adventure.” 
 
 “ I certainly am lucky in them,” said D’Artagnan, with 
 a proud simplicity. “ You know that if for this affair I 
 had my dear Athos, my brave Porthos, and my cunning 
 Aramis, the business would be settled ; but they are all 
 lost, as it appears, and nobody knows where to find them. 
 I will do it, then, alone. Now, do you find the business 
 good, and the investment advantageous ? ” 
 
 “ Too much, — too much.” 
 
 “ How can that be V 7 
 
 “ Because fine things never reach the point expected.” 
 “ This is infallible, Planchet, and the proof is that I 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEA. 
 
 197 
 
 undertake it. It will be for you a tolerably pretty gain, 
 and for me a very interesting stroke. It will be said, 
 
 ‘ Such was the old age of M. d’Artagnan ; ’ and I shall hold 
 a place in stories, and even in history itself, Planchet. I 
 am greedy of honor.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” cried Planchet, “ when I think that it is 
 here, in my home, in the midst of my sugar, my prunes, 
 and my cinnamon, that this gigantic project is ripened, my 
 shop seems a palace to me.” 
 
 “ Beware, beware, Planchet ! If the least report of this 
 escapes, there is the Bastille for both of us. Beware, my 
 friend ; for this is a plot we are hatching. Monk is the 
 ally of Mazarin, — beware ! ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, when a man has had the honor to belong to 
 you, he knows nothing of fear ; and when he has the 
 advantage of being bound up in interests with you, he 
 holds his tongue.” 
 
 “ Very well ; that is more your affair than mine, seeing 
 that in a week I shall be in England.” 
 
 “ Begone, begone, Monsieur, — the sooner the better.” 
 “ Is the money then ready 1 ” 
 
 “ It will be to-morrow ; to-morrow you shall receive it 
 from my own hands. Will you have gold or silver ? ” 
 
 “ Gold ; that is most convenient. But how are w 7 e 
 going to arrange this'? Let us see.” 
 
 “ Oh, good Lord ! in the simplest way possible. You 
 shall give me a receipt ; that is all.” 
 
 “ No, no,” said D’Artagnan, warmly; “we must pre- 
 serve order in all things.” 
 
 “ That is likewise my opinion ; but with you, M. 
 d’Artagnan — ” 
 
 “ And if I should die yonder — if I am killed by a 
 musket-ball — if I should burst with drinking beer ? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I beg you to believe that in that case I 
 
198 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 should be so much afflicted at your death, that I should 
 think nothing about the money. ” 
 
 “ Thank you, Planchet; but that will not do. We 
 will, like two lawyers’ clerks, draw up together an 
 agreement, a sort of act, which may be called a deed 
 of partnership.” 
 
 “ Willingly, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I know it is difficult to draw such a thing up, but we 
 will try.” 
 
 “ Let us try, then ; ” and Planchet went in search of 
 a pen, ink, and paper. D’Artagnan took the pen, dipped 
 it in the ink, and wrote : — 
 
 “ Between Messire d’Artagnan, ex-lieutenant of the 
 king’s Musketeers, at present residing in the Eue Tique- 
 tonne, Hotel de la Chevrette, and the Sieur Planchet, 
 grocer, residing in the Eue des Lombards, at the sign of 
 the Pilon d’Or, it has been agreed as follows : A partner- 
 ship, with a capital of forty thousand livres, is formed for 
 the purpose of carrying out an idea conceived by M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan. The Sieur Planchet, who is acquainted with this 
 idea of M. d’Artagnan, and who approves of it in all 
 points, will place twenty thousand livres in the hands 
 of M. d’Artagnan. He will require neither repayment 
 nor interest before the return of M. d’Artagnan from a 
 voyage he is about to make into England. On his part, 
 M. d’Artagnan undertakes to find twenty thousand livres, 
 which he will join to the twenty thousand already laid 
 down by the Sieur Planchet. He will employ the said 
 sum of forty thousand livres as shall seem to him good, 
 but still in an undertaking which is described below. On 
 the day in which M. d’Artagnan shall have re-established, 
 by whatever means, his Majesty King Charles II. upon 
 the throne of England, he will pay into the hands of M. 
 Planchet the sum of — ” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEA. 
 
 199 
 
 “The sum of a hundred and fifty thousand livres,” 
 said Planchet, innocently, perceiving that D’Artagnan 
 hesitated. 
 
 “ Oh, the devil, no ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ the division 
 cannot be made by half; that would not be just.” 
 
 “ And yet, Monsieur, we each lay down half,” objected 
 Planchet, timidly. 
 
 “ Yes ; but listen to this clause, my dear Planchet, and 
 if you do not find it equitable in every respect when it 
 is written, well, we can scratch it out again : — 
 
 “ ‘ Nevertheless, as M. dArtagnan brings to the associ- 
 ation, besides his capital of twenty thousand livres, his 
 time, his idea, his industry, and his skin, — things which 
 he appreciates strongly, particularly the last, — M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan will keep, of the three hundred thousand livres, 
 two hundred thousand livres for himself, which will make 
 his share two thirds.’ ” 
 
 “Very well,” said Planchet. 
 
 “Is it just ? ” asked D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Perfectly just, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ And you will be contented with a hundred thousand 
 livres % ” 
 
 “ Peste ! I think so. A hundred thousand for twenty 
 thousand ! ” 
 
 “ And in a month, understand.” 
 
 “ How, in a month % ” 
 
 “ Yes, I only ask one month.” 
 
 “Monsieur,” said Planchet, generously, “I will give 
 you six weeks.” 
 
 “Thank you,” replied the musketeer, civilly; after 
 which the two partners re-perused their deed. 
 
 “ That is perfect, Monsieur,” said Planchet ; “ and the 
 late M. Coquenard, the first husband of Madame la 
 Baronne du Yallon, could not have done it better.” 
 
200 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Do you find it so ? Let us sign it, then ; ” and both 
 affixed their signatures. 
 
 “In this fashion/’ said D’Artagnan, “I shall Have no 
 obligations to any one.” 
 
 “ But I shall be under obligations to you,” said Planchet. 
 
 “ No ; for whatever store I set by it, Planchet, I may 
 lose my skin yonder, and you will lose all. Apropos — 
 peste ! — that makes me think of the principal, an in- 
 dispensable clause. I will write it : — 
 
 “ * In the case of M. d’Artagnan succumbing in this en- 
 terprise, liquidation will be considered made, and the Sieur 
 Planchet will give quittance from that moment to the shade 
 of Messire d’Artagnan, for the twenty thousand livres paid 
 by him into the treasury of the said partnership.’ ” 
 
 This last clause made Planchet knit his brows a little ; 
 but when he saw the brilliant eye, the muscular hand, 
 the back so supple and strong, of his associate, he re- 
 gained his courage, and, without regret, at once added 
 another stroke to his signature. D’Artagnan did the 
 same. Thus was drawn the first deed of partnership 
 known ; perhaps such things have been abused a little 
 since, both in form and principle. 
 
 “Now,” said Planchet, pouring out the last glass of 
 Anjou wine for D’Artagnan, — “ now go to sleep, my dear 
 master.” 
 
 “No,” replied D’Artagnan; “for the most difficult 
 part now remains to be done, and I will think over that 
 difficult part.” 
 
 “Bah ! ” said Planchet; “I have so great confidence 
 in you, M. d’Artagnan, that I would not give my hun- 
 dred thousand livres for ninety thousand livres down.” 
 
 “And devil take me if I don’t think you are right ! ” 
 Upon which D’Artagnan took a candle and went up to 
 his bedroom. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN PREPARES TO TRAVEL. 
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 IN WHICH D’ARTAGNAN PREPARES TO TRAVEL FOR THE 
 HOUSE OF PLANCHET AND COMPANY. 
 
 DArtagnan reflected to such good purpose during the 
 night, that his plan was settled by morning. 44 This is 
 it,” said he, sitting up in bed, supporting his elbow on 
 his knee and his chin in his hand, — 44 this is it. I will 
 seek out forty steady, firm men, recruited among people 
 a little compromised, but having habits of discipline. I 
 will promise them five hundred livres for a month if they 
 return; nothing if they do not return, or half for their 
 kindred. As to food and lodging, that concerns the 
 English, who have beasts in their pastures, bacon in 
 their bacon-racks, fowls in their poultry-yards, and corn 
 in their barns. I will present myself to General Monk 
 with my little body of troops. He will receive me. I 
 shall gain his confidence, and will abuse it as soon as 
 possible.” 
 
 But without going further, DArtagnan shook his head 
 and interrupted himself. 44 Xo,” said he ; “ I should not 
 dare to relate this to Athos ; the scheme is therefore not 
 honorable. I must use violence,” continued he, — 44 very 
 certainly I must, but without compromising my loyalty. 
 With forty men I will traverse the country as a partisan. 
 But if I fall in with, not forty thousand English, as Plan- 
 chet said, but purely and simply with four hundred, I 
 shall be beaten. Supposing that among my forty war- 
 
202 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 riors there should be found at least ten stupid ones, — 
 ten who will allow themselves to be killed one after the 
 other, through mere stupidity? No; it is, in fact, im- 
 possible to find forty men to be depended upon, — that is 
 out of the question. I must learn how to be contented 
 with thirty. With ten men less I should have the right 
 of avoiding any encounter at arms, on account of the 
 small number of my people ; and if the encounter should 
 take place, my choice is much more certain with thirty 
 men than forty. Besides, I should save five thousand 
 francs, — that is to say, the eighth of my capital ; that is 
 worth the trial. That is to say, I will have thirty men. 
 I will divide them into three bands, — we will spread 
 ourselves about over the countiy, with instructions for 
 reunion at a given moment ; in this fashion, ten by ten, 
 we should excite no suspicion, we should pass unper- 
 ceived. Yes, yes, thirty, — that is a magic number. There 
 are three tens, — three, that divine number ! And then, 
 truly, a company of thirty men, when all together, will 
 look rather imposing. Ah ! stupid wretch that I am ! ” 
 continued D’Artagnan, “ I want thirty horses. That is 
 ruinous. Where the devil was my head when I forgot 
 the horses? We cannot, however, think of striking such 
 a blow without horses. Well, so be it, that sacrifice 
 must be made ; we can get the horses in the country, — 
 they are not bad, besides. But I forgot — peste ! Three 
 bands, — that necessitates three leaders : there is the diffi- 
 culty. Of the three commanders I have already one, — 
 that is myself ; yes, but the two others will of themselves 
 cost almost as much money as all the rest of the troop. 
 No ; decidedly I must have but one lieutenant. In that 
 case, then, I should reduce my troop to twenty men. 1 
 know very well that twenty men is but very little ; but 
 since with thirty I was determined not to seek to come 
 
D’ARTAGNAN PREPARES TO TRAVEL. 
 
 203 
 
 to blows, I should do so more carefully still with twenty. 
 Twenty, — that is a round number ; that, besides, re- 
 duces the number of the horses by ten, which is a 
 consideration ; and then, with a good lieutenant — Mor- 
 dioux! what things patience and calculation are ! Was 
 1 not going to embark with forty men, and I have now 
 reduced them to twenty for an equal success? Ten 
 thousand livres saved at one stroke, and more safety ; 
 that is well ! Now, then, let us see ; we have nothing 
 to do but to find this lieutenant, — let him be found, then ; 
 and after — % That is not so easy ; he must be brave 
 and good, a second myself. Yes; but a lieutenant must 
 have my secret, and as that secret is worth a million, 
 and I shall only pay my man a thousand livres, fifteen 
 hundred at the most, my man will sell the secret to 
 Monk. Mordioux ! no lieutenant. Besides, this man, 
 were he as mute as a disciple of Pythagoras, — this man 
 would be sure to have in the troop some favorite soldier, 
 whom he would make his sergeant ; the sergeant would 
 penetrate the secret of the lieutenant, in case the latter 
 should be honest and unwilling to sell it. Then the 
 sergeant, less honest and less ambitious, will give up the 
 whole for fifty thousand livres. Come, come ! that is 
 impossible. Decidedly the lieutenant is impossible. But 
 then I can have no division ; I cannot divide my troop 
 into two, and act upon two points at once, without an- 
 other self, who — But what is the use of acting upon 
 two points, as we have only one man to take ? What can 
 be the good to weaken a corps by placing the right here, 
 and the left there ? A single corps — mordioux ! a single 
 one, and that commanded by D’Artagnan. Very well. 
 But twenty men marching in one band are suspected by 
 everybody ; twenty horsemen must not be seen marching 
 together, or a company will be detached against them, 
 
204 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and the countersign will be required ; which compan} T 5 
 upon seeing the embarrassment of the troop in giving it, 
 would shoot M. d’Artagnan and his men like so many 
 rabbits. I reduce myself, then, to ten men; in this 
 fashion I shall act simply and with unity ; I shall be 
 forced to be prudent, which is half success in an affair 
 of the kind I am undertaking ; a greater number might, 
 perhaps, have drawn me into some folly. Ten horses 
 are not many either to buy or take. A capital idea ; 
 what tranquillity it infuses into my mind ! No more 
 suspicions, no more countersigns, no more dangers ! 
 Ten men, — they are valets or clerks. Ten men, lead- 
 ing ten horses laden with merchandise of whatever kind, 
 are tolerated, well received everywhere. Ten men travel 
 on account of the house of Planchet & Co., of France : 
 nothing can be said against that. These ten men, 
 clothed like manufacturers, have a good cutlass or a 
 good mousqueton at their saddle-bow, and a good pistol 
 in the holster. They never allow themselves to be 
 uneasy, because they have no evil designs. They are 
 perhaps, at bottom, a little disposed to be smugglers, 
 but what harm is in that 1 Smuggling is not, like po- 
 lygamy, a hanging offence. The worst that can happen 
 to us is the confiscation of our merchandise. Our mer- 
 chandise confiscated — a fine affair that ! Come, come ! 
 it is a superb plan. Ten men only — ten men, whom I 
 will engage for my service ; ten men, who shall be as 
 resolute as forty who would cost me four times as much, 
 and to whom, for greater security, I will never open my 
 mouth as to my designs, and to whom I shall only say, 
 ‘My friends, there is a blow to be struck . 1 Things be- 
 ing after this fashion, Satan will be very malicious if he 
 plays me one of his tricks. Fifteen thousand livres 
 saved — that ’s superb — out of twenty ! ” 
 
D'ARTAGNAN PREPARES TO TRAVEL. 205 
 
 Thus fortified by his laborious calculations, D’Artagnan 
 stopped at this plan, and determined to change nothing 
 in it. He had already, on a list furnished by his inex- 
 haustible memory, ten men illustrious among the seekers 
 of adventures, ill treated by fortune, or not on good terms 
 with justice. Upon this D’Artagnan rose, and instantly 
 set off on the search, telling Planchet not to expect him 
 at breakfast, and perhaps not at dinner. A day and a 
 half spent in rummaging among certain cabins in Paris 
 sufficed for his recruiting; and, without allowing his 
 adventurers to communicate with each other, he had 
 picked up and got together, in less than thirty hours, 
 a charming collection of ill-looking faces, speaking a 
 French less pure than the English they were about to 
 attempt. These men were, for the most part, Guards, 
 whose merit D’Artagnan had had an opportunity of ap- 
 preciating in various encounters, and whom drunkenness, 
 unlucky sword-thrusts, unexpected winnings at play, or 
 the economical reforms of Mazarin, had forced to seek 
 shade and solitude, those two great consolers of irritated 
 and chafed spirits. They bore upon their countenances 
 and in their vestments the traces of the heartaches they 
 had undergone. Some had their visages scarred, — all 
 had their clothes in rags. D’Artagnan comforted the 
 most needy of these fraternal miserables by a prudent 
 distribution of the crowns of the partnership ; then hav- 
 ing taken care that these crowns should be employed in 
 the physical improvement of the troop, he appointed a 
 rendezvous with them in the North of France, between 
 Berghes and Saint-Omer. Six days were allowed as the 
 utmost term ; and D’Artagnan was sufficiently acquainted 
 with the good will, the good humor, and the comparative 
 probity of these illustrious recruits, to be certain that 
 not one of them would fail in his appointment. These 
 
206 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 orders given, this rendezvous fixed, he went to bid fare- 
 well to Planchet, who asked news of his army. D’Ar- 
 tagnan did not think proper to inform him of the 
 reduction he had made in his forces. He feared he 
 should make an abatement in the confidence of his as- 
 sociate by such an avowal. Planchet was delighted to 
 learn that the army was levied, and that he, Planchet, 
 should find himself a kind of half-king, who from his 
 throne-counter kept in pay a body of troops destined to 
 make war against perfidious Albion, that enemy of all 
 true French hearts. Planchet paid down, in double- 
 louis, twenty thousand livres to D’Artagnan, on the part 
 of himself (Planchet), and twenty thousand livres more, 
 still in double-louis, on account of D’Artagnan. D’Ar- 
 tagnan placed each of the sums in a bag, and weighing a 
 bag in each hand, “This money is very embarrassing, my 
 dear Planchet,” said he. “Do you know this weighs 
 more than thirty pounds'?” 
 
 “ Bah ! your horse will carry that like a feather.” 
 D’Artagnan shook his head. “ Don’t tell such things 
 to me, Planchet ; a horse overloaded with thirty pounds, 
 in addition to the rider and his portmanteau, cannot cross 
 a river so easily, — cannot leap over a wall or a ditch so 
 lightly ; and the horse failing, the horseman fails. It is 
 true that you, Planchet, who have served in the infantry, 
 may not be aware of all that.” 
 
 “ Then what is to be done, Monsieur ? ” said Planchet, 
 greatly embarrassed. 
 
 “ Listen to me,” said D’Artagnan. “ I will pay my 
 army on its return home. Keep my half of twenty thou- 
 sand livres, which you can make use of during that 
 time.” 
 
 “ And my half? ” said Planchet. 
 
 “ I will take that with me.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN PREPARES TO TRAVEL. 
 
 207 
 
 “ Your confidence does me honor,” said Planchet ; 
 u but suppose you should not return ? ” 
 
 “ That is possible, though not very probable. Then, 
 Planchet, in case I should not return — give me a pen ; 
 I will make my will.” D’Artagnan took a pen and some 
 paper, and wrote upon a plain sheet : — 
 
 “ I, D’Artagnan, possess twenty thousand livres, laid 
 up, sou by sou, during thirty years that I have been in 
 the service of his Majesty the King of France. I leave 
 five thousand to Athos, five thousand to Porthos, and five 
 thousand to Aramis, that they may give the said sums 
 in my name and their own to my young friend Eaoul, 
 Yicomte de Bragelonne. I give the remaining five thou- 
 sand to Planchet, that he may distribute the fifteen 
 thousand with less regret among my friends. With 
 which purpose I sign these presents. — D’Artagnan.” 
 Planchet appeared very curious to know what D’Ar- 
 tagnan had written. 
 
 “ Here,” said the musketeer, “ read it.” 
 
 On reading the last lines the tears came into Planchet’s 
 eyes. “ You think, then, that I would not have given 
 the money without that ? Then I will have none of your 
 five thousand francs.” 
 
 D’Artagnan smiled. “ Accept it, accept it, Planchet ; 
 and in that way you will only lose fifteen thousand francs 
 instead of twenty thousand, and you will not be tempted 
 to disregard the signature of your master and friend in 
 seeking how to lose nothing at all.” 
 
 How well that dear M. d’Artagnan was acquainted 
 with the hearts of men and of grocers ! They who have 
 pronounced Don Quixote mad because he rode out to the 
 conquest of an empire with nobody but Sancho his squire, 
 and they who have pronounced Sancho mad because he 
 accompanied his master in his attempt to conquer the 
 
208 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 said empire, — they certainly will have no hesitation in 
 extending the same judgment to D’Artagnan and Planchet. 
 And yet the first passed for one of the most subtle spirits 
 among the astute minds of the court of France. As to 
 the second, he had acquired by good right the reputation of 
 having one of the longest heads among the grocers of the 
 Bue des Lombards ; consequently of Paris, consequently of 
 France. Now, to consider these two men from the point 
 of view in which you would consider other men, and the 
 means by the aid of which they contemplated to restore 
 a monarch to his throne, comparatively with other means, 
 the shallowest brains of the country where brains are most 
 shallow must have revolted against the presumptuous 
 madness of the lieutenant and the stupidity of his associate* 
 Fortunately D’Artagnan was not a man to listen to the 
 idle talk of those around him, or to the comments that 
 were made on himself. He had adopted the motto, “ Act 
 well, and let people talk.” Planchet, on his part, had 
 adopted this : “ Act, and say nothing.” It resulted from 
 this, that, according to the custom of all superior geniuses, 
 these two men flattered themselves, intra pectus, with 
 being in the right against all who found fault with them. 
 
 As a beginning D’Artagnan set out in the finest of 
 possible weather, without a cloud in the heavens, — with- 
 out a cloud on his mind, joyous and strong, calm and 
 decided, great in his resolution, and consequently carry- 
 ing with him a tenfold dose of that potent fluid which the 
 shocks of mind cause to spring from the nerves, and which 
 procure for the human machine a force and an influence 
 of which future ages will render, according to all proba- 
 bility, an account more arithmetically than we can possibly 
 do at present. He was again, as in times past, in that 
 same road fertile of adventures which had led him to 
 Boulogne, and which he was now travelling for the fourth 
 
D’ARTAGNAN PREPARES TO TRAVEL. 
 
 209 
 
 time. It appeared to him that he could almost recognize 
 the trace of his own steps upon the road, and that of his 
 fist upon the doors of the hostelries ; his memory, always 
 active and present, brought back that youth which had 
 not, thirty years before, belied either his great heart or- 
 his wrist of steel. What a rich nature was that of this 
 man ! He had all passions, all defects, all weaknesses ; 
 and the spirit of contradiction, familiar to his understand- 
 ing, changed all these imperfections into corresponding qual- 
 ities. D’Artagnan, thanks to his ever-active imagination, 
 was afraid of a shadow ; and ashamed of being afraid, he 
 marched straight up to that shadow, and then became 
 extravagant in his bravery, if the danger proved to be real. 
 Thus everything in him was emotion, and therefore enjoy- 
 ment. He loved the society of others, but never became 
 tired of his own ; and more than once, if he could have 
 been observed when he was alone, he might have been 
 seen laughing at the jokes he related to himself, or the 
 tricks his imagination created just five minutes before 
 ennui might overtake him. D’Artagnan was not perhaps 
 so gay this time as he would have been with the prospect 
 of finding some good friends at Calais, instead of that of 
 joining the ten scamps there. Melancholy, however, did 
 not visit him above once a day ; and he received about 
 five visits from that sombre deity before he got sight 
 of the sea at Boulogne, and these visits were indeed but 
 short. But when once D’Artagnan found himself near the 
 field of action, all other feeling but that of confidence disap- 
 peared never to return. From Boulogne he followed the 
 coast to Calais. Calais was the place of general rendezvous, 
 and at Calais he had named to each of his recruits the 
 hostelry of the Grand Monarque, where living was not 
 extravagant, where sailors messed, and where men of the 
 sword, with sheath of leather be it understood, found 
 VOL. i. — 14 
 
210 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 lodging, table, food, and all the comforts of life^ for thirty 
 sous per diem. D’Artagnan proposed to himself to take 
 them by surprise in flagrante delicto of wandering life, and 
 to judge by the first appearance if he could reckon upon 
 them as trusty companions. 
 
 He arrived at Calais at half-past four in the afternoon. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 211 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 d’artagnan travels for the house OF PLAN CHET 
 
 AND COMPANY. 
 
 The hostelry of the Grand Monarque was situated in 
 a little street parallel to the port, but not opening out 
 upon the port itself. Some lanes cut — as steps cut the 
 two parallels of the ladder — the two great straight lines 
 of the port and the street. By these lanes passengers 
 came suddenly from the port into the street, and from 
 the street on to the port. D’Artagnan, arrived at the 
 port, took one of these lanes, and came out unexpectedly 
 in front of the hostelry of the Grand Monarque. The 
 moment was well chosen, and might remind D’Artagnan 
 of his start in life at the hostelry of the Franc-Meunier 
 at Meung. Some sailors who had been playing at dice 
 had started a quarrel, and w T ere threatening one another 
 furiously. The host, hostess, and two lads were watching 
 with anxiety the circle of these angry gamblers, from the 
 midst of which war seemed ready to break forth, bristling 
 with knives and hatchets. The play, nevertheless, was 
 continued. A stone bench was occupied by two men, 
 who appeared thence to watch the door; four tables, 
 placed at the back of the common chamber, were occupied 
 by eight other individuals. Neither the men at the door 
 nor those at the tables took any part in the play or the 
 quarrel. D’Artagnan recognized his ten men in these 
 cold, indifferent spectators. The quarrel went on increas- 
 ing. Every passion has, like the sea, its tide which rises 
 
212 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and falls. Arrived at the climax of passion, one sailor 
 overturned the table and the money which was upon it. 
 The table fell, and the money rolled about. In an instant 
 all belonging to the hostelry threw themselves upon the 
 stakes, and many a piece of silver was picked up by 
 people who stole away while the sailors were scuffling 
 with one another. 
 
 The two men on the bench and the eight at the tables, 
 although they seemed perfect strangers to one another, — 
 these ten men alone, we say, appeared to have agreed to 
 remain impassive amidst the cries of fury and the chink- 
 ing of money. Two only contented themselves with re- 
 pulsing with their feet combatants who came under their 
 table. Two others, rather than take part in this disturb- 
 ance, buried their hands in their pockets; and another 
 two jumped upon the table they occupied, as do people 
 surprised by a freshet, to avoid being submerged by over- 
 flowing water. 
 
 “Come, come,” said D’Artagnan to himself, having lost 
 none of the details we have related, “ this is a very fair 
 gathering, — circumspect, calm, accustomed to disturb- 
 ance, acquainted with blows ! Peste ! I have been lucky/’ 
 
 All at once his attention was called to a particular 
 part of the room. The two men who had repulsed the 
 stragglers with their feet, were assailed with abuse by 
 the sailors, w T ho had become reconciled. One of them, 
 half drunk w T ith passion and quite drunk with beer, came, 
 in a menacing manner, to demand of the shorter of these 
 two sages, by what right he had touched with his foot 
 creatures of the good God, who were not dogs. And 
 while putting this question, in order to make it more 
 direct, he applied his great fist to the nose of D’Artagnan’s 
 recruit. This man became pale, but it was not discerni- 
 ble whether his paleness arose from anger or from fear ; 
 
D’ARTAGNAN ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 213 
 
 seeing which, the sailor concluded it was from fear, and 
 raised his fist with the manifest intention ol letting it 
 fall upon the head of the stranger. But the threatened 
 man, without appearing to move, dealt the sailor such a 
 severe blow in the stomach as sent him rolling to the 
 other side of the room with frightful cries. At the same 
 instant, rallied by the esprit de corps , all the comrades of 
 the conquered man fell upon the conqueror. The latter, 
 with the same coolness of which he had given proof, 
 without committing the imprudence of touching his arms, 
 took up a beer-pot with a pewter lid, and knocked down 
 two or three of his assailants ; then, as he was about to 
 yield to numbers, the seven other silent men at the tables, 
 who had not stirred, perceived that their cause was at 
 stake, and came to the rescue. At the same time the 
 two indifferent spectators at the door turned round with 
 frowning brows, indicating their evident intention of 
 taking the enemy in the rear, if the enemy did not cease 
 their aggressions. The host, his helpers, and two watch- 
 men who were passing, and who from curiosity had 
 penetrated too far into the room, were confounded in the 
 tumult and loaded with blows. The Parisians hit like 
 Cyclops, with a solidity and skill delightful to behold. 
 At length, obliged to beat a retreat before numbers, they 
 formed an intrenchment behind the great table, which 
 they raised by main force, w T hile the two others armed 
 themselves each with a trestle, and, using it like a great 
 sledge-hammer, knocked down at a blow eight sailors upon 
 whose heads they had brought their monstrous catapult 
 to bear. The floor was already strewn with wounded, and 
 the room filled with cries and dust, when D’Artagnan, sat- 
 isfied with the test, advanced, sword in hand ; and strik- 
 ing with the pommel every head that came in his way, 
 he uttered a vigorous Holloa ! which put an instantaneous 
 
214 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 end to the conflict. A great back-flood from the centre 
 to the sides of the room directly took place, so that 
 D’Artagnan found himself isolated and master of the 
 situation. 
 
 “ What is all this about?” then demanded he of the 
 assembly, with the majestic tone of Neptune pronouncing 
 the Quos ego. 
 
 At the very instant, at the first sound of his voice, to 
 carry on the Virgilian metaphor, D’ Art agnail’s recruits, 
 each recognizing his sovereign lord, discontinued at the 
 same time their anger, their plank-fighting, and trestle 
 blows. On their side, the sailors, seeing that long, naked 
 sword, that martial air, and the agile arm which came to 
 the rescue of their enemies, in the person of a man who 
 seemed accustomed to command, — on their part, the sailors 
 picked up their wounded and their pitchers. The Pari- 
 sians wiped their brows, and viewed their leader with re- 
 spect. D’Artagnan was loaded with thanks by the host 
 of the Grand Monarque. He received them like a 
 man who knows that nothing is being offered that does 
 not belong to him, and then said he would go and walk 
 upon the port, till supper was ready. Immediately each 
 of the recruits, who understood the summons, took his 
 hat, brushed the dust off his clothes, and followed D’Ar- 
 tagnan. But D’Artagnan, while observing, examining 
 everything, took care not to stop. He directed his course 
 towards the dune ; and the ten men — surprised at finding 
 themselves going in the same path, uneasy at seeing on 
 their right, on their left, and behind them, companions 
 upon whom they had not reckoned — followed him, cast- 
 ing furtive glances at one another. It was not till he had 
 arrived at the hollow part of the deepest dune that D’Ar- 
 tagnan, smiling at seeing their shyness, turned towards 
 them, making a friendly sign with his hand. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 215 
 
 “ Eh ! come, come, Messieurs,” said he, “ let us not 
 devour one another ; you are made to live together, to 
 understand one another in all respects, and not to devour 
 one another.” 
 
 Instantly all hesitation ceased ; the men breathed as if 
 they had been taken out of a coffin, and examined one 
 another quietly. After this examination they turned 
 their eyes towards their leader, who, long acquainted with 
 the art of speaking to men of that class, improvised the 
 following little speech, pronounced with an energy truly 
 Gascon : — 
 
 “ Messieurs, you all know who I am. I have engaged 
 you knowing you are brave, and willing to associate you 
 with me in a glorious enterprise. Figure to yourselves that 
 in laboring for me you labor for the king. I only warn 
 you that if you allow anything of this supposition to ap- 
 pear, I shall be forced to crack your skulls immediately, 
 in the manner most convenient to me. You are not ig- 
 norant, Messieurs, that State secrets are like a mortal 
 poison : as long as that poison is in its box and the box 
 closed, it is not injurious ; out of the box it kills. Now 
 draw near, and you shall know as much of this secret as 
 I am able to tell you.” All drew close to him with an 
 expression of curiosity. “ Approach,” continued D’Ar- 
 tagnan, “and let not the bird which passes over our heads, 
 the rabbit which sports in the dunes, the tish which leaps 
 from the waters, hear us. Our business is to learn and to 
 report to Monsieur the superintendant of finance to what 
 extent English smuggling is injurious to the French mer- 
 chants. I will enter every place and wall see everything. 
 We are poor Picard fishermen, thrown upon the coast by 
 a storm. It is certain that we must sell fish, neither 
 more nor less, like true fishermen. Only people might 
 guess who we are, and might molest us ; it is therefore 
 
216 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 necessary that we should be in a condition to defend our- 
 selves. And this is why I have selected men of spirit 
 and courage. We will lead a steady life, and we shall 
 not incur much danger, seeing that we have behind us a 
 powerful protector, thanks to whom no embarrassment is 
 possible. One thing alone annoys me ; but I hope, after 
 a short explanation, you will relieve me from that diffi- 
 culty. The thing which annoys me is taking with me a 
 crew of stupid fishermen, who will be very much in the 
 way ; while if, by chance, there were among you any who 
 have seen the sea — ” 
 
 “ Oh ! let not that trouble you,” said one of the re- 
 cruits; “I was a prisoner among the pirates of Tunis 
 three years, and can manoeuvre a boat like an admiral.” 
 
 “See,” said D’Artagnan, “ what an admirable thing is 
 chance ! ” D’Artagnan pronounced these words with an 
 indefinable tone of feigned simplicity ; for D’Artagnan 
 knew very well that the victim of pirates was an old cor- 
 sair, and he had engaged him in consequence of that 
 knowledge. But D’Artagnan never said more than there 
 was occasion for saying, in order to leave people in 
 doubt. He was satisfied with the explanation, and wel- 
 comed the effect, without appearing to be preoccupied 
 with the cause. 
 
 “ And I,” said a second, — “ I, by chance, had an uncle 
 who directed the works of the port of La Bochelle. When 
 quite a child, I played about the boats, and I know how 
 to handle an oar or a sail as well as the best ocean 
 sailor.” 
 
 The last did not lie much more than the first, for he 
 had rowed on board his Majesty’s galleys six years, at 
 Ciotat. Two others were more frank: they confessed 
 honestly that they had served on board a vessel as 
 soldiers on punishment, and did not blush at it. D’Ar- 
 
D’ARTAGNAN ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 217 
 
 tagnan found himself, then, the leader of six soldiers and 
 four sailors, having at once a land army and a sea force ; 
 which would have carried the pride of Planchet to its 
 height, if Planchet had known the details. 
 
 Nothing was now left but the general orders, and D’Ar- 
 tagnan gave them with precision. He enjoined his men 
 to be ready to set out for the Hague, — some following the 
 coast which leads to Breskens, others the road to Ant- 
 werp. The rendezvous was given, by calculating each 
 day’s march, at fifteen days from that time, upon the chief 
 place at the Hague. D’Artagnan recommended his men 
 to go in couples, as they liked best, from sympathy. He 
 himself selected from among those with the least hang- 
 ing look, two guards whom he had formerly known, and 
 whose only faults were being drunkards and gamblers. 
 These men had not entirely lost all ideas of civilization, 
 and under proper habiliments their hearts would have 
 renewed their beatings. D’Artagnan, not to occasion 
 jealousy among the others, made the rest go forward. 
 He kept his two selected ones, clothed them from his own 
 kit, and set out with them. It was to these two, whom 
 he seemed to honor with an absolute confidence, that 
 D’Artagnan made a pretended avowal, designed to secure 
 the success of his expedition. He confessed to them that 
 the object was not to learn to what extent the French mer- 
 chants were injured by English smuggling, but to learn 
 how far French smuggling could annoy English trade. 
 These men appeared convinced ; they were effectively so. 
 D’Artagnan was quite sure that at the first debauch, 
 when thoroughly drunk, one of the two would divulge 
 the secret to the whole 4oand. His play appeared to him 
 
 infallible. 
 
 A fortnight after all we have said had taken place at 
 Calais, the whole troop assembled at the Hague. Then 
 
218 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 D’Artagnan perceived that all his men, with remarkable 
 intelligence, had already disguised themselves as sailors, 
 more or less ill-treated by the sea. D’Artagnan left them 
 to sleep in a cabin in Newkerke Street, while he lodged 
 comfortably upon the Grand Canal. He learned that 
 the King of England had come back to his old ally Wil- 
 liam II. of Nassau, Stadtholder of Holland. He learned 
 also that the refusal of Louis XIV. had a little cooled 
 the protection afforded him up to that time, and in con- 
 sequence he had gone to reside in a little village house at 
 Scheveningen, situated in the dunes, on the seashore, 
 about a league from the Hague. There, it was said, the 
 unfortunate banished king consoled himself in his exile, 
 by looking, with the melancholy peculiar to the princes 
 of his race, at that immense North Sea, which separated 
 him from his England, as it had formerly separated Marie 
 Stuart from France. There, behind the trees of the beau- 
 tiful wood of Scheveningen, on the fine sand upon which 
 grows the golden broom of the dune, Charles II. vegetated 
 as it did, — more unfortunate than it, for he had life and 
 thought, and he hoped and despaired by turns. 
 
 D’Artagnan went once as far as Scheveningen, in order 
 to be certain that all was true that was said of the king. 
 He beheld Charles II., pensive and alone, coming out of 
 a little door opening into the wood, and walking on the 
 beach in the setting sun, without even attracting the 
 attention of the fishermen who, on their return in the even- 
 ing, drew, like the ancient mariners of the Archipelago, 
 their barks up upon the sand of the shore. D’Artagnan 
 recognized the king ; he saw him fix his melancholy look 
 upon the immense extent of the waters, and absorb upon 
 his pale countenance the red rays of the sun already cut 
 by the black line of the horizon. Then Charles returned 
 to his isolated abode, still alone, still slow and sad, amus- 
 
D’ARTAGNAN ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 219 
 
 ing himself with making the friable and moving sand 
 creak beneath his feet. That very evening D’Artagnan 
 hired for a thousand livres a fishing-boat worth four 
 thousand. He paid the thousand livres down, and depos- 
 ited the three thousand with a burgomaster, after which 
 he embarked without their being seen, and in a dark 
 night, the six men who formed his land army ; and with 
 the rising tide, at three o’clock in the morning, he got 
 into the open sea, manoeuvring ostensibly with the four 
 others, and depending upon the science of his galley slave 
 as upon that of the first pilot of the port. 
 
220 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE AUTHOR, VERY UNWILLINGLY, IS FORCED 
 TO WRITE A LITTLE HISTORY. 
 
 While kings and men were thus occupied with England, 
 which governed itself quite alone, and which, it must be 
 said to its praise, had never been so badly governed, a 
 man upon whom God had fixed his eye and placed his 
 finger, a man predestined to write his name in brilliant 
 letters in the book of history, was pursuing in the face of 
 the world a work full of mystery and audacity. He went 
 on ; and no one knew whither he meant to go, although 
 not only England, but France, even Europe, watched him 
 marching with a firm step and lofty head. All that was 
 known of this man we are about to tell. Monk had just 
 declared for the liberty of the Rump Parliament, — a parlia- 
 ment which General Lambert, imitating Cromwell, whose 
 lieutenant he had been, had just blocked up so closely, in 
 order to bring it to his will, that no member, during all 
 the blockade, was able to go out, and only one, Peter 
 Wentworth, had been able to get in. Lambert and 
 Monk, — everything centred in these two men ; the 
 first representing military despotism, the second repre- 
 senting pure republicanism. These men were the two 
 sole political representatives of that revolution in which 
 Charles I. had at first lost his crown, and afterwards his 
 head. As regarded Lambert, he did not dissemble his 
 views ; he sought to establish a military government, and 
 to be himself the head of that government. 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 221 
 
 Monk — a rigid republican, some said — wished to main- 
 tain the Rump Parliament, that visible though degener- 
 ate representative of the republic. Monk — artful and 
 ambitious, said others — wished simply to make of this 
 parliament, which he affected to protect, a solid step by 
 which to mount the throne which Cromwell had made 
 empty, but upon which he had never dared to take his 
 seat. Thus Lambert by persecuting the Parliament, and 
 Monk by declaring for it, had mutually proclaimed them- 
 selves enemies of each other. Monk and Lambert, there- 
 fore, had at first thought of creating an army each for 
 himself, — Monk in Scotland, where were the Presbyter- 
 ians and the royalists, that is to say, the malecontents ; 
 Lambert in London, where was found, as is always the 
 case, the strongest opposition against the power which 
 w^as in sight. Monk had pacified Scotland ; he had 
 there formed for himself an army, and found an asylum. 
 The one watched the other. Monk knew that the day 
 was not yet come, the day marked by the Lord for a 
 great change ; his sword, therefore, appeared glued to the 
 sheath. Inexpugnable in his wild and mountainous Scot- 
 land, an absolute general, king of an army of eleven 
 thousand old soldiers, whom he had more than once led 
 on to victory ; as well informed, nay, even better, of the 
 affairs of London, than Lambert, who held garrison in the 
 city, — such was the position of Monk, when, at a hun- 
 dred leagues from London, he declared himself for the 
 parliament. Lambert, on the contrary, as we have said, 
 lived in the capital. That was the centre of all his oper- 
 ations, and he there collected around him all his friends, 
 and all the lower class of the people, always inclined to 
 cherish the enemies of constituted power. It was, then, 
 in London that Lambert learned of the support that, 
 from the frontiers of Scotland, Monk lent to the Parlia 
 
222 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 ment. He judged there was no time to be lost, and that 
 the Tweed was not so far distant from the Thames that 
 an army could not march from one river to the other, 
 especially if well commanded. He knew, besides, that as 
 fast as the soldiers of Monk penetrated into England, 
 they would form on their route that ball of snow, the em- 
 blem of the globe of fortune, which is for the ambitious 
 nothing but a step rising without cessation to lift him to 
 the object of his pursuit. He got together, then, his 
 army, formidable at the same time for its character and 
 its numbers, and hastened to meet Monk, who, on his 
 part, like a prudent navigator sailing amid rocks, ad- 
 vanced by very short marches, his nose to the wind, lis- 
 tening to the reports and scenting the air which came 
 from London. 
 
 The two armies came in sight of each other near New r - 
 castle. Lambert, arriving first, encamped in the city 
 itself. Monk, always circumspect, stopped w T here he was, 
 and placed his general quarters at Coldstream, on the 
 Tweed. The sight of Lambert spread joy through the 
 army of Monk, while, on the contrary, the sight of Monk 
 threw disorder into the army of Lambert. It might have 
 been believed that these intrepid warriors, who had made 
 such a noise in the streets of London, had set out with 
 the hopes of meeting no one, and that now, seeing that 
 they had met an army, and that that army hoisted before 
 them not only a standard, but still further, a cause and a 
 principle, — it might have been believed, we say, that 
 these intrepid warriors had begun to reflect that they 
 were less good republicans than the soldiers of Monk, — 
 since the latter supported the Parliament, while Lambert 
 supported nothing, not even himself. As to Monk, if he 
 had had to reflect, or if he did reflect, it must have been 
 after a sad fashion ; for history relates — and that modest 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 223 
 
 dame, it is well known, never lies — for history relates 
 that on the day of his arrival at Coldstream search was 
 made in vain throughout the place for a single sheep. 
 
 If Monk had commanded an English army, that would 
 have been enough to bring about a general desertion. 
 But it is not with the Scotch as it is with the English, to 
 whom that fluid flesh which is called blood is a para- 
 mount necessity ; the Scotch, a poor and sober race, live 
 upon a little barley crushed between two stones, diluted 
 with the water of the fountain, and cooked upon another 
 stone, heated. The Scotch, their distribution of barley 
 being made, cared very little whether there was or was 
 not any meat in Coldstream. Monk, little accustomed to 
 barley- cakes, was hungry ; and his staff, at least as hungry 
 as himself, looked with anxiety to the right and left, to 
 know what was being got ready for supper. Monk or- 
 dered search to be made ; his scouts had, on arriving in 
 the place, found it deserted and the cupboards empty ; 
 upon butchers and bakers it was of no use depending in 
 Coldstream. The smallest morsel of bread, then, could 
 not be found for the general’s table. 
 
 As accounts succeeded one another, all equally unsatis- 
 factory, Monk, seeing terror and discouragement upon 
 every face, declared that he was not hungry ; besides, 
 they should eat on the morrow, since Lambert was there 
 probably with the intention of giving battle, and conse- 
 quently of giving up his provisions if he were beaten in 
 Newcastle, or of delivering the soldiers of Monk from hun- 
 ger forever if he should be victorious. This consolation 
 was efficacious upon only a very small number ; but that 
 was of small importance to Monk, — for Monk was very ab- 
 solute, under the appearance of the most perfect mildness. 
 Every one, therefore, was obliged to be satisfied, or at 
 least to appear so. Monk, quite as hungry as his people, 
 
224 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 but affecting perfect indifference for the absent mutton, 
 cut a fragment of tobacco, half an inch long, from the 
 plug of a sergeant who formed part of his suite, and be- 
 gan to masticate the said fragment, assuring his lieuten- 
 ants that hunger was a chimera, and that, besides, people 
 were never hungry when they had anything to chew. 
 This pleasantry satisfied some of those who had resisted 
 Monk’s first deduction from the neighborhood of Lam- 
 bert’s army ; the number of the dissentients diminished 
 then greatly ; the guard took their posts, the patrols be- 
 gan, and the general continued his frugal repast under 
 his open tent. 
 
 Between his camp and that of the enemy stood an old 
 abbey, of which, at the present day, there only remain 
 some ruins, but which then was in good condition, and 
 was called Newcastle Abbey. It was built upon a vast 
 site, independent at once of the plain and of the river, 
 because it was almost a marsh fed by springs and kept 
 up by rains. Nevertheless, in the midst of these strips 
 of water, covered with long grass, rushes, and reeds, were 
 seen elevated solid spots of ground, consecrated formerly 
 to the kitchen-garden, the park, the pleasure-gardens, and 
 other dependencies of the abbey, — like one of those great 
 sea-spiders, whose body is round, while the claws radiate 
 from this circumference. The kitchen-garden, one of 
 the longest claws of the abbey, extended to the camp of 
 Monk. Unfortunately it was, as we have said, early in 
 June ; and the kitchen-garden, being abandoned, offered 
 no resources. Monk had ordered this spot to be guarded, 
 as most subject to surprises. The fires of the enemy’s 
 general were plainly to be perceived on the other side of 
 the abbey. But between these fires and the abbey ex- 
 tended the Tweed, unfolding its luminous scales beneath 
 the thick shade of tall green oaks. Monk was perfectly 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 225 
 
 well acquainted with this position, — Newcastle and its 
 environs having already more than once been his head- 
 quarters. He knew that by day his enemy might with- 
 out doubt throw a few scouts into these ruins and 
 provoke a skirmish, but that by night he would take 
 care to abstain from such a risk. He felt himself, there- 
 fore, in security. Thus his soldiers saw him, after what 
 he boastingly called his supper, — that is to say, after 
 the exercise of mastication already reported by us, — 
 like Napoleon on the eve of Austerlitz, sleeping seated 
 in his rush chair, half beneath the light of his lamp, 
 half beneath the reflection of the moon, which was be- 
 ginning its ascent into the heavens. This means that 
 it was nearly half-past nine in the evening. All at 
 once Monk was roused from his half-sleep, factitious 
 perhaps, by a troop of soldiers, who came with joyous 
 cries, and kicked the poles of his tent, making a con- 
 fusion of noises as if on purpose to wake him. There 
 was no need of so much noise ; the general opened his 
 eyes quickly. 
 
 “ Well, my children, what is going on now V 9 asked the 
 general. 
 
 “ General ! ” replied several voices at once, “ General ! 
 you shall have some supper.” 
 
 “ I have had my supper, gentlemen,” replied he, quietly, 
 “ and was comfortably digesting it, as you see. But come 
 in, and tell me what brings you hither.” 
 
 “ Good news, General.” 
 
 “ Bah ! Has Lambert sent us word that he will fight 
 to-morrow ? ” 
 
 “No; but we have just captured a fishing-boat con- 
 veying fish to Newcastle.” 
 
 “ And you have done very wrong, my friends. These 
 gentlemen from London are delicate, they are engaged in 
 VOL. i. — 15 
 
226 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 their first service ; you will put them sadly ouPof humor 
 this evening, and to-morrow they will be pitiless. It 
 would really be in good taste to send back to Lambert 
 both his fish and his fishermen, unless — ” and the 
 general reflected an instant. 
 
 “ Tell me,” continued he, “ what are these fishermen, 
 if you please ^ ” 
 
 “ Some Picard seamen who were fishing on the coasts 
 of France or Holland, and who have been thrown upon 
 ours by a gale of w T ind.” 
 
 “ Do any among them speak our language ” 
 
 “ The leader spoke some few words of English.” 
 
 The mistrust of the general was awakened in propor- 
 tion to the information given him. “That, is well,” said 
 he, “ I wish to see these men ; bring them to me.” 
 
 An officer immediately went to fetch them. 
 
 “ How many are there of them ? ” continued Monk ; 
 “ and what is their vessel ? ” 
 
 “ There are ten or twelve of them, General, and they 
 were aboard a kind of lugger, as they call it, — Dutch- 
 built, apparently.” 
 
 “ And you say they were carrying fish to Lambert’s 
 camp ^ ” 
 
 “ Yes, General, and they seem to have had good luck 
 in their fishing.” 
 
 “ Humph ! We shall see that,” said Monk. 
 
 At this moment the officer returned, bringing the 
 leader of the fishermen with him. He was a man from 
 fifty to fifty-five years old, but good-looking for his age. 
 He was of middle height, and wore a close-fitting coat 
 of coarse wool, and a cap pulled down over his eyes ; a 
 cutlass hung from his belt, and he walked with the hesi- 
 tation peculiar to sailors, who, never knowing, thanks to 
 the movement of the vessel, whether their foot will be 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 227 
 
 placed upon the plank or upon nothing, give to every one 
 of their steps a fall as firm as if they were driving a pile. 
 Monk, with an acute and penetrating look, examined the 
 fisherman for some time, while the latter smiled, with 
 that smile, half cunning, half silly, peculiar to French 
 peasants. 
 
 “Do you speak English V’ asked Monk, in excellent 
 French. 
 
 “Ah ! but badly, my Lord,” replied the fisherman. 
 
 This reply was made with the lively and sharp accent- 
 uation of the people beyond the Loire, rather than with 
 the slightly drawling accent of the countries on the west 
 and north of France. 
 
 “ But you do speak it ” persisted Monk, in order to 
 examine this accent once more. 
 
 “ Eh ! we men of the sea,” replied the fisherman, 
 “'speak a little of all languages.” 
 
 “ Then you are a sea- fisherman % ” 
 
 “ I am at present, my Lord, — a fisherman, and a famous 
 fisherman too. I have taken a barbel that weighs at least 
 thirty pounds, and more than fifty mullets ; I have also 
 some little whitings that will fry beautifully.” 
 
 “ You appear to me to have fished more frequently in 
 the Gulf of Gascony than in the Channel,” said Monk, 
 smiling. 
 
 “Well, I am from the south; but does that prevent 
 me from being a good fisherman, my Lord 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh ! not at all ; I will buy your fish. And now 
 speak frankly: for whom did you destine them'?” 
 
 “ My Lord, I will conceal nothing from you. I was 
 going to Newcastle, following the coast, when a party of 
 horsemen who were passing along in an opposite direc- 
 tion made a sign to my bark to turn back to your 
 Honor’s camp, under penalty of a discharge of musketry* 
 
228 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 As I was not armed for fighting,” added the fisherman, 
 smiling, “ I was forced to submit.” 
 
 “ And why did you go to Lambert’s camp in preference 
 to mine 1 ” 
 
 “ My Lord, I will be frank ; will your Lordship permit 
 me h ” 
 
 “ Yes, and even, if there be occasion, shall command 
 you to be so.” 
 
 “ Well, my Lord, I was going to M. Lambert’s camp 
 because those gentlemen from the city pay well ; while 
 your Scotchmen, Puritans, Presbyterians, Covenanters, or 
 whatever you choose to call them, eat but little, and pay 
 for nothing.” 
 
 Monk shrugged his shoulders, without, however, being 
 able to refrain from smiling at the same time. “How is 
 it that, being from the south, you come to fish on our 
 coasts ] ” 
 
 “ Because I have been fool enough to marry in Picardy.” 
 
 “Yes; but even Picardy is not England.” 
 
 “ My Lord, man shoves his boat into the sea, but God 
 and the wind do the rest, and drive the boat where they 
 please.” 
 
 “ You had, then, no intention of landing on our coasts ? ” 
 
 “ Never.” 
 
 “And what route were you steering'?” 
 
 “We were returning from Ostend, where some mack- 
 erel have, been seen already, when a sharp wind from the 
 south drove us from our course ; then, seeing that it was 
 useless to struggle against it, we let it drive us. It then 
 became necessary, not to lose our haul of fish, which was 
 large, to go and sell them at the nearest English port, 
 and that was Newcastle. We were told the opportunity 
 was good, as there was an increase of population in the 
 camp, an increase of population in the city; both we 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 229 
 
 were told were full of gentlemen, very rich and very 
 hungry. So we steered our course towards Newcastle.” 
 
 “And your companions, where are they'?” 
 
 “ Oh ! my companions have remained on board ; they 
 are sailors without the least education.” 
 
 “ While you — ” said Monk. 
 
 “Oh! I,” said the patron, laughing, — “I have sailed 
 about with my father; and I know what a sou, a crown, 
 a pistole, a louis, and a double-louis is called in all the 
 languages of Europe : my crew therefore listen to me as 
 they would to an oracle, and obey me as if I were an 
 admiral.” 
 
 “ Then it was you who preferred M. Lambert as the 
 best customer'?” 
 
 “Yes, certainly. And, to be frank, my Lord, was I 
 wrong 1 ” 
 
 “ You will see that by and by.” 
 
 “ At all events, my Lord, if there is a fault, the fault is 
 mine ; and my comrades should not be dealt hardly with 
 on that account.” 
 
 “ This is decidedly an intelligent, sharp fellow,” thought 
 Monk. Then, after a few minutes , silence employed in 
 scrutinizing the fisherman, “You come from Ostend, did 
 you not say *? ” asked the general. 
 
 “ Yes, my Lord, straight as a line.” 
 
 “ You have then heard some mention of the affairs of 
 the day ; for I have no doubt that both in France and 
 Holland they excite interest. What is he doing who calls 
 himself King of England 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, my Lord ! v cried the fisherman, with loud and 
 expansive frankness, “ that is a lucky question, and you 
 could not put it to anybody better than to me, for in 
 truth I can make you a famous reply. Imagine, my Lord, 
 that when putting into Ostend, to sell the few mackerel 
 
230 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 we had caught, I saw the ex-king walking on the dunes, 
 waiting for his horses which were to take him to the 
 Hague. He is a rather tall, pale man, with black hair, 
 and somewhat hard-featured. He looks ill, and I don’t 
 think the air of Holland agrees with him.” 
 
 Monk followed with the greatest attention the rapid, 
 heightened, and diffuse conversation of the fisherman, in 
 a language which was not his own, but which, as we have 
 said, he spoke with great facility. The fisherman, on his 
 part, employed sometimes a French word, sometimes an 
 English word, and sometimes a word which appeared not 
 to belong to any language, but was, in truth, pure Gascon. 
 Fortunately his eyes spoke for him, and that so eloquently, 
 that it was possible to lose a word from his mouth, but 
 not a single intention from his eyes. The general appeared 
 more and more satisfied with his examination. “You 
 must have heard that this ex-king, as you call him, was 
 going to the Hague for some purpose ? ” 
 
 “ Oh yes, certainly,” said the fisherman, “ I heard that.” 
 “ And what was his purpose *? ” 
 
 “ Always the same,” said the fisherman. “ Must he not 
 always entertain the fixed idea of returning to England'?” 
 “That is true,” said Monk, pensively. 
 
 “Without reckoning,” added the fisherman, “that the 
 stadtholder — you know, my Lord, William II.'? — ” 
 
 “ Well 1 ” 
 
 “ He will assist him with all his power.” 
 
 “ Ah ! did you hear that said *? ” 
 
 “ No, but I think so.” 
 
 “You are quite a politician, apparently,” said Monk. 
 “Why, we sailors, my Lord, who are accustomed to 
 study the water and the air — that is to say, the two 
 most mobile things in the world — are seldom deceived 
 as to the rest.” 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 231 
 
 “Now, then,” said Monk, changing the conversation, 
 “ I am told you are going to provision us. ,, 
 
 “ I will do my best, my Lord.” 
 
 “ How much do you ask for your fish, in the first place % ” 
 “Not such a fool as to name a price, my Lord.” 
 
 “Why not 1 ” 
 
 “ Because my fish is yours.” 
 
 “ By what right ? ” 
 
 “ By that of the strongest.” 
 
 “ But my intention is to pay you for it.” 
 
 “ That is very generous of you, my Lord.” 
 
 “ And to their full value — ” 
 
 “ My Lord, I do not ask it.” 
 
 “ What do you ask, then ^ ” 
 
 “ I only ask to be permitted to go away.” 
 
 “ Where h — to General Lambert’s camp 1 ” 
 
 “I ! ” cried the fisherman ; “ what should I go to New- 
 castle for, now I have no longer any fish h ” 
 
 “At all events, listen to me.” 
 
 “ I do, my Lord.” 
 
 “ I will give you counsel.” 
 
 “ How, my Lord 1 — pay me and give me good counsel 
 likewise ? You overwhelm me, my Lord.” 
 
 Monk looked more earnestly than ever at the fisherman, 
 of whom he still appeared to entertain some suspicion. 
 “Yes, I will pay you, and give you a piece of advice; 
 for the two things are connected. If you return, then, to 
 General Lambert — ” 
 
 The fisherman made a movement of his head and 
 shoulders, which signified, “If he persist in it, I won’t 
 contradict him.” 
 
 “ Do not cross the marsh,” continued Monk ; “ you will 
 have money in your pocket, and there are in the marsh 
 some Scotch ambuscaders I have placed there. Those 
 
232 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 people are very intractable ; they understand but very 
 little of the language which you speak, although it ap- 
 pears to me to be composed of three languages. They 
 might take from you what I had given you, and on your 
 return to your country you would not- fail to say that 
 General Monk has two hands, the one Scotch, and the 
 other English ; and that he takes back with the Scotch 
 hand what he has given with the English hand.” 
 
 “ Oh, General, I will go where you like, be sure of 
 that,” said the fisherman, with a fear too expressive not 
 to be exaggerated. “ I only wish to remain here, if you 
 will allow me to remain.” 
 
 “ I readily believe you,” said Monk, with an impercep- 
 tible smile, “ but I cannot, nevertheless, keep you in my 
 tent.” 
 
 “ I have no such wish, my Lord, and desire only that 
 your Lordship should point out where you will have me 
 posted. Do not trouble yourself about us, — with us 
 a night soon passes away.” 
 
 “ You shall be conducted to your boat.” 
 
 “As your Lordship pleases. Only, if your Lordship 
 would allow me to be taken back by a carpenter, I should 
 be extremely grateful.” 
 
 “Why so?” 
 
 “ Because the gentlemen of your army, in dragging 
 my boat up the river with a cable pulled by their horses, 
 have battered it a little upon the rocks of the shore, so 
 that I have at least two feet of water in my hold, my 
 Lord.” 
 
 “ The greater reason why you should watch your boat, 
 I think.” 
 
 “ My Lord, I am quite at your orders,” said the fisher- 
 man. “I will empty my baskets where you wish; then 
 you will pay me, if you please to do so ; and you will 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 233 
 
 send me away, if it appears right to you. You see I am 
 very easily managed, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Come, come, you are a very good sort of a fellow,” 
 said Monk, whose scrutinizing glance had not been able 
 to find a single shade in the limpid eye of the fisherman. 
 “Holloa, Digby ! ” An aide-de-camp appeared. “You 
 will conduct this good fellow and his companions to the 
 little tents of the canteens, in front of the marshes, so 
 that they will be near their bark, and yet not sleep on 
 board to-night. What is the matter, Spithead 1 ” 
 
 Spithead was the sergeant from whom Monk had bor- 
 rowed a piece of tobacco for his supper. Spithead having- 
 entered the general’s tent without being sent for, had 
 drawn this question from Monk. 
 
 “My Lord,” said he, “a French gentleman has just 
 presented himself at the outposts, and asks to speak to 
 your Honor.” 
 
 All this was said, be it understood, in English ; but, 
 notwithstanding, it produced a slight emotion on the 
 fisherman, which Monk, occupied with his sergeant, did 
 not remark. 
 
 “ Who is the gentleman ? ” asked Monk. 
 
 “ My Lord,” replied Spithead, “ he told it me ; but those 
 devils of French names are so difficult to be pronounced 
 by a Scotch throat, that I could not retain it. I believe, 
 however, from what the guards say, that it is the same 
 gentleman who presented himself yesterday at the halt, 
 and whom your Honor would not receive.” 
 
 “ That is true ; I was holding a council of officers.” 
 “Will your Honor give any orders respecting this 
 gentleman ? ” 
 
 “Yes, let him be brought here.” 
 
 “ Must we take any precautions 1 ” 
 
 “ Such as what 1 ” 
 
234 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Binding his eyes, for instance.” 
 
 “ To what purpose h He can only see what I desire 
 should be seen ; that is to say, that I have around me 
 eleven thousand brave men, who ask no better than to 
 have their throats cut in honor of the Parliament of 
 Scotland and England.” 
 
 “ And this man, my Lord 1 ” said Spithead, pointing 
 to the fisherman, who during this conversation had 
 remained standing and motionless, like a man who sees 
 but does not understand. 
 
 “ Ah ! that is true,” said Monk. Then turning towards 
 the fisherman, “ I shall see you again, my brave fellow,” 
 said he ; “ I have chosen you a lodging. Digby, take him 
 to it. Fear nothing ; your money shall he sent to you 
 presently.” 
 
 “ Thank you, my Lord,” said the fisherman ; and after 
 having bowed, he left the tent, accompanied by Digby. 
 Before he had gone a hundred paces he found his com- 
 panions, who were chattering with a volubility which did 
 not seem exempt from inquietude ; but he made them 
 a sign which seemed to reassure them. “ Holloa, you 
 fellows!” said the master, u come this way. His Lord- 
 ship, General Monk, has the generosity to pay us for 
 our fish, and the goodness to give us hospitality for 
 to-night.” 
 
 The fishermen gathered round their leader ; and, con- 
 ducted by Digby, the little troop proceeded towards the 
 canteens, — the post, as may be remembered, which had 
 been assigned them. As they went along in the dark, 
 the fishermen passed close to the guards who were con- 
 ducting the French gentleman to General Monk. This 
 gentleman was on horseback and enveloped in a large 
 cloak, which prevented the master from seeing him, how- 
 ever great his curiosity might be. As to the gentleman. 
 
HISTORICAL. 
 
 235 
 
 ignorant that he was elbowing compatriots, he did not 
 pay any attention to the little troop. 
 
 The aide-de-camp installed his guests in a tolerably 
 comfortable tent, from which was dislodged an Irish 
 canteen-woman, who went, with her six children, to sleep 
 where she could. A large fire was burning in front of 
 this tent, and threw its purple light over the grassy pools 
 of the marsh, rippled by a fresh breeze. The installation 
 made, the aide-de-camp wished the fishermen good-night, 
 calling to their notice that they might see from the door 
 of the tent the masts of their boat, which was tossing 
 gently on the Tweed, — a proof that it had not yet sunk. 
 The sight of this appeared to delight the leader of the 
 fishermen infinitely. 
 
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 2 3fi 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 THE TREASURE. 
 
 The French gentleman whom Spithead had announced 
 to Monk, and who had passed, so closely wrapped in his 
 cloak, by the fisherman who left the general’s tent five 
 minutes before he entered it, — the French gentleman 
 passed through the various posts without even casting 
 yiis eyes around him, for fear of appearing indiscreet. As 
 the order had been given, he was conducted to the tent 
 uf the general. The gentleman was left alone in the sort 
 of antechamber in front of the principal body of the tent, 
 where he awaited Monk, who only delayed till he had 
 Beard the report of his people, and observed through the 
 opening in the canvas the countenance of the person who 
 solicited an audience. Without doubt the report of those 
 who had accompanied the French gentleman emphasized 
 the discretion with which he had conducted himself y for 
 the first impression the stranger received of the welcome 
 made him by the general was more favorable than he 
 could have expected at such a moment, and on the part 
 of so suspicious a man. Nevertheless, according to his 
 custom when he found himself in the presence of a 
 stranger, Monk fixed upon him his penetrating eyes, 
 which scrutiny the stranger, on his part, sustained 
 without embarrassment or notice. At the end of a few 
 seconds the general made a gesture with his hand and 
 head in sign of attention. 
 
THE TREASURE. 
 
 237 
 
 “ My Lord,” said the gentleman, in excellent English, 
 “ I have requested an interview with your Honor, for an 
 affair of importance.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied Monk, in French, “ you speak our 
 language well for a son of the Continent. I ask your 
 pardon, — for doubtless the question is indiscreet, — do 
 you speak French with the same purity V’ 
 
 “ There is nothing surprising, my Lord, in my speaking 
 English tolerably ; I resided for some time in England in 
 my youth, and since then I have made two voyages to 
 this country.” These words were spoken in French, and 
 with a purity of accent that bespoke not only a French- 
 man, but a Frenchman from the environs of Tours. 
 
 “And what part of England have you resided in, 
 Monsieur ] ” 
 
 “In my youth, London, my Lord; then, about 1635, 
 I made a pleasure trip to Scotland; and lastly, in 1648, 
 I lived for some time at Newcastle, particularly in the 
 convent, the gardens of which are now occupied by your 
 army.” 
 
 “Excuse me, Monsieur; but you must comprehend 
 that these questions are necessary on my part, do you 
 not 1 ” 
 
 “ It would astonish me, my Lord, if they were not 
 made.” 
 
 “Now, then, Monsieur, what can I do to serve you 1 
 What do you desire of me 1 ” 
 
 “ This, my Lord, — but in the first place, are we 
 alone 1 ” 
 
 “Perfectly so, Monsieur, except, of course, the post 
 which guards us.” So saying, Monk pulled open the 
 canvas with his hand, and pointed to the soldier who was 
 placed at ten paces from the tent, and who at the first 
 call could have rendered assistance in a second. 
 
238 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ In that case, my Lord,” said the gentleman, in as 
 calm a tone as if he had been for a length of time in 
 habits of intimacy with his interlocutor, “ I have made 
 up my mind to address myself to you, because I believe 
 you to be an honest man. Indeed, the communication 
 I am about to make to you will prove to you the esteem 
 in which I hold you.” 
 
 Monk, astonished at this language, which established 
 between him and the French gentleman equality at least, 
 raised his piercing eye to the stranger’s face, and with 
 a sensible irony conveyed by the inflection of his voice 
 alone, — for not a muscle of his face moved, — “I thank 
 you, Monsieur,” said he; “ but, in the first place, to whom 
 have I the honor of speaking ? ” 
 
 “ I sent you my name by your sergeant, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Excuse him, Monsieur, he is a Scotchman, — he could 
 not retain it.” 
 
 “ I am called the Comte de la Fere, Monsieur,” said 
 Athos, bowing. 
 
 “ The Comte de la Fere 'l ” said Monk, endeavoring to 
 recollect the name. “ Pardon me, Monsieur, but this 
 appears to be the first time I have ever heard that name. 
 Do you fill any post at the court of France ? ” 
 
 “ None ; I am a simple gentleman.” 
 
 “ What dignity ? ” 
 
 “ King Charles I. made me a knight of the Garter, and 
 Queen Anne of Austria has given me the cordon of the 
 Holy Ghost. These are my only dignities.” 
 
 “The Garter! the Holy Ghost! Are you a knight of 
 those two orders, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And on what occasions have such favors been bestowed 
 upon you ? ” 
 
 “ For services rendered to their Majesties.” 
 
THE TREASURE. 
 
 239 
 
 Monk looked with astonishment at this man, who ap- 
 peared to him so simple and at the game time so grand. 
 Then, as if he had renounced endeavoring to penetrate 
 this mystery of a simplicity and grandeur upon which the 
 stranger did not seem disposed to give him any other in- 
 formation than that which he had already received, — 
 “ It was you,” he said, “ who presented yourself yesterday 
 at our advanced posts'?” 
 
 “And was sent back, — yes, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Many officers, Monsieur, would not permit anybody 
 to enter their camp, particularly on the eve of a probable 
 battle. But I differ from my colleagues, and like to leave 
 nothing behind me. Every piece of intelligence is good 
 to me : all danger is sent to me by God, and I weigh it 
 in my hand with the energy he has given me. So, 
 yesterday, you were sent back because I was holding 
 a council. To-day I am at liberty, — speak.” 
 
 “ My Lord, you have done the better in receiving me, 
 since what I have to say has nothing to do with the battle 
 you are about to fight with General Lambert, or with 
 your camp ; and the proof is, that I turned away my 
 head that I might not see your men, and closed my eyes 
 that I might not count your tents. No, I come to speak 
 to you, my Lord, on my own account.” 
 
 “ Speak, then, Monsieur,” said Monk. 
 
 “Just now,” continued Athos, “I had the honor of 
 telling your Lordship that I for a long time lived in 
 Newcastle ; it was in the time of Charles I., and when 
 the late king was given up to Cromwell by the Scots.” 
 
 “ I know,” said Monk, coldly. 
 
 “ I had at that time a large sum in gold, and on the 
 eve of the battle, from a presentiment, perhaps, of the 
 turn which things would take on the morrow, I concealed 
 it in the principal vault of the convent of Newcastle, in 
 
240 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the tower the summit of which you may see from here 
 silvered by the moon. My treasure has, then, remained 
 interred there, and I have come to entreat your Honor to 
 permit me to withdraw it before, perhaps, the battle 
 turning that way, a mine or some other enterprise of 
 war may destroy the building and scatter my gold, or 
 render it so exposed to view that the soldiers will take 
 possession of it.” 
 
 Monk was well acquainted with mankind ; he saw in 
 the physiognomy of this gentleman all the energy, all the 
 reason, all the circumspection possible ; he could there- 
 fore only attribute to a magnanimous confidence the 
 revelation the Frenchman had made him, and he showed 
 himself profoundly touched by it. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said he, “you have augured justly by me. 
 But is the sum worth the trouble to which you expose 
 yourself] Do you even believe that it can be in the 
 place where you left it ? ” 
 
 “ It is there, Monsieur, I do not doubt.” 
 
 “That is a reply to one question; but to the other. 
 I asked you if the sum were so large as to lead you to 
 expose yourself thus.” 
 
 “It is really large ; yes, my Lord, for it is a million I 
 enclosed in two casks.” 
 
 “ A million ! ” cried Monk, whom this time, in his turn, 
 Athos looked at earnestly and long. Monk perceived 
 this, and his mistrust returned. 
 
 “ Here is a man,” thought he, “ who is laying a snare for 
 me. — So you wish to withdraw this money, Monsieur,” 
 replied he, “ as I understand 1 ” 
 
 “If you please, my Lord.” 
 
 “To-day?” 
 
 “ This very evening, and that on account of the circum- 
 stances I have named.” 
 
THE TREASURE. 
 
 241 
 
 “But, Monsieur,” objected Monk, “General Lambert 
 is as near the abbey where you have to act as I am. 
 Why, then, have you not addressed yourself to him'?” 
 
 “ Because, my Lord, when one acts in important matters, 
 it is best to consult one’s instinct before everything. 
 Well, General Lambert does not inspire me with so much 
 confidence as you do.” 
 
 “ Be it so, Monsieur. I will assist you in recovering 
 your money, if indeed it can still be there ; for that is 
 far from likely. Since 1648 twelve years have rolled 
 away, and many events have taken place.” Monk dwelt 
 upon this point, to see if the French gentleman would 
 seize the evasions that were open to him ; but Athos was 
 inflexible. 
 
 “ I assure you, my Lord,” he said firmly, “that my con- 
 viction is that the two casks have changed neither place 
 nor master.” 
 
 This reply removed one suspicion from the mind of 
 Monk, but it suggested another. Without doubt this 
 Frenchman was some emissary sent to entice into error 
 the protector of the Parliament ; the gold was nothing but 
 a lure, and by the help of this they thought to excite the 
 cupidity of the general. This gold might not exist. It 
 was Monk’s business, then, to seize in the fact of false- 
 hood and trick the French gentleman, and to draw from 
 the false step itself in which his enemies wished to entrap 
 him, a triumph for his renown. When Monk was deter- 
 mined how to act, — 
 
 “Monsieur,” said he to Athos, “ will you do me the 
 honor to share my supper this evening ? ” 
 
 “Yes, my Lord,” replied Athos, bowing; “for you do 
 me an honor of which I feel myself w r orthy, by the incli- 
 nation which drew me towards you.” 
 
 “It is the more gracious on your part to accept my 
 VOL. Io — 16 
 
242 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 invitation with such frankness, because my cooks are but 
 few and inexpert, and my providers have returned this 
 evening empty-handed ; so that if it had not been for a 
 fisherman of your nation who strayed into our camp, 
 General Monk would have gone to bed without his supper 
 to-day. I have then some fresh fish to offer you, as the 
 vender assures me.” 
 
 “ My Lord, it is principally for the sake of having the 
 honor to pass an hour more with you.” 
 
 After this exchange of civilities, during which Monk 
 had lost nothing of his circumspection, the supper, or 
 that which was to serve for one, had been laid upon a 
 pine table. Monk made a sign to the Comte de la Fere 
 to be seated at this table, and took his place opposite to 
 him. A single dish filled with boiled fish, set before the 
 two illustrious guests, promised more to hungry stomachs 
 than to delicate palates. While supping, — that is, while 
 eating the fish, washed down with bad ale, — Monk got 
 Athos to recount to him the last events of the Fronde, 
 the reconciliation of M. de Conde with the king, and the 
 probable marriage of the king with the Infanta of Spain ; 
 but he avoided, as Athos himself avoided, all allusion to 
 the political interests which united, or rather which dis- 
 united at this time, England, France, and Holland. 
 Monk in this conversation convinced himself of one 
 thing, which he must have remarked at the first words 
 exchanged, — -that was, that he had to do with a man of 
 high distinction. Such a man could not be an assassin, 
 and it was repugnant to Monk to believe him to be a 
 spy; but there was sufficient subtlety as well as firmness 
 in Athos to lead Monk to fancy that he was a conspirator. 
 When they had quitted table, — 
 
 “You still believe in your treasure, then, Monsieur?” 
 asked Monk. 
 
THE TREASURE. 
 
 243 
 
 “Yes, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Seriously. ” 
 
 “ Quite seriously.” 
 
 “ And you think you can find again the place where it 
 was buried 1 ” 
 
 “At the first inspection.” 
 
 “Well, Monsieur, from curiosity I will accompany you. 
 And it is the more necessary that I should do so, since 
 you would find great difficulty in passing through the 
 camp without me or one of my lieutenants.” 
 
 “ General, I would not suffer you to inconvenience 
 yourself if I did not, in fact, stand in need of your com- 
 pany ; but as I recognize that this company is not only 
 honorable, but necessary, I accept it.” 
 
 “ Do you desire that we should take any people with 
 usk” asked Monk. 
 
 “ General, I believe that would be useless, if you your- 
 self do not see the necessity for it. Two men and a horse 
 will suffice to transport two casks on board the felucca 
 which brought me hither.” 
 
 “ But it will be necessary to pick, dig, and remove the 
 earth, and split stones ; you don’t reckon upon doing this 
 work yourself, Monsieur, do you 1 ” 
 
 “ General, there is no picking or digging required. 
 The treasure is buried in the sepulchral vault of the con- 
 vent, under a stone in which is fixed a large iron ring, 
 and under that a little stair of four steps opens. The 
 two casks are there, placed end to end, covered with a 
 coat of plaster in the form of a bier. There is, besides, an 
 inscription, which will enable me to recognize the stone ; 
 and as I am not willing, in an affair of delicacy and con- 
 fidence, to keep the secret from your Honor, here is the 
 inscription : ‘ Hie jacet venerabilis, Petrus Guilielmus 
 
 Scott, Canon Honorab. Conventus Novi Castelli. Obiit 
 
244 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 quarta et decima die Feb. ann. Dom. MCCYIII. Kequb 
 escat in pace.’ ” 
 
 Monk did not lose a single word. He was astonished 
 either at the marvellous duplicity of this man and the 
 superior style in which he played his part, or at the good 
 loyal faith with which he presented his request, in a situ- 
 ation in which was concerned a million of money, risked 
 against the stab of a poniard, amid an army that would 
 have considered the theft as a restitution. “ That is 
 well/’ said he ; “I will accompany you ; and the adven- 
 ture appears to me so wonderful that I will carry the 
 flambeau myself.” And saying these words, he girded on 
 a short sword, placed a pistol in his belt, disclosing in 
 this movement, which opened his doublet a little, the 
 fine rings of a coat of mail, designed to protect him 
 against the first poniard stroke of an assassin. After 
 which he took a Scotch dirk in his left hand, and then 
 turning to Athos, “ Are you ready, Monsieur ? ” said he. 
 
 “ I am.” 
 
 Athos, in contrast to what Monk had done, unfastened 
 his poniard, which he placed upon the table ; unhooked 
 his sword-belt, which he laid close to his poniard ; and 
 without affectation, opening his doublet as if to seek 
 his handkerchief, showed beneath his fine cambric shirt 
 his naked breast, without arms, either offensive or 
 defensive. 
 
 “ This is truly a singular man,” said Monk ; “ he is 
 without any arms ; he has an ambuscade placed some- 
 where yonder.” 
 
 “ General,” said he, as if he had divined Monk’s thought, 
 “you wish we should be alone. That is right, but a great 
 captain ought never to expose himself with temerity. It 
 is night, the passage of the marsh may present dangers ; 
 take others with you.” 
 
THE TREASURE. 
 
 245 
 
 “You are right/’ replied he, calling Digby. The aide- 
 de-camp appeared. “Fifty men with swords and mus- 
 kets,” said he, looking at Athos. 
 
 “ That is too few if there is danger, too many if there 
 is not.” 
 
 “ I will go alone,” said Monk. “ Digby, I want nobody. 
 Come, Monsieur.” 
 
246 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 THE MARCH. 
 
 Athos and Monk traversed, in going from the camp 
 towards the Tweed, that part of the ground which Digby 
 had traversed with the fisherman coming from the Tweed 
 to the camp. The aspect of this place, and the changes 
 man had wrought in it, were of a nature to produce a 
 great effect upon a lively and delicate imagination like 
 that of Athos. Athos looked at nothing but these deso- 
 late spots ; Monk looked at nothing but Athos, — at 
 Athos, who, with his eyes sometimes directed towards 
 heaven and sometimes towards the earth, sought, thought, 
 and sighed. Digby, whom the last orders of the general, 
 and particularly the accent with which he had given them, 
 had at first a little excited, — Digby followed the night- 
 walkers about twenty paces ; but the general having 
 turned round as if astonished to find that his orders had 
 not been obeyed, the aide-de-camp perceived his indiscre- 
 tion, and returned to his tent. He supposed that the 
 general wished to make, incognito, one of those vigilant 
 inspections which every experienced captain invariably 
 makes on the eve of a decisive engagement ; he ex- 
 plained to himself the presence of Athos in this case as 
 
 an inferior explains ail that is mysterious on the part of 
 
 his leader. Athos might be, and indeed in the eyes of 
 
 Digby must be, a spy, whose information was to enlighten 
 the general. 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 247 
 
 At the end of a walk of about ten minutes among the 
 tents and the posts, which were closer together near the 
 headquarters, Monk entered upon a little causeway which 
 diverged into three branches. That on the left led to 
 the river; that in the middle to Newcastle Abbey on the 
 marsh ; that on the right crossed the first lines of Monk’s 
 camp, — that is to say, the lines nearest to Lambert’s 
 army. Beyond the river was an advanced post, belong- 
 ing to Monk’s army, which watched the enemy ; it was 
 composed of one hundred and fifty Scots. They had 
 swam across the Tweed, giving the alarm ; but as there 
 was no bridge at that spot, and as Lambert’s soldiers 
 were not so prompt at taking to the water as Monk’s 
 were, the latter appeared not to have much uneasiness 
 on that side. On this side of the river, at about five 
 hundred paces from the old abbey, the fishermen had 
 taken up their abode amid a crowd of small tents raised 
 by the soldiers of the neighboring clans, who had with 
 them their wives and children. All this confusion, seen 
 by the moon’s light, presented a striking appearance ; 
 the half-shade enlarged every detail ; and the light — that 
 flatterer which only attaches itself to the polished side of 
 things — courted upon each rusty musket the point still 
 left unspotted, and upon every rag of canvas the whitest 
 and least sullied part. Monk arrived, then, with Athos, 
 crossing this spot illumined by a double light, the silver 
 splendor of the moon and the red blaze of the fires, at 
 the meeting of the three causeways; there he stopped, 
 and addressing his companion, “ Monsieur,” said he, “ do 
 you know your road 1 ” 
 
 “ General, if I am not mistaken, the middle causeway 
 leads straight to the abbey.” 
 
 “ That is right ; but we shall want lights to guide us 
 in the vaults.” Monk turned round. 
 
248 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Ah ! Digby has followed us, it appears,” said he. “ So 
 much the better ; he will procure us what we want.” 
 
 “ Yes, General, there is a man yonder who for some 
 time has been walking behind us.” 
 
 “ Digby!” cried Monk, “Digby! come here, if you 
 please.” 
 
 But instead of obeying, the shadow made a motion of 
 surprise, and retreating instead of advancing, bent down 
 and disappeared along the jetty on the left, directing its 
 course towards the lodging of the fishermen. 
 
 “ It appears that it was not Digby,” said Monk. 
 
 Both had followed the shadow which had vanished. 
 But it was not so rare a thing for a man to be wandering 
 about at eleven o’clock at night, in a camp in which are 
 reposing ten or eleven thousand men, as to give Monk 
 and Athos any alarm at that sudden disappearance. 
 
 “ And now,” said Monk, “ since we must have a light, 
 a lantern, a torch, something by which we may see where 
 to set our feet, let us seek this light.” 
 
 “ General, the first soldier we meet will light us.” 
 
 “ No,” said Monk, in order to discover if there were 
 not any connivance between the Comte de la Fere and 
 the fishermen, — “ no, I should prefer one of these French 
 sailors who came this evening to sell me their fish. They 
 will leave to-morrow, and the secret will be better kept 
 by them ; whereas, if a report should be spread in the 
 Scotch army that treasures are to be found in the Abbey 
 of Newcastle, my Highlanders will believe there is a 
 million concealed beneath every slab ; and they will not 
 leave one stone upon another in the building.” 
 
 “ Do as you think best, General,” replied Athos, in so 
 natural a tone of voice as made it evident that soldier or 
 fisherman was the same to him, and that he had no 
 preference. 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 249 
 
 Monk approached the causeway behind which had dis- 
 appeared the person he had taken for Digby, and met 
 a patrol who, making the tour of the tents, was going 
 towards headquarters ; he was stopped with his com- 
 panion, gave the password, and went on. A soldier, 
 roused by the noise, unrolled his plaid, and looked up 
 to see what was going forward. “ Ask him,” said Monk 
 to Athos, “ where the fishermen are ; if I were to speak to 
 him, he would know me.” 
 
 Athos went up to the soldier, who pointed out the tent 
 to him ; immediately Monk and Athos turned towards it. 
 It appeared to the general that at the moment they came 
 up, a shadow, like that they had already seen, glided into 
 this tent ; but on drawing nearer, he perceived that he 
 must have been mistaken, for all of them were asleep, ly- 
 ing confusedly, and nothing was seen but arms and legs 
 interlaced. Athos, fearing he should be suspected of 
 connivance with some one of his compatriots, remained 
 outside the tent. 
 
 “ Holloa ! ” said Monk, in .French, “ wake up here ! ” 
 Two or three of the sleepers got up. “ I want a man to 
 light me,” continued Monk. 
 
 All made a movement, — some half-rising, the rest 
 standing up. The leader was the first to rise. 
 
 “ Your Honor may depend upon us,” said a voice which 
 made Athos start. “ Where do you wish us to go ? ” 
 
 “ You shall see. A light ! Come quickly ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, your Honor. Does it please your Honor that I 
 should accompany you ? ” 
 
 “You or another, — it is of very little consequence, 
 provided I have a light.” 
 
 “ It is strange ! ” thought Athos ; “ what a singular voice 
 that fisherman has ! ” 
 
 “ Some fire, you sirs ! ” cried the fisherman ; “ qome, 
 
250 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 make haste ! ” Then addressing in a low voice his com- 
 panion nearest to him, “ Get a light, Menneville,” said 
 he, “and hold yourself ready for anything.” 
 
 One of the fishermen struck light from a stone, set 
 fire to some tinder, and by the aid of a match lighted a 
 lantern. The light immediately spread all over the tent. 
 
 “Are you ready, Monsieur?” said Monk to Athos, 
 who had turned away, not to expose his face to the light. 
 
 “Yes, General,” replied he. 
 
 “Ah ! the French gentleman !” said the leader of the 
 fishermen to himself. “ Peste ! I have a great mind to 
 charge you with the commission, Menneville ; he may 
 know me. Light ! light ! ” This dialogue was pro- 
 nounced at the back of the tent, and in so low a voice 
 that Monk could not hear a syllable of it ; he was, besides, 
 talking with Athos. Menneville got himself ready in the 
 mean time, or rather received the orders of his leader. 
 
 “ Well ? ” said Monk. 
 
 “ I am ready, General,” said the fisherman. 
 
 Monk, Athos, and the fisherman left the tent. 
 
 “It is impossible!” thought Athos. “What dream 
 could put that into my head ? ” 
 
 “Go forward; follow the middle causeway, and stretch 
 out your legs,” said Monk to the fisherman. 
 
 They were not twenty paces on their way, when the 
 same shadow that had appeared to enter the tent came 
 out of it again, crawled along as far as the piles, and, 
 protected by that sort of parapet placed along the cause- 
 way, carefully observed the march of the general. All 
 three disappeared in the night haze. They were walking 
 towards Newcastle, the white stones of which they could 
 already see, appearing like tombstones. After standing 
 for a few seconds under the porch, they penetrated into 
 the interior. The door had been broken open by hatchets. 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 251 
 
 A post of four men slept in safety in a corner ; so certain 
 were they that the attack would not take place on that 
 side. 
 
 “Will not these men be in your way 1 ?” said Monk to 
 Athos. 
 
 “ On the contrary, Monsieur, they will assist in rolling 
 out the casks, if your Honor will permit them.” 
 
 “ You are right.” 
 
 The post, although fast asleep, roused up at the first 
 steps of the three visitors among the briers and grass that 
 had invaded the porch. Monk gave the password, and 
 penetrated into the interior of the convent, preceded by 
 the light. He walked last, watching even the least move- 
 ment of Athos, his naked dirk in his sleeve, and ready to 
 plunge it into the back of the gentleman at the first sus- 
 picious gesture he should see him make. But Athos, 
 with a firm and sure step, traversed the chambers and 
 courts. Not a door, not a window, was left in this build- 
 ing. The doors had been burnt, some upon the spot, 
 and the charcoal of them was still jagged with the action 
 of the fire, which had gone out of itself, powerless, no 
 doubt, to get to the heart of those massive joints of oak 
 fastened together by iron nails. As to the windows, all 
 the panes having been broken, birds of darkness, alarmed 
 by the torch, flew away through the holes of them. At 
 the same time gigantic bats began to trace their vast, 
 silent circles around the intruders, while their shadows 
 appeared trembling upon the lofty stone-walls in the light 
 projected by the torch. That spectacle was reassuring to 
 men of reasoning minds. Monk concluded there could 
 be no man in the convent, since wild creatures were there, 
 who flew away at his approach. After having passed the 
 rubbish, and torn away more than one branch of ivy that 
 had made itself a guardian for the solitude, Athos arrived 
 
252 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 at the vaults situated beneath the great hall, but entered 
 from the chapel. There he stopped. 
 
 ‘‘Here we are, General/’ said he. 
 
 “ This, then, is the slab?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Ay, and here is the ring ; but the ring is sealed 
 flatwise on the stone.” 
 
 “We must have a lever.” 
 
 “ That ’s a thing very easy to find.” 
 
 While looking round them, Athos and Monk perceived 
 a little ash of about three inches in diameter, which had 
 shot up in an angle of the wall, reaching to a window, 
 which its branches darkened. 
 
 “ Have you a cutlass ? ” said Monk to the fisherman. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Cut down this tree, then.” 
 
 The fisherman obeyed, but not without notching his 
 cutlass. When the ash was cut and fashioned into the 
 shape of a lever, the three men penetrated into the 
 vault. 
 
 “ Stop there ! ” said Monk to the fisherman, pointing to 
 a corner of the cavern. “We are going to dig up some 
 powder; your light may be dangerous.” 
 
 The man drew back in a sort of terror, and faithfully 
 kept to the post assigned him, while Monk and Athos 
 turned behind a column at the foot of which, through a 
 small opening, penetrated a moonbeam, reflected exactly 
 by the stone of which the Comte de la Fere had come so 
 far in search. 
 
 “ This is it,” said Athos, pointing out to the general 
 the Latin inscription. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Monk. 
 
 Then, as if still willing to leave the Frenchman a 
 means of evasion, “ Do you not observe that this vault 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 253 
 
 has already been broken into,” continued he, “ and that 
 several statues have been knocked down ? 99 
 
 “ My Lord, you have, without doubt, heard it said that 
 the religious devotion of your Scots loves to confide to the 
 statues of the dead the valuable objects they have pos- 
 sessed during their lives. Therefore the soldiers had 
 reason to think that under the pedestals of the statues 
 which ornament most of these tombs, a treasure was 
 hidden. They have consequently broken down pedestal 
 and statue ; but the tomb of the venerable canon, with 
 which we have to do, is not distinguished by any monu- 
 ment. It is simple ; therefore it has been protected by 
 the superstitious fear which your Puritans have always 
 had of sacrilege. Not a morsel of the masonry of this 
 tomb has been chipped off.” 
 
 “That is true,” said Monk. 
 
 Athos seized the lever. 
 
 “ Shall I help you V : 9 said Monk. 
 
 “Thank you, my Lord; but I am not willing your 
 Honor should put your hand to a work of which, perhaps, 
 you would not take the responsibility if you knew the 
 probable consequences of it.” 
 
 Monk raised his head. 
 
 “ What do you mean by that, Monsieur?” 
 
 “ I mean — Rut that man — ” 
 
 “ Stop,” said Monk ; “ I perceive what you are afraid 
 of. I will test him.” Monk turned towards the fisher- 
 man, whose profile, illuminated by the torch, he could 
 clearly see. 
 
 “ Come here, friend ! ” said he, in English, in a tone of 
 command. The fisherman did not stir. 
 
 “That is well,” continued he: “he does not know 
 English. Speak to me, then, m English, if you please, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
254 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “My Lord/’ replied Athos, “I have frequently seen 
 men in certain circumstances have such command over 
 themselves as not to reply to a question put to them in 
 a language they understood. The fisherman is perhaps 
 more knowing than we believe him to be. Send him 
 away, my Lord, I beg of you.” 
 
 “Decidedly,” thought Monk, “he wishes to have me 
 alone in this vault. Never mind, we will go through with 
 it; one man is as good as another man ; and we are alone. 
 — My friend,” said Monk to the fisherman, “go back up 
 the stairs we have just descended, and watch that no- 
 body comes to disturb us.” The fisherman made a sign 
 of obedience. “ Leave your torch,” said Monk ; “ it 
 would betray your presence, and might procure you a 
 musket-ball.” 
 
 The fisherman appeared to appreciate the counsel ; he 
 laid down the light, and disappeared under the vault of 
 the stairs. Monk took up the torch and brought it to 
 the foot of the column. 
 
 “ Ah, ah ! ” said he ; “ money, then, is concealed under 
 this tomb 1 ” 
 
 “Yes, my Lord; and in five minutes you will no 
 longer doubt it.” 
 
 At the same time Athos struck a violent blow upon 
 the plaster, which split, presenting a chink for the point 
 of the lever. Athos introduced the bar into this crack ; 
 and soon large pieces of plaster yielded, rising up like 
 rounded slabs. Then the Comte de la Fere seized the 
 stones and threw them away with a force that hands so 
 delicate as his might not have been supposed capable of. 
 
 “My Lord,” said Athos, “this is plainly the masonry 
 of which I told your Honor.” 
 
 “Yes ; but I do not yet see the casks,” said Monk. 
 
 “ If I had a poniard,” said Athos, looking round him. 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 255 
 
 “ you should soon see them, Monsieur. Unfortunately 
 I left mine in your tent.” 
 
 “I would willingly offer you mine,” said Monk, “but 
 the blade is too thin for such work.” 
 
 Athos appeared to look around him for something that 
 might serve as a substitute for the weapon he desired. 
 Monk did not lose one of the movements of his hands, or 
 one of the expressions of his eyes. 
 
 “ Why do you not ask the fisherman for his cutlass % ” 
 said Monk; “he had a cutlass.” 
 
 “Ah ! that is true,” said Athos, “for he cut the tree 
 down with it ; ” and he advanced towards the stairs. 
 
 “Friend,” said he to the fisherman, “throw me down 
 your cutlass, if you please ; I want it.” 
 
 The noise of the falling weapon echoed over the stones 
 of the vault. 
 
 “ Take it,” said Monk ; “ it is a solid instrument, as 
 I have seen, and a strong hand might make good use 
 of it.” 
 
 Athos appeared to give the words of Monk only the 
 natural and simple sense which most obviously belonged 
 to them. Nor did he remark, or at least appear to re- 
 mark, that when he returned with the weapon, Monk 
 drew back, placing his left hand on the stock of his 
 pistol ; in the right he already held his dirk. Athos 
 went to work then, turning his back to Monk, placing his 
 life in his hands without possible defence. He then 
 struck, for several seconds, so skilfully and sharply upon 
 the intermediary plaster, that it separated in two parts, 
 and Monk was able to discern two casks placed end to 
 end, which their weight maintained motionless in their 
 chalky envelope. 
 
 “ My Lord,” said Athos, “ you see that my presenti- 
 ments have not been disappointed.” 
 
256 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur/’ said Monk, “and I have good reason 
 to believe you are satisfied ; are you not ] ” 
 
 “ Doubtless I am ; the loss of this money would have 
 been inexpressibly great to me ; but I was certain that 
 God, who protects the good cause, would not have per- 
 mitted this gold, which should procure its triumph, to be 
 diverted to baser purposes.” 
 
 “You are, upon my honor, as mysterious in your words 
 as in your actions, Monsieur,” said Monk. “ Just now 
 I did not perfectly understand you when you said that 
 you were not willing to throw upon me the responsibility 
 of the work we were accomplishing.” 
 
 “I had reason to say so, my Lord.” 
 
 “ And now you speak to me of the good cause. What 
 do you mean by the words ‘the good cause’] We are 
 defending at this moment, in England, five or six causes ; 
 which does not prevent every one from considering his 
 own, not only as the good cause, but as the best. What 
 is yours, Monsieur] Speak boldly, that we may see if 
 upon this point, to which you appear to attach great 
 importance, we are of the same opinion.” 
 
 Athos fixed upon Monk one of those penetrating looks 
 which seem to convey to him on whom they rest a chal- 
 lenge to conceal a single one of his thoughts ; then, 
 taking off his hat, he began in a solemn voice, while his 
 interlocutor, with one hand upon his face, allowed that 
 long and nervous hand to compress his mustache and 
 beard, at the same time that his vague and melancholy 
 eye wandered about the recesses of the vaults. 
 
HEAR1' AND MIND. 
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 HEART AND MIND. 
 
 “ My Lord,” said the Comte de la Fere, “ you are a noble 
 Englishman, you are a loyal man ; you are speaking to 
 a noble Frenchman, to a man of heart. This gold con- 
 tained in these two casks before us, I have told you was 
 mine. I was wrong ; it is the first lie I have pronounced 
 in my life, — a temporary lie, it is true. This gold is the 
 property of King Charles II., exiled from his country, 
 driven from his palaces, losing at once his father and his 
 throne, and deprived of everything, even of the melan- 
 choly happiness of kissing on his knees the stone upon 
 which the hands of his murderers have written that 
 simple epitaph which will eternally cry out for vengeance 
 upon them : ‘ Here lies Charles I.’ ” 
 
 Monk grew slightly pale, and an imperceptible shudder 
 crept over his skin and raised his gray mustache. 
 
 “ I,” continued Athos, — “ I, Comte de la Fere, the 
 last, the only faithful friend the poor abandoned prince 
 has left, — I have offered to come hither to find the 
 man upon whom now depends the fate of royalty and 
 of England ; and I have come, and have placed myself 
 under the eye of this man, naked and unarmed in his 
 hands, saying : 4 My Lord, here is the last resource of 
 a prince whom God made your master, whom his birth 
 made your king; upon you, and you alone, depend his 
 life and his future. Will you employ this money in con- 
 soling England for the evils it must have suffered from 
 
 VOL. i. — 1 7 
 
258 
 
 THE V1C0MTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 anarchy ; that is to say, will you aid King Charles II. ; 
 or if not that, will you leave him free to act 1 You are 
 master; you are king, — all-powerful master and king, for 
 chance sometimes defeats the work of time and God/ I 
 am here alone with you, my Lord. If the success being 
 divided alarms you, if my complicity annoys you, you are 
 armed, my Lord, and here is a grave ready-dug. If, on 
 the contrary, the enthusiasm of your cause carries you 
 away ; if you are what you appear to be ; if your hand in 
 what it undertakes obeys your mind, and your mind your 
 heart, — here are the means of ruining forever the cause 
 of your enemy, Charles Stuart. Kill, then, the man you 
 have before you, — for that man will never return to him 
 who has sent him without bearing with him the deposit 
 which Charles I., his father, confided to him, — and keep 
 the gold which may assist in carrying on the civil war. 
 Alas ! my Lord, it is the fate of this unfortunate prince. 
 He must either corrupt or kill, — for everything resists 
 him, everything repulses him, everything is hostile to 
 him ; and yet he is marked with the divine seal, and he 
 must, not to belie his blood, reascend the throne, or die 
 upon the sacred soil of his country. 
 
 “My Lord, you have heard me. To any other but 
 the illustrious man who listens to me, I would have said : 
 4 My Lord, you are poor ; my Lord, the king offers you 
 this million as an earnest of an imm'ense profit ; take it, 
 and serve Charles II. as I served Charles I., and I feel 
 assured that God, who listens to us, who sees us, who 
 alone reads your heart, shut up from all human eyes, 
 — I am assured God will give you a happy eternal life 
 after a happy death/ But to General Monk, to the 
 illustrious man of whose height I believe I have taken 
 measure, I say : ‘ My Lord, there is for you in the his- 
 tory of peoples and kings a brilliant place, an immortal, 
 
HEART AND MIND. 
 
 259 
 
 imperishable glory, if alone, without any other interests 
 but those of justice and the good of your country, 
 you become the supporter of your king. Many others 
 have been conquerors and glorious usurpers ; you, my 
 Lord, you will be content with being the most virtuous? 
 the most honest, and the most incorruptible of men : you 
 will have held a crown in your hand, and instead of 
 placing it upon your own brow, you will have deposited 
 it upon the head of him for whom it was made. Oh, my 
 Lord, act thus, and you will leave to posterity the most 
 enviable of names, in which no human creature can rival 
 you ! ’ ” 
 
 Athos stopped. During the whole time that the noble 
 gentleman was speaking, Monk had not given one sign 
 of either approbation or disapprobation ; scarcely even, 
 during this vehement appeal, had his eyes been animated 
 with that fire which bespeaks intelligence. The Comte 
 de la Fere looked at him sorrowfully, and on seeing that 
 melancholy countenance, felt discouragement penetrate 
 to his very heart. At length Monk appeared to recover, 
 and broke the silence. 
 
 “Monsieur,” said he, in a mild, calm tone, “ in reply 
 to you, I will make use of your own words. To any 
 other but yourself I would reply by expulsion, imprison- 
 ment, or still worse ; for, in fact, you tempt me and you 
 force me at the same time. But you are one of those 
 men, Monsieur, to whom it is impossible to refuse the 
 attention and respect they merit ; you are a brave gen- 
 tleman, Monsieur, — I say so, and I am a judge. You 
 just now spoke of a deposit which the late king trans- 
 mitted to his son ; are you, then, one of those Frenchmen 
 who, as I have heard, endeavored to carry olf Charles I. 
 from Whitehall?” 
 
 “Yes, my Lord; it was I who was beneath the scaffold 
 
260 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 during the execution, — I who, having been unable to save 
 him, received upon my brow the blood of the martyred 
 king. I received, at the same time, the last word of 
 Charles I. ; it was to me he said, 4 Bemember ! ’ and in 
 saying to me 4 Bemember ! ’ he made allusion to the 
 money at your feet, my Lord.” 
 
 44 1 have heard much of you, Monsieur,” said Monk, 
 44 but I am happy, in the first place, to have appreciated 
 you by my own inspiration, and not by my remembrances. 
 I will give you, then, explanations that I have given to 
 no other, and you will appreciate what a distinction I 
 make between you and the persons who have hitherto 
 been sent to me.” 
 
 Athos bowed, and prepared to absorb greedily the 
 words which fell, one by one, from the mouth of Monk, 
 — words rare and precious as the dew in the desert. 
 
 44 You spoke to me,” said Monk, 44 of Charles II. ; but 
 pray, Monsieur, of what consequence to me is that phan- 
 tom of a king £ I have grown old in war and in politics, 
 which are nowadays so closely linked together that every 
 man of the sword must fight, in virtue of his rights or 
 his ambition, with a personal interest, and not blindly 
 behind an officer, as in ordinary wars. For myself, I 
 perhaps desire nothing, but I fear much. In the war of 
 to-day resides the liberty of England, and perhaps that 
 of every Englishman. How can you expect that I, free 
 in the position I have made for myself, should go willingly 
 and hold out my hands to the shackles of a stranger? 
 That is all Charles is to me. He has fought battles here 
 which he has lost ; he is therefore a bad captain. He has 
 succeeded in no negotiation ; he is therefore a bad diplo- 
 matist. He has paraded his wants and his miseries in all 
 the courts of Europe ; he has therefore a weak and pusil- 
 lanimous heart. Nothing noble, nothing great, nothing 
 
HEART AND MIND. 
 
 261 
 
 strong, has hitherto emanated from that genius which 
 aspires to govern one of the greatest kingdoms of the 
 earth. I know this Charles, then, under none but bad 
 aspects ; and yet you would wish me, a man of good sense, 
 to go and make myself gratuitously the slave of a creature 
 who is inferior to me in military capacity, in politics, and 
 in dignity! No, Monsieur. When some great and noble 
 action shall have taught me to value Charles, I will per- 
 haps recognize his rights to a throne from which we have 
 cast the father because he lacked virtues which up to this 
 time are wanting also in his son. But hitherto, in the 
 matter of rights, I recognize only my own : the Bevolu- 
 tion made me a general; my sword will make me pro- 
 tector, if I wish it. Let Charles show himself, let him 
 present himself, let him submit to the competitions open 
 to genius ; and, above all, let him remember that he is 
 of a race from whom more will be looked for than 
 from any other. Therefore, Monsieur, say no more about 
 him. I neither refuse nor accept : I reserve myself — I 
 wait.” 
 
 Athos knew Monk to be too well informed of all con- 
 cerning Charles to venture to urge the discussion further ; 
 it was neither the time nor the place. “My Lord,” then 
 said he, “ I have nothing to do but to thank you.” 
 
 “And for what, Monsieur'? For your having formed 
 a correct opinion of me, and for my having acted accord- 
 ing to your judgment'? Is that, in truth, worthy of 
 thanks'? This gold which you are about to carry to 
 Charles will serve me as a test for him ; in seeing the use 
 he will make of it I shall have an opinion, which now I 
 have not.” 
 
 “And yet does not your Honor fear to compromise 
 yourself by allowing such a sum to be carried away for 
 the service of your enemy *? ” 
 
262 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ My enemy, say you? Eh, Monsieur, I have no 
 enemies. I am in the service of the Parliament, which 
 orders me to combat General Lambert and King Charles, 
 
 — its enemies, and not mine. I combat them. If the 
 Parliament, on the contrary, ordered me to unfurl my 
 standards at London, to assemble my soldiers on the 
 banks of the Thames to receive Charles II. — ” 
 
 “You would obey?” cried Athos, joyfully. 
 
 “Pardon me,” said Monk, smiling, “I was going — I, 
 a gray-headed man — in truth, how did I forget myself? 
 
 — I was going to speak like a foolish young man.” 
 
 “ Then you would not obey ? ” said Athos. 
 
 “ I do not say that either, Monsieur. The welfare of 
 my country before everything. God, who has given me 
 the power, has, no doubt, willed that I should use that 
 power for the good of all ; and he has given me, at the 
 same time, discernment. If the Parliament were to order 
 such a thing, I should — reflect.” 
 
 The brow of Athos became clouded. “ Then I may 
 decidedly say that your Honor is not inclined to favor 
 King Charles II. ? ” 
 
 “ You continue to question me, Monsieur the Count ; 
 allow me, in my turn, if you please.” 
 
 “ Do, Monsieur ; and may God inspire you with the 
 idea of replying to me as frankly as I will reply to you.” 
 
 “ When you shall have taken this money back to your 
 prince, what advice will you give him ? ” 
 
 Athos fixed upon Monk a proud and resolute look. 
 “ My Lord,” said he, “ with this million, which others 
 would perhaps employ in negotiating, I would advise the 
 king to raise two regiments ; to enter by Scotland, which 
 you have just pacified ; to give to the people the fran- 
 chises which the revolution promised them, and in which 
 it has not in all cases kept its word. I should advise 
 
HEART AND MIND. 
 
 263 
 
 him to command in person this little army, — which 
 would, believe me, increase, — and to die, standard in 
 hand, and sword in its sheath, saying, ‘ Englishmen ! I 
 am the third king of my race you have killed ; beware 
 of the justice of God ! ’ ” 
 
 Monk hung down his head, and mused for an instant. 
 “ If he succeeded,” said he, — “ which is very improbable, 
 but not impossible, for everything is possible in this 
 world, — what would you advise him to do ? ” 
 
 “ To think that by the will of God he lost his crown, 
 but by the good will of men he has recovered it.” 
 
 An ironical smile passed over the lips of Monk. “Un- 
 fortunately, Monsieur,” said he, “ kings do not know how 
 to follow good advice.” 
 
 “ Ah, my Lord, Charles II. is not a king,” replied 
 Athos, smiling in his turn, but with a very different ex- 
 pression from that of Monk. 
 
 “ Let us terminate this conversation, Monsieur the 
 Count, — that is your desire, is it not ? ” 
 
 Athos bowed. 
 
 “ I will give orders that these two casks shall be trans- 
 ported whither you please. Where are you lodging, 
 Monsieur? ” 
 
 “ In a little bourg at the mouth of the river, your Honor.” 
 
 f Oh, I know the bourg ; it consists of five or six 
 houses, does it not ? ” 
 
 “Exactly. Well, I inhabit the first. Two net-makers 
 occupy it with me ; it is their boat which placed me on 
 shore.” 
 
 “ But your own vessel, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ My vessel is at anchor, a quarter of a mile at sea, and 
 waits for me.” 
 
 “ You do not think, however, of setting out imme- 
 diately ? ” 
 
264 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNK 
 
 66 My Lord, I shall try once more to convince your 
 Honor.” 
 
 “You will not succeed,” replied Monk; “ but it is of 
 consequence that you should quit Newcastle without 
 leaving on your passage the least suspicion that might 
 prove injurious to you or to me. To-morrow my officers 
 think Lambert will attack me. I, on the contrary, will 
 guarantee that he will not stir ; it is, in my opinion, im- 
 possible. Lambert leads an army devoid of homogeneous 
 principles, and there is no possible army with such ele- 
 ments. I have taught my soldiers to consider my au- 
 thority subordinate to another, the result being that after 
 me, around me, and beneath me they still look for some- 
 thing. And the consequence is, that if I were dead, which 
 might happen, my army would not be demoralized all at 
 once ; that if I chose to absent myself, for instance, as it 
 does please me to do sometimes, there would not be in 
 my camp the shadow of uneasiness or disorder. I am the 
 magnet, — the sympathetic and natural strength of the 
 English. All those scattered arms that will be sent 
 against me I shall attract to myself. Lambert, at this 
 moment, commands eighteen thousand deserters ; but I 
 have never mentioned that to my officers, you may easily 
 suppose. Nothing is more useful to an army than the 
 expectation of a coming battle ; everybody is awake, 
 everybody is on his guard. I tell you this that you may 
 live in perfect security. Do not be in a hurry, then, to 
 cross the seas ; within a week there will be something 
 new, either a battle or an accommodation. Then, as you 
 have judged me to be an honorable man, and confided 
 your secret to me, and I have to thank you for this con- 
 fidence, I will come and pay you a visit or send for 
 you. Do not go before I send you word. I repeat the 
 request.” 
 
HEART AND MIND. 
 
 265 
 
 “I promise you, General,” cried Athos, with a joy so 
 great, that, in spite of all his circumspection, he could not 
 prevent its sparkling in his eyes. 
 
 Monk surprised this flash, and immediately extinguished 
 it by one of those mute smiles which always, with his in- 
 terlocutors, closed the entrance they believed they had 
 made into his mind. 
 
 “ Then, my Lord, you desire me to wait a week ? ” 
 
 “ A week, — yes, Monsieur. ” 
 
 “ And during this week what shall I do 1 ” 
 
 “If there should be a battle, keep at a distance from 
 it, I conjure you. I know the French delight in such 
 amusements ; you might take a fancy to see how we 
 fight, and you might receive a wandering bullet. Our 
 Scots are very bad marksmen, and I do not wish that 
 a worthy gentleman like you should return to France 
 wounded. I should not like, either, to be obliged myself 
 to send to your prince his million left here by you ; for 
 then it would be said, and with reason, that I paid the 
 pretender to enable him to make war against the Parlia- 
 ment. Go, then, Monsieur, and let it be done as has been 
 agreed upon.” 
 
 “ Ah, my Lord,” said Athos, “ what joy it would give 
 me to be the first to penetrate the noble heart which 
 beats beneath that cloak ! ” 
 
 “ You decidedly think, then, that I have secrets,” said 
 Monk, without changing the half-cheerful expression of 
 his countenance. “ Why, Monsieur, what secret can you 
 expect to find in the hollow head of a soldier ] But it is 
 getting late, and our torch is almost out ; let us call our 
 man. — Holloa ! ” he cried, in French, approaching the 
 stairs ; “ holloa ! fisherman ! ” 
 
 The fisherman, benumbed by the cold night-air, replied 
 in a hoarse voice, asking w*hat they wanted of him. 
 
266 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Go to the post,” said Monk, ‘‘and order a sergeant, 
 in the name of General Monk, to come here immediately.” 
 This was a commission easily performed ; for the ser- 
 geant, uneasy at the general’s being in that desolate 
 abbey, had drawn nearer by degrees, and was not much 
 farther off than the fisherman. The general’s order was 
 therefore heard by him, and he hastened to obey it. 
 i( Get a horse and two men,” said Monk. 
 
 “ A horse and two men ? ” repeated the sergeant. 
 
 “ Yes,” replied Monk. “ Have you any means of get- 
 ting a horse with a pack-saddle or two panniers ? ” 
 
 “No doubt, at a hundred paces off, in the Scotch 
 camp.” 
 
 “Very well.” 
 
 “ What shall I do with the horse, General ” 
 
 “ Look here.” 
 
 The sergeant descended the three steps which sep- 
 arated him from Monk, and came into the vault. 
 
 “You see,” said Monk, “that gentleman yonder?” 
 “Yes, General.” 
 
 “ And you see these two casks ? ” 
 
 “ Perfectly.” 
 
 “One of these two casks contains powder, and the 
 other balls ; I wish these casks to be transported to the 
 little bourg at the mouth of the river, which I reckon 
 upon occupying to-morrow with two hundred muskets. 
 You understand that the commission is a secret one, 
 for it is a movement that may decide the fate of the 
 battle.” 
 
 “ Oh, my general ! ” murmured the sergeant. 
 
 “ Mind, then ! Let these casks be fastened on the 
 horse, and let them be escorted by two men and you to 
 the residence of this gentleman, who is my friend. But 
 take care that nobody knows it.*” 
 
HEART AND MIND. 
 
 267 
 
 “ I would go by the marsh if I knew the road,” said 
 the sergeant. 
 
 “I know one myself,” said Athos; “it is not wide, but 
 it is solid, having been made upon piles ; and with pre- 
 caution we shall get there safely enough.” 
 
 “ Do everything this gentleman shall order you to do.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! the casks are heavy,” said the sergeant, 
 trying to lift one. 
 
 “ They weigh four hundred pounds each, if they contain 
 what they ought to contain, do they not, Monsieur ] ” 
 
 “ Thereabouts,” said Athos. 
 
 The sergeant went in search of the two men and the 
 horse. Monk, left alone with Athos, affected to speak to 
 him of nothing but indifferent things, while examining 
 the vault in a cursory manner. Then, hearing the horse’s 
 steps, “ I leave you with your men, Monsieur,” said he, 
 “and return to the camp. You are perfectly safe.” 
 
 “I shall see you again, then, my Lord'?” asked Athos. 
 
 “ That is agreed upon, Monsieur, and with much 
 pleasure.” 
 
 Monk held out his hand to Athos. 
 
 “ Ah ! my Lord, if you would — ” murmured Athos. 
 
 “Hush! Monsieur, it is agreed that we shall speak no 
 more of that.” And bowing to Athos, he went up the 
 stairs, passing, about the middle of them, his men who 
 were coming down. 
 
 Monk had not gone twenty paces from the abbey when 
 a faint but prolonged whistle was heard at a distance. 
 He listened, but, seeing nothing and hearing nothing, 
 continued on his way. Then he remembered the fisher- 
 man, and looked about for him ; but the fisherman had 
 disappeared. If he had, however, looked with more at- 
 tention, he might have seen that man, bent double, 
 gliding like a serpent along the stones and losing himself 
 
268 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 in the mist floating over the surface of the marsh. He 
 might have equally seen, seeking to pierce that mist, a 
 spectacle that would have interested him, — the masts 
 of the fishing-boat, which had changed place, and w r as 
 now nearer the shore. But Monk saw nothing; and 
 thinking he had nothing to fear, he entered the desert 
 causeway which led to his camp. It was then that the 
 disappearance of the fisherman appeared strange, and that 
 a real suspicion began to take possession of his mind. 
 He had just placed at the orders of Athos the only post 
 that could protect him. He had a mile of causeway to 
 traverse before he could regain his camp. The fog in- 
 creased to such density that he could scarcely distinguish 
 objects at ten paces’ distance. Monk then thought he 
 heard the sound of an oar over the marsh on the right. 
 “ Who goes there ” said he. 
 
 But nobody answered ; then he cocked his pistol, took 
 his sword in his hand, and quickened his pace, without, 
 however, being willing to call anybody. Such a sum- 
 mons, for which there was no absolute necessity, appeared 
 unworthy of him. 
 
THE NEXT DAY, 
 
 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 It was seven o’clock in the morning ; the first rajs of the 
 sun lighted the pools of the marsh, in which it was re- 
 flected like a red ball, when Athos, awaking and opening 
 the window of his bed-chamber, which looked out upon 
 the banks of the river, perceived, at fifteen paces’ dis- 
 tance from him, the sergeant and the men who had ac- 
 companied him the evening before, and who, after having 
 deposited the casks at his house, had returned to the 
 camp by the causeway on the right. 
 
 For what could these men, after having returned to the 
 camp, have come back % That was the first question which 
 presented itself to Athos. The sergeant, with his head 
 raised, appeared to be watching the moment when the 
 gentleman should appear, to address him. Athos, sur- 
 prised to see these men there, whom he had seen depart 
 the night before, could not forbear expressing his astonish- 
 ment to them. 
 
 “ There is nothing surprising in that, Monsieur,” said 
 the sergeant ; ‘‘for yesterday the general commanded me 
 to watch over your safety, and I thought it right to obey 
 tha,t order.” 
 
 “ Is the general at the camp 1” asked Athos. 
 
 “ No doubt he is, Monsieur ; as when he left you he 
 was going back.” 
 
 “Well, wait for me a moment ; I am going thither to 
 render an account of the fidelity with which you fulfilled 
 
270 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 your duty, and to get my sword, which I left yesterday 
 upon the table.” 
 
 “That falls out very well,” said the sergeant, “for we 
 were about to beg you to do so.” 
 
 Athos fancied he could detect an air of equivocal bon- 
 homie upon the countenance of the sergeant; but the 
 adventure of the vault might have excited the curiosity 
 of the man, and he was not surprised that he allowed 
 some of the feelings which agitated his mind to appear in 
 his face. Athos closed the doors carefully, confiding the 
 keys to Grimaud, who had chosen his domicile beneath 
 the shed itself, which led to the cellar where the casks 
 had been deposited. The sergeant escorted the Comte 
 de la Fere to the camp. There a fresh guard awaited 
 him, and relieved the four men who had conducted 
 Athos. This fresh guard was commanded by the aide- 
 de-camp Digby, who, on their way, fixed upon Athos 
 looks so little encouraging that the Frenchman asked 
 himself whence arose, with regard to him, this vigilance 
 and this severity, when the evening before he had been 
 left perfectly free. He continued his way not the less to 
 the headquarters, keeping to himself the observations 
 which men and things forced him to make. He found 
 under the general’s tent, to which he had been introduced 
 the evening before, three superior officers ; these were 
 Monk’s lieutenant and two colonels. Athos perceived 
 his sword ; it was still on the table where he had left 
 it. Neither of the officers had seen Athos, consequently 
 neither of them knew him. Monk’s lieutenant asked, on 
 the appearance of Athos, if that were the same gentleman 
 with whom the general had left the tent. 
 
 “ Yes, your Honor,” said the sergeant ; “ it is the same.” 
 
 “ But,” said Athos, haughtily, “ I do not deny it, I 
 think ; and now, gentlemen, in my turn, permit me to 
 
THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 271 
 
 ask you for what purpose this question is asked, and par- 
 ticularly for some explanation of the tone in which you 
 ask it 1 ” 
 
 “ Monsieur,' ” said the lieutenant, “ if we address this 
 question to you, it is because we have a right to do so ; 
 and if we ask it in a particular tone, it is because that 
 tone, believe me, agrees with the circumstances. ” 
 
 “Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you do not know who I 
 am ; but I must tell you I acknowledge no one as my 
 equal here but General Monk. Where is ho h Let me be 
 conducted to him, and if he has any questions to put to 
 me, I will answer him, and to his satisfaction, I hope. I 
 repeat, gentlemen, where is the general 1 ” 
 
 “Eh ! good God ! you know better than we do where 
 he is,” said the lieutenant. 
 
 “I?” 
 
 “Yes, you.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Athos, “I do not understand you.” 
 
 “You will understand me — and, on your part, in the 
 first place, do not speak so loud.” 
 
 Athos smiled disdainfully. 
 
 “ We don’t ask you to smile,” said one of the colonels, 
 warmly ; “we require you to answer.” 
 
 “ And I, gentlemen, declare to you that I will not reply 
 until I am in the presence of the general.” 
 
 “ But,” replied the same colonel who had already 
 spoken, “you know very well that you demand w r hat is 
 impossible.” 
 
 “ This is the second time I have received this strange 
 reply to the wish I express,” said Athos. “Is the general 
 absent % ” 
 
 This question was made with such apparent good faith, 
 and the gentleman wore an air of such natural surprise, 
 that the three officers exchanged a meaning look. The 
 
272 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 lieutenant, by a sort of tacit understanding with the 
 other two, was spokesman. 
 
 “ Monsieur, the general left you last night in the boun- 
 daries of the monastery 1 ” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ And you went — ” 
 
 “ It is not for me to answer you, but for those who 
 have accompanied me. They were your soldiers; ask 
 them.” 
 
 “But if we please to interrogate you] ” 
 
 “ Then it will please me to reply, Monsieur, that I am 
 not answerable to any one here, that I know no one here 
 but the general, and that it is to him alone I will reply.” 
 “So be it, Monsieur ; but as we are the masters, we 
 constitute ourselves a council of war, and when you are 
 before judges you must reply.” 
 
 The countenance of Athos expressed nothing but as- 
 tonishment and disdain, instead of the terror the officers 
 expected to read in it at this threat. 
 
 “ Scotch or English judges upon me, a subject of the 
 King of France ; upon me, placed under the safeguard of 
 British honor ! You are mad, gentlemen ! ” said Athos, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 The officers looked at each other. “ Then, Monsieur,” 
 said one of them, “ do you pretend not to know where 
 the general is ] ” 
 
 “ To that, Monsieur, I have already replied.” 
 
 “Yes, but your reply is incredible to us.” 
 
 “ It is true, nevertheless, gentlemen. Men of my rank 
 are not generally liars. I am a gentleman, I have told 
 you ; and when I have at my side the sword which, by an 
 excess of delicacy, I last night left upon the table whereon 
 it still lies, believe me, no man says that to me which I 
 am unwilling to hear. To-day, I am disarmed : if you 
 
THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 273 
 
 pretend to be my judges, try me ; if you are but my exe- 
 cutioners, kill me.” 
 
 “ But, Monsieur — ” asked the lieutenant, in a more 
 courteous voice, struck with the lofty coolness of Athos. 
 
 “ Monsieur, I came to speak confidentially with your 
 general about affairs of importance. It was not an ordi- 
 nary welcome that he gave me. The accounts your soldiers 
 can give you may convince you of that. If, then, the 
 general received me in that manner, he knew what were 
 my titles to his esteem. Now, you do not expect, I 
 presume, that I shall reveal my secrets to you, and still 
 less his.” 
 
 “ But these casks, — what do they contain % ” 
 
 66 Have you not put that question to your soldiers h 
 Wliat was their reply ] ” 
 
 “ That they contained powder and ball.” 
 
 “ From whom had they that information h They must 
 have told you that.” 
 
 “ From the general ; but we are not dupes.” 
 
 “ Beware, gentlemen ; it is not to me you are now 
 giving the lie, it is to your leader.” 
 
 The officers again looked at each other. Athos con- 
 tinued : “ Before your soldiers the general told me to 
 wait a week, and at the expiration of a week he would 
 give me the answer he had to make me. Have I fled 
 away 1 No ; I wait.” 
 
 “ He told you to wait a week ! ” cried the lieutenant. 
 
 “ He told me so clearly, Monsieur, that I have a 
 sloop at the mouth of the river, which I could with ease 
 have joined yesterday, and embarked. Now, if I have 
 remained, it was only in compliance with the desire of 
 your general ; his Honor having requested me not to 
 depart without a last audience, which he fixed at a week 
 hence. I repeat to you, then, I am waiting.” 
 
 VOL. I. — 18 
 
274 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 The lieutenant turned towards the other officers, and 
 said, in a low voice : “ If this gentleman speaks truth, 
 there may still be some hope. The general may be carry- 
 ing out some negotiations so secret that he thought it 
 imprudent to inform even us. Then the time limited for 
 his absence would be a week.” Then, turning towards 
 Athos, “Monsieur,” said he, “your declaration is of the 
 most serious importance ; are you willing to repeat it 
 under the seal of an oath ? ” 
 
 “Monsieur,” replied Athos, “ I have always lived in a 
 world where my simple word was regarded as the most 
 sacred of oaths.” 
 
 “ This time, however, Monsieur, the circumstance is 
 graver than any you may have been placed in. The 
 safety of the whole army is at stake. Reflect ; the gen- 
 eral has disappeared, and we are seeking for him. Is this 
 disappearance natural? Has a crime been committed? 
 Are we not bound to carry our investigations to extremity ? 
 Have we any right to wait with patience ? At this mo- 
 ment everything, Monsieur, depends upon the words you 
 are about to pronounce.” 
 
 “ Interrogated thus, Monsieur, I no longer hesitate,” 
 said Athos. “Yes, I came hither to converse confiden- 
 tially with General Monk, and to ask of him an answer 
 regarding certain interests ; yes, the general, being doubt- 
 less unable to give it before the expected battle, begged 
 me to remain a week in the house I inhabit, promising 
 me that in a week I should see him again. Yes, all this 
 is true, and I swear it, by the God who is the absolute 
 master of my life and yours.” Athos pronounced these 
 words with so much grandeur and solemnity, that the 
 three officers were almost convinced. Nevertheless, one 
 of the colonels made a last attempt. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said he, “ although we may be now per- 
 
THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 275 
 
 suaded of the truth of what you say, there is yet a strange 
 mystery in all this. The general is too prudent a man 
 to have thus abandoned his army on the eve of a battle, 
 without having at least given to one of us a notice of it. 
 As for myself, I cannot believe but that some strange 
 event has been the cause of this disappearance. Yester- 
 day some foreign fishermen came to sell their fish here ; 
 they were lodged yonder among the Scots, — that is to say, 
 on the road the general took with this gentleman, to go 
 to the abbey and to return from it. It was one of those 
 fishermen that accompanied the general with a light ; and 
 this morning, boat and fishermen have all disappeared, 
 carried away by the night’s tide.” 
 
 “For my part,” said the lieutenaut, “ I see nothing in 
 that which is not quite natural, for these people were not 
 prisoners.” 
 
 “ No ; but I repeat that it was one of them who lighted 
 the general and this gentleman in the vault of the abbey, 
 and Digby assures us that the general had strong suspi- 
 cions concerning those people. Now, who can say whether 
 these people were not connected with this gentleman ; 
 and that, the blow being struck, the gentleman, who is 
 evidently brave, did not remain to reassure us by his 
 presence, and to prevent our researches being made in 
 the right direction 1 ” 
 
 This speech made an impression upon the other officers. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Athos, “ permit me to tell you that 
 your reasoning, though specious in appearance, neverthe- 
 less wants consistency as regards me. I have remained, 
 you say, to divert suspicion. Well ! on the contrary, 
 suspicions arise in me as well as in you ; and I say it is 
 impossible, gentlemen, that the general, on the eve of a 
 battle, should leave his army without notice to any one. 
 Yes, there is some strange event connected with this ; 
 
276 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 instead of being idle and waiting, you must display 
 all the activity and all the vigilance possible, i am 
 your prisoner, gentlemen, upon parole or otherwise. My 
 honor is concerned in the ascertaining of what has become 
 of General Monk, and to such a point that if you were 
 to say to me, 4 Depart !’ I should reply, ‘ No, I will re- 
 main ! 1 and if you were to ask my opinion, I should 
 add, ‘Yes, the general is the victim of some conspiracy; 
 for if he had intended to leave the camp he would have 
 told me so.’ Seek then, search the land, search the sea ; 
 the general has not gone away, or at any rate has not 
 gone voluntarily.” 
 
 The lieutenant made a sign to the two other officers. 
 “No, Monsieur,” said he, “no; in your turn you go too 
 far. The general has nothing to suffer from these events, 
 and no doubt, on the contrary, has directed them. What 
 Monk is now doing he has often done before. We are 
 wrong in alarming ourselves; his absence will doubtless 
 be of short duration. Therefore let us beware of making 
 his absence public by a pusillanimity which the general 
 would consider a crime, and by that means demoralizing 
 the army. The general gives a striking proof of his confi- 
 dence in us ; let us show ourselves worthy of it. Gentle- 
 men, let the most profound silence cover all this with an 
 impenetrable veil ; we will detain this gentleman, not 
 from mistrust of him with regard to the crime, but to 
 assure more effectively the secrecy of the absence of the 
 general, and the confinement of it among ourselves ; 
 therefore,* until fresh orders, the gentleman will remain 
 at headquarters.” 
 
 “Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you forget that last night 
 the general confided to me a deposit over which I am 
 bound to watch. Give me whatever guard you like, en- 
 chain me if you like, but leave me the house I inhabit 
 
THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 277 
 
 for my prison. The general on his return would reproach 
 you, I swear on the honor of a gentleman, for having dis- 
 pleased him in this.” 
 
 The officers consulted together a moment ; then, after 
 that consultation, “ So be it, Monsieur/’ said the lieu- 
 tenant ; “ return to your abode.” 
 
 Then they placed over Athos a guard of fifty men, 
 who surrounded his house, without losing sight of him 
 for a minute. 
 
 The secret remained secure; but hours, even days, 
 passed away without the general’s returning, or without 
 anything being heard of him. 
 
278 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BR'AGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 CONTRABAND GOODS. 
 
 Two days after the events we have just related, and while 
 every instant General Monk was looked for in the camp to 
 which he did not return, a little Dutch felucca, manned by 
 eleven men, cast anchor upon the coast of Scheveningen, 
 nearly within cannon-shot of the port. It was night ; the 
 darkness was great ; the sea rose in the darkness. It was 
 a capital time to land passengers and merchandise. 
 
 The road of Scheveningen forms a vast crescent ; it is 
 not very deep and not very safe ; therefore nothing is 
 seen stationed there but large Flemish hoys, or some 
 of those Dutch barks which fishermen draw up on the 
 sand upon rollers, as the ancients did, according to Virgil. 
 When the tide, on rising, ascends and advances on the 
 land, it is not prudent to bring vessels too close in 
 shore ; for if the wind is fresh the prows are buried in the 
 sand, and the sand of that coast is spongy, — it receives 
 easily, but does not give up so. It was on this account, 
 no doubt, that a boat was detached from the bark, as 
 soon as the latter had cast anchor, and landed with eight 
 sailors, amidst whom was to be seen an object of an ob- 
 long form, a sort of large pannier or bale. 
 
 The shore was deserted ; the few fishermen inhabiting 
 the dune had gone to bed. The only sentinel that 
 guarded the coast, — a coast very badly guarded, seeing 
 that a landing from large ships was impossible, — without 
 having been able to follow 7 the example of the fishermen 
 
CONTRABAND GOODS. 
 
 279 
 
 who had gone to bed, imitated them so far that he slept 
 at the back of his watch-box as soundly as they slept in 
 their beds. The only noise to be heard, then, was the 
 whistling of the night-breeze among the bushes and bram- 
 bles of the dune. But the people who were approaching 
 were doubtless mistrustful people, for this real silence and 
 apparent solitude did not satisfy them. Their boat, there- 
 fore, scarcely visible as a dark speck upon the ocean, glided 
 along noiselessly, — the use of oars being avoided for fear 
 of being heard, — and gained the nearest land. Scarcely 
 had it touched the ground when a single man jumped out 
 of the boat, after having given a brief order, with a voice 
 which denoted the habit of commanding. In consequence 
 of this order, several muskets immediately glittered in 
 the feeble light reflected from that mirror of the heavens, 
 the sea ; and the oblong bale of which we spoke, contain- 
 ing no doubt some contraband object, was transported to 
 land, with infinite precautions. Immediately after, the 
 man who had landed first, set off in a hasty pace diago- 
 nally towards the village of Scheveningen, directing his 
 course to the nearest point of the wood. When there, 
 he sought for that house already described as the tem- 
 porary residence — and a very humble residence — of him 
 who was styled, by courtesy, King of England. All w T ere 
 asleep there, as everywhere else ; only, a large dog, of the 
 race of those which the fishermen of Scheveningen har- 
 ness to little carts to carry fish to the Hague, began to 
 bark formidably as soon as the strangers steps were audi- 
 ble beneath the windows. But this watchfulness, instead 
 of alarming the newly landed man, appeared, on the con- 
 trary, to give him great joy ; for his voice might perhaps 
 have proved insufficient to rouse the people of the house, 
 while, with an auxiliary of that sort, his voice became 
 almost useless. The stranger waited, then, till these re- 
 
280 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 iterated aud sonorous barkings should, according to all 
 probability, have produced their effect, and then he ven- 
 tured a summons. On hearing his voice the dog began 
 to roar with such violence that soon another voice was 
 heard from the interior, appeasing that of the dog. With 
 that the dog was quieted. 
 
 “ What do you w r ant ? ” asked the voice, at once weak, 
 broken, and civil. 
 
 “ I want his Majesty King Charles II.,” said the 
 stranger. 
 
 “ What do you want with him ? ” 
 
 “ I want to speak to him.” 
 
 “ Who are you ? ” 
 
 “ Ah, mordioux ! you ask too much ; I don’t like talk- 
 ing through doors.” 
 
 “ Only tell me your name.” 
 
 “ I don’t like to declare my name in the open air, 
 either ; besides, you may be sure I shall not eat your 
 dog, and I hope to God he will be as reserved with respect 
 to me.” 
 
 “You bring news, perhaps, Monsieur, do you not?” 
 replied the voice, patient and questioning, like that of an 
 old man. 
 
 “ I will answer for it, I bring you news you little expect. 
 Open the door, then, if you please, hein ! ” 
 
 “Monsieur,” persisted the old man, “do you believe, 
 upon your soul and conscience, that your news will 
 warrant waking the king ? ” 
 
 “ For God’s sake, my dear monsieur, draw your bolts ; 
 you will not be sorry, I swear, for the trouble it will 
 give you. I am worth my weight in gold, upon my 
 honor ! ” 
 
 “Monsieur, I cannot, notwithstanding, open the door 
 till you have told me your name.” 
 
CONTRABAND GOODS. 
 
 281 
 
 “ Must I, then ? ” 
 
 “It is by the order of my master, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Well, my name is — But I warn you my name will 
 tell you absolutely nothing.” 
 
 “ Never mind ; tell it, notwithstanding.” 
 
 “Well, I am the Chevalier d’Artagnan.” 
 
 The voice on the other side of the door uttered an 
 exclamation. 
 
 “ Oh ! good heavens ! M. d’Artagnan ! What happi- 
 ness ! I could not help thinking T knew that voice.” 
 
 “ Humph ! ” said D’Artagnan. “ My voice is known 
 here ! That ’s flattering.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, we know it,” said the old man, drawing the 
 bolts ; “ and here is the proof.” And at these words he 
 let in D’Artagnan, who, by the light of the lantern he 
 carried in his hand, recognized his obstinate interlocutor. 
 
 “Ah! mordioux ! ” cried he; “why, it is Parry! I 
 ought to have known that.” 
 
 “ Parry, — yes, my dear M. d’Artagnan, it is I. What 
 joy to see you once again ! ” 
 
 “You are right there, — what joy ! ” said D’Artagnan, 
 pressing the old man’s hand. “There, now you’ll go and 
 inform the king, will you not 1 ” 
 
 “ But the king is asleep, my dear monsieur.” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! then wake him, He won’t scold you for 
 having disturbed him, I will promise you.” 
 
 “ You come on the part of the count, do you not 1 ” 
 
 “ Of what count h ” 
 
 “ The Comte de la Fere.” 
 
 “ From Athos h My faith ! no ; I come on my own part. 
 Come, Parry, quick ! The king, — I want the king.” 
 Parry did not think it his duty to resist any longer. 
 He had known D’Artagnan long before ; he knew that 
 although a Gascon, his words never promised more than 
 
282 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 they could stand to. He crossed a court and a little 
 garden, appeased the dog, who seemed seriously to wish 
 to taste the musketeer, and who went howling to the 
 shelter of a chamber forming the ground-floor of a little 
 pavilion. Immediately a little dog inhabiting that cham- 
 ber replied to the great dog inhabiting the court. 
 
 “ Poor king ! ” said D’Artagnan to himself, “ these are 
 his body-guards. It is true he is not the worse guarded 
 on that account.” 
 
 “ What is wanted with me ? ” asked the king, from the 
 back of the chamber. 
 
 “ Sire, it is M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, who brings you 
 some news.” 
 
 A noise was immediately heard in the chamber ; a door 
 was opened, and a flood of light inundated the corridor 
 and the garden. The king was working by the light of 
 a lamp. Papers were lying about upon his desk, and he 
 was engaged upon the rough draught of a letter which 
 showed, by the numerous erasures, the trouble he had had 
 in writing it. 
 
 u Come in, Monsieur the Chevalier,” said he, turning 
 round. Then, perceiving the fisherman, ‘‘What do you 
 mean, Parry ? Where is M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan ? ” 
 asked Charles. 
 
 “ He is before you, Sire,” said M. d’Artagnan. 
 
 “ What ! in that costume ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; look at me, Sire. Ho you not remember having 
 seen me at Blois, in the antechambers of King Louis 
 XIV.?” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur, and I remember I was much pleased 
 with you.” 
 
 D’Artagnan bowed. “ It was my duty to conduct 
 myself as I did, the moment I knew that I had the honor 
 of being near your Majesty.” 
 
CONTRABAND GOODS. 
 
 283 
 
 “ You bring me news, do you say'? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ From the King of France ] ” 
 
 “M y faith! no, Sire,” replied D’Artagnan. “ Your 
 Majesty must have seen yonder that the King of France 
 is occupied only with his own majesty 1 ” 
 
 Charles raised his eyes towards heaven. 
 
 “No, Sire, no,” continued D’Artagnan ; “ I bring news 
 entirely composed of personal facts. Nevertheless, I hope 
 your Majesty will listen to the facts and news with some 
 favor.” 
 
 “Speak, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ If I am not mistaken, Sire, your Majesty spoke a 
 great deal at Blois of the embarrassed state of affairs in 
 England.” 
 
 Charles colored. “Monsieur,” said he, “it was to the 
 King of France alone that I related — ” 
 
 “Oh! your Majesty is mistaken,” said the musketeer, 
 coolly. “ I know how to speak to kings in misfortune. It 
 is only when they are in misfortune that they speak to 
 me ; once fortunate, they look upon me no more. I have, 
 then, for your Majesty not only the greatest respect, but, 
 still more, the most absolute devotion ; and that, believe 
 me, with me, Sire, means something. Now, hearing your 
 Majesty complain of your destiny, I found that you were 
 noble and generous, and bore misfortune well.” 
 
 “In truth,” said Charles, much astonished, “ I do not 
 know w T hich I ought to prefer, — your freedom or your 
 respect.” 
 
 “You will choose presently, Sire,” said D’Artagnan. 
 “ Then your Majesty complained to your brother, Louis 
 XIV., of the difficulty you experienced in returning to 
 England and regaining your throne, for want of men and 
 money.” 
 
284 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE. 
 
 Charles allowed a movement of impatience to escape 
 him. 
 
 “ And the principal hindrance your Majesty found in 
 your way,” continued D’Artagnan, “ was a certain general 
 commanding the armies of the Parliament, and who w r as 
 playing yonder the part of another Cromwell. Did not 
 your Majesty say so V 9 
 
 “ Yes ; hut I repeat to you, Monsieur, those words 
 were for the king’s ears alone.” 
 
 “ And you will see, Sire, that it is very fortunate that 
 they fell into those of his lieutenant of Musketeers. 
 The man so troublesome to your Majesty was one 
 General Monk, I believe ; did I not hear his name 
 correctly, Sire 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur ; but once more, to what purpose are 
 all these questions % ” 
 
 “ Oh ! I know very well, Sire, that etiquette will not 
 allow kings to be interrogated. I hope, however, pres- 
 ently you will pardon my want of etiquette. Your 
 Majesty added that, notwithstanding, if you could see 
 him, confer with him, and meet him face to face, you 
 would triumph, either by force or persuasion, over that 
 obstacle, — the only serious one, the only insurmountable 
 one, the only real one you met with on your road.” 
 
 “ All that is true, Monsieur ; my destiny, my future, 
 my obscurity, or my glory depends upon that man ; but 
 what do you draw from that ? ” 
 
 “One thing alone, — that if this General Monk is 
 troublesome to the point you describe, it would be ex- 
 pedient to get rid of him, your Majesty, or to make an 
 ally of him.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, a king who has neither army nor money, 
 since you have heard my conversation with my brother 
 Louis*, has no means of acting against a man like Monk.” 
 
CONTRABAND GOODS. 
 
 285 
 
 “Yes, Sire, that was your opinion, I know very well; 
 but, fortunately for you, it was not mine.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by that 1 ” 
 
 “ That, without an army and without a million, I have 
 done — I myself — what your Majesty thought could be 
 done only with an army and a million.” 
 
 “ How ! What do you say ? What have you done 1 ” 
 
 “ What have I done ? Eh ! well, Sire, I went yonder 
 to take this man who is so troublesome to your Majesty.” 
 
 “ In England ? ” 
 
 “ Exactly, Sire.” 
 
 “ You went to take Monk in England 1 ” 
 
 “ Should I by chance have done wrong, Sire ? ” 
 
 “ In truth, you are mad, Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ Not the least in the world, Sire.” 
 
 “You have taken Monk ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “Where?” 
 
 “ In the midst of his camp.” 
 
 The king trembled with impatience. 
 
 “And having taken him on the causeway of Newcastle, 
 I bring him to your Majesty,” said D’Artagnan, simply. 
 
 “You bring him to me ! ” cried the king, almost indig- 
 nant at what he considered a hoax. 
 
 “ Yes, Sire,” replied D’Artagnan, in the same tone, “ I 
 bring him to you ; he is down below yonder, in a large 
 chest pierced with holes, so as to allow him to breathe.” 
 “Good God!” 
 
 “ Oh ! don’t be uneasy, Sire ; we have taken the great- 
 est possible care of him. He comes in good state and in 
 perfect condition. Would your Majesty please to see him, 
 to talk with him, or to have him thrown into the sea ? ” 
 “Oh, heavens !” repeated Charles, “oh, heavens! do 
 you speak the truth, Monsieur ? Are you not insulting 
 
286 
 
 THE VTCGMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 me with some unworthy pleasantry? You have accorm 
 plished this unheard-of act of audacity and genius, — • 
 impossible ! ” 
 
 “ Will your Majesty permit me to open the window ? 99 
 said D’Artagnan, opening it. 
 
 The king had not time to say yes. D’Artagnan gave 
 a shrill and prolonged whistle, which he repeated three 
 times through the silence of the night. 
 
 “ There ! ” said he, “ he will be brought to your 
 Majesty. ,, 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S FEARS. 
 
 287 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 IN WHICH D’ARTAGNAN BEGINS TO FEAR HE HAS PLACED 
 HIS MONEY AND THAT OF PLANCHET IN THE SINKING 
 FUND. 
 
 The king could not overcome his surprise, and looked 
 sometimes at the smiling face of the musketeer and 
 sometimes at the dark window which opened into the 
 night. But before he had fixed his ideas, eight of 
 D’Artagnan’s men — for two had remained to take care 
 of the boat — brought to the house where Parry re- 
 ceived him, that object, of an oblong form, which for the 
 moment enclosed the destinies of England. Before he 
 left Calais, D’Artagnan had had made in that city a sort 
 of coffin, large and deep enough for a man to turn in it at 
 his ease. The bottom and sides, properly mattressed, 
 formed a bed sufficiently soft to. prevent the rolling of the 
 ship turning this kind of cage into a rat-trap. The little 
 grating, of which D’Artagnan had spoken to the king, 
 like the visor of a helmet, was placed opposite to the 
 man’s face. It was so constructed that, at the least cry, 
 a sudden pressure would stifle that cry, and, if neces- 
 sary, him who had uttered it. D’Artagnan was so well 
 acquainted with his crew and his prisoner, that during 
 the whole voyage he had been in dread of two things, — 
 either that the general would prefer death to this sort of 
 imprisonment, and would cause himself to be smothered 
 by endeavoring to speak ; or that his guards would allow 
 themselves to be tempted by the offers of the prisoner, 
 and put him, D’Artagnan, into the box instead of Monk. 
 
288 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 D’Artagnan, therefore, had passed the two days and the 
 two nights of the voyage close to the coffin, alone with 
 the general, offering him wine and food, which he had 
 refused, and constantly endeavoring to reassure him upon 
 the destiny which awaited him at the end of this singular 
 captivity. Two pistols on the table and his naked sword 
 made D’Artagnan easy with regard to indiscretions from 
 without. When once at Scheveningen he had felt com- 
 pletely reassured. His men greatly dreaded any conflict 
 with the lords of the soil. He had, besides, interested in 
 his cause him who had morally served him as lieutenant, 
 and whom we have seen reply to the name of Menneville. 
 The latter, not being a vulgar spirit, had more to risk 
 than the others, because he had more conscience. He 
 had faith in a future in the service of D’Artagnan, and 
 consequently would have allowed himself to be cut to 
 pieces, rather than violate the order given by his leader. 
 Thus it was that, once landed, it was to him D’Artagnan 
 had confided the care of the chest and of the general’s 
 respiration. It was he, too, whom he had ordered to have 
 the chest brought by the seven men as soon as he should 
 hear the triple whistle. We have seen that the lieutenant 
 obeyed. The box once in the house, D’Artagnan dis- 
 missed his men with a gracious smile, saying, “ Messieurs, 
 you have rendered a great service to his Majesty King 
 Charles II., who in less than six weeks will be King of 
 England. Your gratification will then be doubled. Re- 
 turn to the boat and wait for me.” Upon which they 
 departed with such shouts of joy as terrified even the dog 
 himself. 
 
 D’Artagnan had caused the box to be brought into 
 the king’s antechamber. He then, with great care, closed 
 the doors of this antechamber, after which he opened 
 the box, and said to the general : “ General, I have 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S FEARS. 
 
 289 
 
 a thousand excuses to make to you. My manner of 
 acting has not been worthy of such a man as you, 
 I know very well ; but I wished you to take me for 
 the sea-captain. And then England is a very incon- 
 venient country for transports. I hope, therefore, you 
 will take all that into consideration. But now, General, 
 you are at liberty to get up and walk.” This said, he cut 
 the bonds which fastened the arms and hands of the gen- 
 eral. The latter got up, and then sat down with the 
 countenance of a man who expects death. D’Artagnan 
 opened the door of Charles’s cabinet, and said, “ Sire, 
 here is your enemy, M. Monk ; I promised myself to 
 perform this service for your Majesty. It is done ; now 
 order as you please. M. Monk,” added he, turning towards 
 the prisoner, “you are in the presence of his Majesty 
 Charles II., sovereign lord of Great Britain.” 
 
 Monk raised towards the prince his coldly stoical look, 
 and replied : “I know no king of Great Britain ; I recog- 
 nize even here no one worthy of bearing the name 6f gen- 
 tleman : for it is in the name of King Charles II. that an 
 emissary, whom I took for an honest man, has come and 
 laid an infamous snare for me. I have fallen into that 
 snare ; so much the worse for me. Now, you the tempter,” 
 said he to the king, “you the executor,” said he to D’Ar- 
 tagnan, “ remember what I am about to say to you : 
 you have my body, you may kill it ; and I urge you to do 
 so, for you shall never have my mind or my will. And 
 now, ask me not a single word, for from this moment I 
 will not open my mouth even to cry out. I have said.” 
 General Monk pronounced these words with the savage, 
 invincible resolution of a Puritan in a state of great indig- 
 nation. D’Artagnan looked at his prisoner like a man who 
 knows the value of every word, and who fixes that value ac- 
 cording to the accent w 7 ith which it has been pronounced. 
 
 VOL. i. — 19 
 
200 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ The fact is,” said he, in a whisper to the king, “ the 
 general is an obstinate man ; he would not take a mouth' 
 ful of bread, nor swallow a drop of wine, during the two 
 days of our voyage. But as from this moment it is vour 
 Majesty who must decide his fate, I wash my hands of 
 him.” 
 
 Monk, erect, pale, and resigned, waited with his eyes 
 fixed and his arms folded. D’Artagnan turned towards 
 him. “ You will please to understand perfectly,” said he, 
 “ that your speech, otherwise very fine, does not suit any- 
 body, not even yourself. His Majesty wished to speak 
 to you ; you refused him an interview. Why, now that 
 you are face to face, that you are here by a force inde- 
 pendent of your will, — why do you confine yourself to rig- 
 ors which I consider as useless and absurd ? Speak ! 
 what the devil ! speak, if only to say ‘ No.’ ” 
 
 Monk did not unclose his lips ; he did not turn his 
 eyes; he stroked his mustache with a thoughtful air, 
 which announced that matters were going on badly. 
 
 During all this time Charles II. had fallen into a pro- 
 found reverie. For the first time he found himself face 
 to face with Monk, — that is to say, with the man he had 
 so much desired to see ; and with that peculiar glance 
 which God has given to eagles and kings, he had fathomed 
 the abyss of his heart. He beheld Monk, then, resolved 
 positively to die rather than speak, — which was not to 
 be wondered at in so considerable a man, the wound 
 in whose mind must at the moment have been severe. 
 Charles II. formed, on the instant, one of those resolutions 
 upon which an ordinary man stakes his life, a general his 
 fortune, and a king his kingdom. “ Monsieur,” said he 
 to Monk, “you are perfectly right upon certain points; 
 I do not, therefore, ask you to answer me, but to listen 
 to me.” 
 
D'ARTAGNAN’S fears. 
 
 291 
 
 There was a moment’s silence, during which the king 
 looked at Monk, who remained impassive. 
 
 “ You have made me just now a painful reproach, Mon- 
 sieur,” continued the king; “ you said that one of my 
 emissaries had been to Newcastle to lay a snare for you ; 
 and that, by the way, cannot be understood by M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan here, and to whom, before everything, I owe sin- 
 cere thanks for his generous, his heroic devotion.” 
 
 D’Artagnan bowed with respect ; Monk took no notice. 
 
 “ For M. d’Artagnan, — and observe, M. Monk, I do 
 not say this to excuse mj^self, — for M. d’Artagnan,” con- 
 tinued the king, “ has gone into England on his own 
 proper movement, without interest, without orders, with- 
 out hope, like a true gentleman as he is, to render a ser- 
 vice to an unfortunate king, and to add to the illustrious 
 actions of an existence already so well filled, one fine 
 action more.” 
 
 D’Artagnan colored a little, and coughed to keep his 
 countenance. Monk did not stir. 
 
 “ You do not believe what I tell you, M. Monk,” con- 
 tinued the king. “ 1 can understand that ; such proofs 
 of devotion are so rare, that their reality may well be 
 put in doubt.” 
 
 “ Monsieur would do wrong not to believe you, Sire,” 
 cried D’Artagnan; “for that which your Majesty has 
 said is the exact truth, and the truth so exact that it 
 appears, in going to fetch the general, I have done some- 
 thing which sets everything wrong. In truth, if it be so, 
 I am in despair.” 
 
 “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the king, pressing the 
 hand of the musketeer, “you have obliged me more than 
 if you had promoted the success of my cause; for you 
 have revealed to me an unknown friend, to whom I 
 shall ever be grateful, and whom I shall always love ; 
 
292 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and/’ continued he, bowing to Monk, “ an enemy whom 
 I shall henceforth esteem at his proper value.” 
 
 The eyes of the Puritan flashed, but only once ; and his 
 countenance, for an instant illumined by that flash, re- 
 sumed its sombre impassiveness. 
 
 “Then, M. d’Artagnan,” continued Charles, “this is 
 what was about to happen ; M. le Comte de la Fere, 
 — whom you know, I believe, — has set out for New- 
 castle.” 
 
 “Attics'?” exclaimed D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Yes ; that was his nom de guerre , I believe. The Comte 
 de la Fere had, then, set out for Newcastle, and was going, 
 perhaps, to bring the general to hold a conference with 
 me or with those of my party, when you violently, as it 
 appears, interfered with the negotiation.” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” replied D’Artagnan, “it was he, without 
 doubt, who entered the camp the very evening in which I 
 succeeded in getting into it with my fishermen — ” 
 
 An almost imperceptible frown on the brow of Monk 
 told D’Artagnan that he had surmised rightly. 
 
 “ Yes, yes,” muttered he ; “ I thought I knew his per- 
 son ; I even fancied I knew his voice. Unlucky wretch 
 that I am ! Oh, Sire, pardon me ! I thought 1 had so 
 successfully steered my bark.” 
 
 “There is nothing ill in it, Monsieur,” said the king, 
 “ except that the general accuses me of having laid a 
 snare for him, which is not the case. No, General, those 
 are not the arms which I contemplated employing with 
 you, as you will soon see. In the mean while, when I give 
 you my word upon the honor of a gentleman, believe me, 
 Monsieur, believe me ! Now r , M. d’Artagnan, a word 
 with you, if you please.” 
 
 “ I listen on my knees, Sire.” 
 
 “ You are truly at my service, are you not 1 ?” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S FEARS. 
 
 293 
 
 “ Your Majesty has seen that I am, — too much so.” 
 
 “ That is well ; from a man like you one word suffices. 
 In addition to that word you bring actions. General, 
 have the goodness to follow me. Come with us, M. 
 d’Artagnan. ” 
 
 D’Artagnan, considerably surprised, prepared to obey. 
 Charles II. went out, Monk following him ; D’Artagnan 
 followed Monk. Charles took the path by which D’Ar- 
 tagnan had come to his abode ; the fresh sea-breezes soon 
 saluted the faces of the three nocturnal travellers, and, at 
 fifty paces from the little gate which Charles opened, they 
 found themselves upon the dune in face of the ocean, 
 which, having ceased to rise, reposed upon the shore like 
 a monster fatigued. Charles II. walked along pensively, 
 his head hanging down and his hand beneath his cloak. 
 Monk followed him, with crossed arms and an uneasy 
 look. D’Artagnan came last, with his hand on the hilt 
 of his sword. 
 
 “ Where is the boat in which you came, gentlemen 'l ” 
 said Charles to the musketeer. 
 
 “ Yonder, Sire; I have seven men and an officer 
 waiting for me in that little boat which is lighted by 
 a fire.” 
 
 “ Yes, I see ; the boat is drawn up upon the sand. But 
 you certainly did not come from Newcastle in that frail 
 bark 1 ” 
 
 “ No, Sire; I hired a felucca on my own account, which 
 is at anchor within cannon-shot of the dunes. It was in 
 that felucca we made the voyage.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king to Monk, “you are free.” 
 
 However firm of will, Monk could not suppress an ex- 
 clamation. The king added an affirmative motion of his 
 head, and continued : “We will waken a fisherman of the 
 village, who will put his boat to sea immediately, and will 
 
29 i 
 
 THE VTCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 take you back to any place you may command him. M. 
 d’Artagnan here will escort your Honor. I place M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan under the safeguard of your loyalty, M. Monk.” 
 
 Monk allowed a murmur of surprise to escape him, and 
 D’Artagnan a profound sigh. The king, without appear- 
 ing to notice either, knocked against the deal trellis which 
 enclosed the cabin of the principal fisherman inhabiting 
 the dune. 
 
 “ Holloa ! Keyser ! ” cried he, “ awake ! ” 
 
 “ Who calls me ? ” asked the fisherman. 
 
 “ I, — Charles, the king.” 
 
 “ Ah ! my Lord,” cried Keyser, rising ready dressed 
 from the sail in which he slept as people sleep in a ham- 
 mock ; “ what can I do to serve you 'l ” 
 
 “ Captain Keyser,” said Charles, “ you must set sail im- 
 mediately. Here is a traveller who wishes to freight your 
 bark, and will pay you well ; use him well ; ” and the 
 king drew back a few steps to allow Monk to speak to the 
 fisherman. 
 
 “ I wish to cross over into England,” said Monk, who 
 spoke Dutch enough to make himself understood. 
 
 “ This minute,” said the captain, — “ this very minute, 
 if you wish it.” 
 
 “ But will that be long ? ” said Monk. 
 
 “ Not half an hour, your Honor. My eldest son is at 
 this moment preparing the boat, as we were going out 
 fishing at three o’clock in the morning.” 
 
 “Well, is all arranged'?” asked the king, drawing 
 near. 
 
 “ All but the price,” said the fisherman ; “yes, Sire.” 
 
 “That is my affair,” said Charles; “the gentleman is 
 my friend.” 
 
 Monk started and looked at Charles, on hearing this 
 word. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S FEARS. 
 
 295 
 
 “ Very well, my Lord,” replied Keyser ; and at that 
 moment they heard Keyser’s eldest son, signalling from 
 the shore with the blast of a bull’s horn. 
 
 “ Now, gentlemen,” said the king, “ be gone ! ” 
 
 “ Sire,” said D’Artagnan, “ will it please your Majesty 
 to grant me a few minutes ] I have engaged men, and I 
 am going without them ; I must give them notice.” 
 
 “ Whistle to them,” said Charles, smiling. 
 
 D’Artagnan accordingly whistled, while Captain Key- 
 ser replied to his son ; and four men, led by Menneville, 
 attended the first summons. 
 
 “ Here is some money on account,” said D’Artagnan, 
 putting into their hands a purse containing twenty-five 
 hundred livres in gold. “ Go and wait for me at Calais ; 
 you know where ; ” and D’Artagnan heaved a pro- 
 found sigh as he let the purse fall into the hands of 
 Menneville. 
 
 “ What ! are you leaving us 'l ” cried the men. 
 
 “For a short time,” said D’Artagnan, “or for a long 
 time, who knows 1 But with twenty-five hundred livres, 
 and the twenty-five hundred you have already received, 
 you are paid according to our agreement. We are quits, 
 then, my friends.” 
 
 “ But the boat i ” 
 
 “Do not trouble yourself about that.” 
 
 “ Our things are on board the felucca.” 
 
 “ Go and seek them, and afterwards set off imme- 
 diately.” 
 
 “Yes, Captain.” 
 
 D’Artagnan returned to Monk, saying, “ Monsieur, I 
 await your orders ; for I understand we are to go together, 
 unless my company be disagreeable to you.” 
 
 “ On the contrary, Monsieur,” said Monk. 
 
 “Come, gentlemen, on board,” said Keyser’s son. 
 
290 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Charles bowed to the general with grace and dignity, 
 saying, “You will pardon me this unfortunate accident, 
 and the violence to which you have been subjected, when 
 you are convinced that T was not the cause of them.” 
 Monk bowed profoundly without replying. On his side 
 Charles affected not to say a Word to D’Artagnan in pri- 
 vate, but aloud : “ Once more, thanks, Monsieur the 
 Chevalier , ” said he, “ thanks for your services. They will 
 be repaid you by the Lord God, who, I hope, reserves for 
 me alone trials and troubles.” 
 
 Monk followed Keyser and his son, and embarked with 
 them. D’Artagnan came after, muttering to himself, 
 “ Ah, my poor Planchet ! I am very much afraid we 
 have made a bad speculation.” 
 
THE SHARES OE THE COMPANY RISE AGAIN. 297 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 THE SHARES OF PLANCHET AND COMPANY RISE AGAIN 
 TO PAR. 
 
 During the passage Monk spoke to D’Artagnan only in 
 cases of urgent necessity. Thus, when the Frenchman 
 hesitated to come and take his repast, — a poor repast com- 
 posed of salt fish, biscuit, and Hollands gin, — Monk called 
 him, saying, “ To table, Monsieur!” This was all. D’Ar- 
 tagnan, because he himself was on all great occasions 
 extremely concise, did not draw from the general’s con- 
 ciseness a favorable augury of the result of his mission. 
 Now, as he had plenty of time for reflection, he battered 
 his brains during this time in endeavoring to find out 
 how Athos had seen King Charles, how he had planned 
 with him that expedition, and lastly, how he had entered 
 Monk’s camp ; and the poor lieutenant of Musketeers 
 plucked a hair from his mustache every time he reflected 
 that the cavalier who accompanied Monk on the night of 
 the famous abduction must have been Athos. At length, 
 after a passage of two nights and two days, Captain 
 Keyser touched the point where Monk, who had given 
 all orders during the voyage, had commanded they should 
 land. It was exactly at the mouth of the little river 
 near which Athos had chosen his abode. Day was de- 
 clining; a splendid sun, like a red steel buckler, was 
 plunging the lower extremity of his disk under the blue 
 line of the sea. The felucca was making fair way up 
 the river, tolerably wide in that part ; but Monk, in his 
 
298 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 impatience, desired to be landed, and Keysets boat placed 
 him and D’Artagnan upon the muddy bank, amidst the 
 reeds. D’Artagnan, resigned to obedience, followed Monk 
 exactly as a chained bear follows his master ; but the 
 position humiliated him not a little, and he grumbled to 
 himself that the service of kings was a bitter one, and 
 that the best of them was good for nothing. Monk 
 walked with long and hasty strides; it might be thought 
 that he did not yet feel certain of having regained Eng- 
 lish soil. They had already begun to perceive distinctly 
 a few of the cottages of the sailors and fishermen spread 
 over the little quay of this humble port, when, all at 
 once, D’ Art agnan cried out, “ God pardon me, there is 
 a house on fire ! ” 
 
 Monk raised his eyes, and perceived that there was, in 
 fact, a house which the flames were beginning to devour. 
 It had begun at a little shed belonging to the house, the 
 roof of which it had seized upon. The fresh evening 
 breeze increased the flame. The two travellers quickened 
 their steps, hearing loud cries, and seeing, as they drew 
 nearer, soldiers with their glittering arms pointing to- 
 wards the house on fire. It was, doubtless, this men- 
 acing occupation which had made them neglect to signal 
 the felucca. Monk stopped short for an instant, and for 
 the first time formulated his thoughts in words. “Eh! 
 but, ,, said he, “ perhaps they are not my soldiers, but 
 Lambert’s.” 
 
 These words contained at once a pain, an apprehension, 
 and a reproach perfectly intelligible to D’Artagnan. In 
 fact, during the general’s absence, Lambert might have 
 given battle, conquered, and dispersed the Parliament’s 
 army, and taken with his own the place of Monk’s army, 
 deprived of its strongest support. At this doubt, which 
 passed from the mind of Monk to his own, D’ Art agnan 
 
THE SHARES OF THE COMPANY RISE AGAIN, 299 
 
 made this reasoning : “ One of two things is going to 
 happen : either Monk has spoken correctly, and there are 
 no longer any but Lambertists in the country, — that is 
 to say, enemies who would receive me wonderfully well, 
 since it is to me they owe their victory, — or nothing is 
 changed, and Monk, transported with joy at finding his 
 camp still in the same place, will not prove too severe 
 in his reprisals.” While thinking thus, the two travel- 
 lers advanced, and found themselves surrounded by a 
 little knot of sailors, who looked on with sorrow at the 
 burning house, but did not dare to say anything, on 
 account of the menaces of the soldiers. Monk ad- 
 dressed one of these sailors. “ What is going on here ? ” 
 asked he. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied the man, not recognizing Monk as 
 an officer, under the thick cloak which enveloped him, 
 
 “ that house was inhabited by a foreigner, and this for- 
 eigner became suspected by the soldiers. Then they 
 wanted to get into his house under the pretence of taking 
 him to the camp ; but he, without being frightened by 
 their numbers, threatened death to the first who should 
 cross the threshold of his door ; and as there was one 
 who did venture, the Frenchman stretched him on the 
 earth with a pistol-shot.” 
 
 u Ah ! he is a Frenchman, is he ? ” said D’Artagnan, 
 rubbing his hands. “ Good ! 99 
 
 “ How good ? ” replied the fishermen. 
 
 “No, I don’t mean that. Next? — my tongue tripped.” 
 
 “ Next, Monsieur ? Why, the other men became as 
 enraged as so many lions ; they fired more than a hun- - 
 dred shots at the house; but the Frenchman w T as shel- 
 tered by the wall, and every time they tried to enter by 
 the door they met with a shot from his lackey, whose 
 aim is deadly, d’ ye see? Every time they threatened the 
 
300 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 window, they met with a pistol-shot from the master. 
 Look and count ; there are seven men down.” 
 
 “Ah! my brave compatriot,” cried D’Artagnan, “wait 
 a little, wait a little. I will be with you ; and we will 
 give an account of all this rabble.” 
 
 “One instant, Monsieur,” said Monk; “wait.” 
 
 “ Long ? ” 
 
 “No; only time to ask a question.” Then, turn- 
 ing towards the sailor, “ My friend,” asked he, with 
 an emotion which, in spite of all his self-command, he 
 could not conceal, “ whose soldiers are these, pray tell 
 me?” 
 
 “ Whose should they be but that madman Monk’s?” 
 
 “ There has been no battle, then ? ” 
 
 “ A battle, yes ! but with what result ? Lambert’s army 
 is melting away like snow in April. All come to Monk, 
 officers and soldiers. In a week Lambert won’t have 
 fifty men left.” 
 
 The fisherman was interrupted by a fresh salvo of mus- 
 ketry discharged against the house, and by another pistol- 
 shot which replied to the salvo, and struck down the 
 most daring of the aggressors. The rage of the soldiers 
 was at its height. The fire still continued to increase, 
 and a crest of flame and smoke whirled and spread over 
 the roof of the house. D’Artagnan could no longer con- 
 tain himself. “ Mordioux ! ” said he to Monk, glancing 
 at him sideways ; “ are you a general, and allow your 
 men to burn houses and assassinate people, while you 
 look on and warm your hands at the blaze of the confla- 
 gration ? Mordioux ! you are not a man.” 
 
 “ Patience, Monsieur, patience ! ” said Monk, smiling. 
 
 “ Patience ! yes, until that brave gentleman is roasted 
 — is that what you mean?” and D’Artagnan rushed 
 forward. 
 
THE SHARES OF THE COMPANY RISE AGAIN. 301 
 
 “ Remain where you are, Monsieur,” said Monk, in a 
 tone of command ; and he advanced towards the house 
 just as an officer had approached it, who said to the be- 
 sieged : “ The house is burning ; you will be grilled within 
 an hour! There is still time, — come, tell us what you 
 know of General Monk, and we will spare your life. Re- 
 ply, or by St. Patrick — ” 
 
 The besieged made no answer ; he was no doubt reload- 
 ing his pistol. 
 
 “ They have gone for reinforcements,” continued the 
 officer ; “ in a quarter of an hour there will be a hundred 
 men round your house.” 
 
 “I reply to you !” said the Frenchman. “Let your 
 men be sent away ; I will come out freely and repair to 
 the camp alone, or else I will be killed here ! ” 
 
 “ Mille tonneri'es ! ” shouted D’Artagnan ; “ why, that ’s 
 the voice of Athos ! Ah, villains ! ” and the sword of 
 D’Artagnan flamed from its sheath. 
 
 Monk stopped him, and advanced himself, exclaiming, 
 in a sonorous voice : “ Holloa ! what is going on here ] 
 Digby, whence is this fire ? why these cries h ” 
 
 “ The general ! ” cried Digby, letting the point of his 
 sword fall. 
 
 “ The general ! ” repeated the soldiers. 
 
 “ Well, what is there so astonishing in that 1 ” said 
 Monk, in a calm tone. Then, silence being re-established, 
 “ Now,” said he, “ who lit this fire ? ” 
 
 The soldiers hung down their heads. 
 
 “What ! do I ask a question and nobody answers me V } 
 said Monk. “ What ! do I find a fault, and nobody re- 
 pairs it 1 The fire is still burning, I believe.” 
 
 Immediately the twenty men rushed forward, seizing 
 pails, buckets, jars, barrels, and extinguishing the fire 
 with as much ardor as they had, an instant before. 
 
302 
 
 the: vicomte: de bragelonne. 
 
 employed in promoting it. But already, and before all 
 the rest, D’Artagnan had applied a ladder to the house, 
 crying, “ Athos ! it is I, it is I, D’Artagnan ! Do not 
 kill me, dear friend ! ” and in a moment the count was 
 clasped in his arms. 
 
 In the mean time Grimaud, preserving his calm air, 
 dismantled the fortification of the ground floor, and after 
 having opened the door, stood, with his arms crossed, 
 quietly on the threshold. Only, at hearing the voice of 
 D’Artagnan, he had uttered an exclamation of surprise. 
 The fire being extinguished, the soldiers presented them- 
 selves abashed, Digby at their head. 
 
 “ General,” said he, “excuse ns; what we have done 
 was for the love of your Honor, whom we thought lost.” 
 “You are mad, gentlemen. Lost! Is a man like me 
 to be lost ] Am I not, by chance, to be permitted to be 
 absent, according to my pleasure, without giving formal 
 notice % Do you, by chance, take me for a citizen from 
 the city ] Is a gentleman, my friend, my guest, to be be- 
 sieged, entrapped, and threatened with death because he 
 is suspected ? What signifies that word, ‘ suspected D God 
 damn me if I don’t have every one of you shot that the 
 brave gentleman has left alive ! ” 
 
 “ General,” said Digby, piteously, “ there were twenty- 
 eight of us ; and see, there are eight on the ground.” 
 
 “ I authorize M. le Comte de la Fere to send the 
 twenty to join the eight,” said Monk, stretching out 
 his hand to Athos. a Let them return to camp. 
 Digby, you will consider yourself under arrest for a 
 month.” 
 
 “ General — ” 
 
 “ That is to teach you, Monsieur, not to act another 
 time without orders.” 
 
 “ I had those of the lieutenant, General.” 
 
THE SHARES OF THE COMPANY RISE AGAIN. 303 
 
 “ The lieutenant has no such orders to give you ; and he 
 shall be placed under arrest, instead of you, if he has 
 really commanded you to burn this gentleman.” 
 
 “He did not command that, General; he commanded 
 us to bring him to the camp ; but the count was not will- 
 ing to follow ns.” 
 
 “ I was not willing that they should enter and plunder 
 my house,” said Athos to Monk, with a significant look. 
 
 “ And you were quite right. — To the camp, I say.” 
 The soldiers departed with dejected looks. “Now we are 
 alone,” said Monk to Athos, “'have the goodness to tell 
 me, Monsieur, why you persisted in remaining here while 
 you had your felucca — ” 
 
 “ I waited for you, General,” said Athos. “ Had not 
 your Honor appointed me a meeting in a week ? ” 
 
 An eloquent look from H’Artagnan made it clear to 
 Monk that these two men, so brave. and so loyal, had not 
 acted in concert for his abduction. He knew already that 
 it could not be so. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said he to H’Artagnan, “ you were per- 
 fectly right. Have the kindness to allow me a moment’s 
 conversation with M. le Comte de la Fere.” 
 
 H’Artagnan took advantage of this to go and ask 
 Grimaud how he did. Monk requested Athos to conduct 
 him to the chamber he lived in. 
 
 This chamber was still full of smoke and rubbish. 
 More than fifty balls had passed through the windows 
 and mutilated the walls. They found a table, inkstand, 
 and materials for writing. Monk took up a pen, wrote a 
 single line, signed it, folded the paper, sealed the let- 
 ter with the seal of his ring, and passed over the missive 
 to Athos, saying, “ Monsieur, carry, if you please, this 
 letter to King Charles II., and set out immediately, if 
 nothing detains you here any longer.” 
 
304 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ And the casks ? ” said Athos. 
 
 “ The fisherman who brought me hither will assist you 
 in transporting them on board. Be gone, if possible, 
 within an hour.” 
 
 “ Yes, General,” said Athos. 
 
 “ M. d’Artagnan ! ” cried Monk, from the window. 
 D’Artagnan ran up precipitately. “ Embrace your friend 
 and bid him adieu, Monsieur; he is returning to Holland.” 
 “ To Holland ! ” cried D’Artagnan ; “ and I ? ” 
 u You are at liberty to follow him, Monsieur ; but I 
 request you to remain,” said Monk. “ Will you refuse 
 me?” 
 
 “Oh no, General ; I am at your orders.” 
 
 D’Artagnan embraced Athos, and had only time to bid 
 him adieu. Monk watched them both. Then he took 
 upon himself the preparations for the departure, the 
 carrying of the casks, on board, and the embarkation of 
 Athos ; then, taking D’Artagnan by the arm, who was 
 quite amazed and agitated, he led him towards Newcastle. 
 While going along, arm in arm with Monk, D’Artagnan 
 could not help murmuring to himself, “ Come, come, it 
 seems to me that the shares of the house of Planchet & 
 Co. are rising.” 
 
MONK REVEALS HIMSELF. 
 
 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MONK REVEALS HIMSELF. 
 
 D’Artagnan, although he flattered himself with better 
 success, had, nevertheless, not too well comprehended his 
 situation. It was a strange and grave subject for him to 
 reflect upon, — this voyage of Athos into England; this 
 league of the king with Athos, and that extraordinary 
 combination of his design with that of the Comte de la 
 Fere. The best way was to let things follow their own 
 train. An imprudence had been committed ; and while 
 having succeeded as he had promised, D’Artagnan found 
 that he had gained no advantage by his success. Since 
 everything was lost, he could risk no more. D’Artagnan 
 followed Monk to the middle of his camp. The return 
 of the general had produced a marvellous effect, for his 
 people had thought him lost. But Monk, with his austere 
 look and icy demeanor, appeared to ask of his eager lieu- 
 tenants and delighted soldiers the cause of all this joy. 
 Therefore to the lieutenant who had come to meet him, 
 and who expressed the uneasiness with which they had 
 learned his departure, “ Why is all this? ” said he ; “ am 
 I obliged to render an account of myself to you ? ” 
 
 “ But, your Honor, the sheep may well tremble without 
 the shepherd.” 
 
 “ Tremble ! ” replied Monk, with his calm and power- 
 ful voice ; “ah, Monsieur, what a word ! Curse me ! if my 
 sheep have not both teeth and claws, I renounce being 
 their shepherd. Ah ! you tremble, Monsieur ! ” 
 vol. i. — 20 
 
306 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Yes, General, for you.” 
 
 “ Oh, pray meddle with your own concerns ! If I have 
 not the wit God gave to Oliver Cromwell, I have that 
 which he has sent to me ; I am satisfied with it, however 
 little it may be.” 
 
 The officer made no reply ; and, Monk having imposed 
 silence on his people, all remained persuaded that he had 
 accomplished some important work, or had tried an ex- 
 periment upon them. This was forming a very poor con- 
 ception of his patient and scrupulous genius. Monk, if 
 he had the good faith of the Puritans, his allies, must 
 have returned thanks with much fervor to the patron 
 saint who had taken him from the box of M. d’Artagnan. 
 
 While these things were going on, our musketeer could 
 not help constantly repeating : “ God grant that M. Monk 
 may not have as much self-love as I have ; for I declare, 
 if any one had put me into a box with that grating over 
 my mouth, and carried me so packed up, like a calf, across 
 the seas, I should retain such an ill remembrance of my 
 pitiful appearance in that box, and such a deadly hatred 
 against him who had enclosed me in it, — I should so much 
 dread to see a sarcastic smile blooming upon the face of 
 the malicious wretch, or in his attitude some grotesque 
 imitation of my position in the box, — that, mordioux ! I 
 should plunge a good poniard into his throat in com- 
 pensation of the grating, and should nail him down in 
 a veritable bier, in remembrance of the false coffin in 
 which I had been left two days to gather ihould.” And 
 D’Artagnan spoke honestly when he spoke thus ; for the 
 skin of our Gascon was very thin. Monk, fortunately, 
 entertained other ideas. He never opened his mouth 
 concerning the past to his timid conqueror; but he 
 admitted him very near to his person in his labors, took 
 him with him to several reconnoissances , in such a way as 
 
MONK REVEALS HIMSELF. 
 
 307 
 
 to obtain that which he evidently warmly desired, — a 
 rehabilitation in the mind of D’Artagnan. The latter 
 conducted himself like a passed master in the art of 
 flattery : he admired all Monk’s tactics, and the ordering 
 of his camp; he joked very pleasantly upon the circum 
 vallations of Lambert, who had, he said, very uselessly 
 given himself the trouble to enclose a camp for twenty 
 thousand men, while an acre of ground would have been 
 quite sufficient for the corporal and fifty guards who would 
 perhaps remain faithful to him. Monk, immediately after 
 his arrival, had accepted the proposition which was made 
 by Lambert, the evening before, for an interview, and 
 which Monk’s lieutenants had refused, under the pre- 
 text that the general was indisposed. This interview 
 was neither long nor interesting. Lambert demanded a 
 profession of faith of his rival. The latter declared he 
 had no other opinion but that of the majority. Lambert 
 asked if it would not be more expedient to terminate 
 the quarrel by an alliance than by a battle. Monk there- 
 upon required a week for consideration. Now, Lambert 
 could not refuse this ; even though he had come saying 
 that he should devour the army of Monk. Therefore, as 
 at the end of the interview, which Lambert’s party awaited 
 with impatience, nothing was decided, — neither treaty 
 nor battle, — the rebel army, as M. d’Artagnan had fore- 
 seen, began to prefer the good cause to the bad one, and 
 the Parliament, “ Rump ” though it was, to the pompous 
 nothings of the designs of Lambert. They remembered, 
 likewise, the good repasts of London, — the profusion of 
 ale and sherry with which the citizens of London paid 
 their friends the soldiers ; they looked with terror at the 
 black war bread, at the troubled waters of the Tweed, — 
 too salt for the glass, not enough so for the pot ; and they 
 said to themselves, “ Shall we not be better off on the 
 
308 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 other side ? Are not the roast meats kept warm for Monk 
 in London?” From that time nothing but desertion was 
 heard of in Lambert’s army. The soldiers allowed them- 
 selves to be drawn away by the force of principles, which 
 are, like discipline, the obligatory tie in everybody con- 
 stituted for any purpose. Monk defended the Parliament ; 
 Lambert attacked it. Monk had no more inclination to 
 support the Parliament than Lambert had ; but he had 
 it inscribed upon his standards, so that all those of the 
 contrary party were reduced to write upon theirs, “ Re- 
 bellion,” which sounded ill in Puritan ears. They flocked, 
 then, from Lambert to Monk, as sinners flock from Baal 
 to God. 
 
 Monk made his calculations : at a thousand desertions 
 a day Lambert had men enough to last twenty days ; but 
 there is in falling masses such increase at once of weight 
 and rapidity of motion, that a hundred left the first day, 
 five hundred the second, a thousand the third. Monk 
 thought he had obtained his rate. But from a thousand 
 the desertion passed quickly on to two thousand, then to 
 four thousand ; and, eight days after, Lambert, perceiving 
 that he had no longer the possibility of accepting battle, 
 if it were offered to him, took the wise resolution of de- 
 camping during the night, to return to London, and be 
 beforehand with Monk in constructing a power with the 
 wreck of the military party. But Monk, free and with- 
 out inquietude, marched towards London as a conqueror, 
 augmenting his army from all the floating parties on his 
 passage. He encamped at Barnet, — that is to say, within 
 four leagues of the capital, — cherished by the Parliament, 
 which thought it beheld in him a protector, and looked 
 for by the people, who were anxious to see him reveal 
 himself, that they might judge him. D’Artagnan him- 
 self had not been able to fathom his tactics : he observed, 
 
MONK REVEALS HIMSELF. 
 
 309 
 
 he admired. Monk could not enter London with a set- 
 tled determination without encountering civil war. He 
 temporized for a short time. Suddenly, without any- 
 body expecting it, Monk drove the military party out of 
 London, and installed himself in the city amidst the citi- 
 zens, by order of the Parliament ; then, at the moment 
 when the citizens were crying out against Monk, — at the 
 moment when the soldiers themselves were accusing their 
 leader, — Monk, finding himself certain of a majority, de- 
 clared to the Rump Parliament that it must abdicate, 
 be dissolved, and yield its place to a government which 
 would not be a joke. Monk pronounced this declaration, 
 supported by fifty thousand swords, to which, that same 
 evening, were united, with hurrahs of delirious joy, five 
 hundred thousand inhabitants of the good city of Lon- 
 don. At length, at the moment when the people, after 
 their triumphs and festive repasts in the open streets, 
 were looking about for a master, it was affirmed that 
 a vessel had left the Hague, bearing Charles II. and his 
 fortunes. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said Monk to his officers, “ I am go- 
 ing to meet the legitimate king. He who loves me 
 will follow me.” A burst of acclamations welcomed 
 these words, which D’Artagnan heard with the greatest 
 delight. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” said he to Monk, “ that is bold, Mon- 
 sieur.” 
 
 “ You will accompany me, will you not ? ” said Monk. 
 
 “ Pardieu ! General. But tell me, I beg, what you 
 wrote by Athos, — that is to say, the Comte de la Fere, 
 — you know, — the day of our arrival % ” 
 
 “ I have no secrets for you now,” replied Monk. “ I 
 wrote these words : ‘ Sire, I expect your Majesty in six 
 weeks at Dover.’ ” 
 
310 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ All ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ I no longer say it is bold ; 
 I say it is well played, it is a fine stroke ! ” 
 
 “You are something of a judge in such matters,” re- 
 plied Monk. 
 
 And this was the only time the general ever made an 
 allusion to his voyage to Holland. 
 
MHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 511 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ATHOS AND d’aRTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE AT THE HOS- 
 TELRY OF THE STAG’S HORN. 
 
 The King of England made his entree into Dover with 
 great pomp, as he afterwards did into London. He had 
 sent for his brothers ; he had brought over his mother 
 and sister. England had been for so long a time given 
 up to herself, — that is to say, to tyranny, mediocrity, and 
 madness, — that this return of Charles II., whom the Eng- 
 lish only knew as the son of the man whose head they 
 had cut off, was a festival for the three kingdoms. Con* 
 sequently, all the vows, all the acclamations, which ac- 
 companied his return, struck the young king so forcibly, 
 that he stooped towards the ear of James of York, his 
 younger brother, and said, “ In truth, James, it appears 
 to have been our own fault that, we were so long absent 
 from a country where we are so much beloved ! ” The 
 cortege was magnificent. Beautiful weather favored the 
 solemnity. Charles had regained all his youth, all his 
 good humor ; he appeared to be transfigured ; hearts 
 seemed to smile upon him like the sun. Amid this ob- 
 streperous crowd of courtiers and worshippers, who did 
 not appear to remember they had conducted to the scaf- 
 fold at Whitehall the father of the new king, a man, in 
 the garb of a lieutenant of Musketeers, looked, with a 
 smile upon his thin, intellectual lips, sometimes at the 
 people vociferating their good wishes, and sometimes at 
 the prince, who pretended emotion, and who bowed most 
 
312 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 particularly to the women, whose bouquets were strewed 
 before his horse’s feet. “ What a fine trade is that of a 
 king ! ” said this man, drawn away by his contemplation, 
 and so completely absorbed that he stopped in the middle 
 of the road, leaving the cortege to file past. “ Now, there 
 is, in good truth, a prince all stitched over with gold and 
 diamonds like a Solomon, enamelled with flowers like a 
 spring meadow ; he is about to draw with full hands from 
 the immense coffer in which his now faithful — so lately 
 unfaithful — subjects have amassed one or two cart-loads 
 of ingots of gold. They cast bouquets enough upon him 
 to smother him ; and yet, if he had presented himself to 
 them two months ago, they would have sent as many 
 bullets and balls at him as they now throw flowers. De- 
 cidedly it is worth something to be born in a certain 
 fashion, — with deference to those of low birth who claim 
 that low birth is of little consequence.” The cortege con- 
 tinued to file on; and, with the king, the acclamations 
 began to die away in the direction of the palace, which, 
 however, did not prevent our officer from being shoved 
 about. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” continued the reasoner. “ these people 
 tread upon my toes and look upon me as of very little 
 consequence, or rather of none at all, seeing that they 
 are Englishmen and I am a Frenchman. If all these 
 people were asked, ‘ Who is M. d’Artagnan 1 7 they would 
 reply, 6 Nescio vos' But let any one say to them, 
 ‘ There is the king going by ; there is M. Monk going 
 by, 7 they would yell out, ‘ Vive le roi ! Vive M. Monk ! 1 
 till their lungs were exhausted. And yet,” continued he, 
 surveying the moving crowd with that look sometimes 
 so keen and sometimes so proud, — “ and yet, reflect 
 a little, my good people, on what your king has done, on 
 what M. Monk has done, and then think what has been 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 313 
 
 done by this poor unknown, who is called M. d’Artagnan ! 
 It is true you do not know him, since he is unknown ; 
 which perhaps prevents your thinking about the matter. 
 But, bah ! what matters it ! All that does not prevent 
 Charles II. from being a great king, although he has been 
 exiled twelve years ; or M. Monk from being a great cap- 
 tain, although he did make a voyage to Holland in a 
 box. Well, then, since it is admitted that one is a great 
 king and the other a great captain, — ‘ Hurrah for King 
 Charles II. ! Hurrah for General Monk ! ’ ” and his voice 
 mingled with the voices of the thousands of spectators, 
 over which it dominated for a moment. Then, the better 
 to play the devoted man, he took off his hat and waved 
 it in the air. Some one seized his arm in the very height 
 of his expansive loyalism (in 1660 that which we now 
 call royalism was so termed). 
 
 “Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, “you here!” and the 
 two friends embraced. 
 
 “ You here ! — and being here,” continued the mus- 
 keteer, “you are not, in the midst of all those courtiers, 
 my dear count ! What ! you, the hero of the fete , you are 
 not prancing on the left hand of the king, as M. Monk is 
 prancing on the right % In truth, I cannot comprehend 
 your character, nor that of the prince who owes you so 
 much ! ” 
 
 “ Still a railer ! my dear D’Artagnan ! ” said Athos. 
 “Will you never correct yourself of that vile habit ] ” 
 
 “ But you do not form part of the cortege ? ” 
 
 “ I do not, because I was not willing to do so.” 
 
 “ And why were you not willing ] ” 
 
 “ Because I am neither envoy nor ambassador nor rep- 
 resentative of the King of France ; and it does not become 
 me to exhibit myself thus near the person of another 
 king than the one God has given me for a master.” 
 
314 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! you came very near to the person of the 
 king, his father.” 
 
 “ That was another thing, my friend ; he was about to 
 die.” 
 
 “And yet that which you did for him — ” 
 
 “ I did because it was my duty to do it. But you 
 know I hate all ostentation. Let King Charles II., then, 
 who no longer stands in need of me, leave me to my re- 
 pose and in the shade ; that is all I claim of him.” 
 D’Artagnan sighed. 
 
 “ What is the matter with you ? ” said Athos. “ One 
 would say that this happy return of the king to London 
 saddens you, my friend, — you who have done at least as 
 much for his Majesty as I have.” 
 
 “Have I not,” replied D’Artagnan, with his Gascon 
 laugh, — “ have I not done much for his Majesty, without 
 any one suspecting it ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, yes ; but the king is well aware of it, my friend,” 
 cried Athos. 
 
 “ He is aware of it ! ” said the musketeer, bitterly. “ By 
 my faith ! I did not suspect so, and I was even, a mo- 
 ment ago, trying to forget it myself.” 
 
 “ But he, my friend, will not forget it ; I will answer for 
 him.” 
 
 “You tell me that to console me a little, Athos.” 
 
 “ For what 1 ” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! for the loss of all the money I have spent. 
 I have ruined myself, my friend, — ruined myself for the 
 restoration of this young prince who has just passed, 
 capering upon his dun horse.” 
 
 “ The king does not know you have ruined yourself, my 
 friend ; hut he knows he owes you much.” 
 
 “ And say, Athos, does that advance me in any re- 
 spect ? I do you justice, — you have labored nobly ; but 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 315 
 
 I — I, who in appearance marred your combinations, — it 
 was I who really made them succeed. Follow my calcu- 
 lations closely : you might not, by persuasion or mildness, 
 have convinced General Monk, while I have so roughly 
 treated this dear general, that I furnished your prince 
 with an opportunity of showing himself generous ; this 
 generosity was inspired in him by the fact of my fortu- 
 nate mistake, and Charles is paid by the restoration which 
 Monk has brought about.” 
 
 “ All that, my dear friend, is strikingly true,” replied 
 Athos. 
 
 “Well, strikingly true as it may be, it is not less true, 
 my friend, that I shall return, — greatly noticed by M. 
 Monk, who calls me ‘ My dear captain ’ all day long, al- 
 though I am neither dear to him nor a captain ; and 
 strongly appreciated by the king, who has already forgotten 
 my name, — it is not less true, I say, that I shall re- 
 turn to my beautiful country, cursed by the soldiers I 
 had raised with promise of large pay, cursed by the 
 brave Planchet, of whom I borrowed a part of his 
 fortune.” 
 
 “ How is that ] What the devil had Planchet to do in 
 all this]” 
 
 “ Ay, yes, my friend. This king, so spruce, so smiling, 
 so adored, — M. Monk fancies he has recalled him, you 
 fancy you have supported him, I fancy I have brought 
 him back, the people fancy they have re-conquered him, 
 he himself fancies he has negotiated so as to be restored ; 
 and yet nothing of all this is true, for Charles II., King 
 of England, Scotland, and Ireland, has been replaced upon 
 the throne by a French grocer, who lives in the Rue des 
 Lombards, and is named Planchet. And such is gran- 
 deur ! ‘ Vanity !’ says the Scripture, ‘ vanity, all is 
 
 vanity.’ ” 
 
316 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Athos could not help laughing at this whimsical out- 
 break of his friend. 
 
 “Mv dear D’Artagnan,” said he, pressing his hand 
 affectionately, “ should you not exercise a little more 
 philosophy ? Is it not some further satisfaction to you to 
 have saved my life as you did by arriving so fortunately 
 with Monk, when those damned parliamentarians wanted 
 to burn me alive h ” 
 
 “ Well, but you, in some degree, deserved burning a 
 little, my dear count.” 
 
 “ How so ? — for having saved King Charles’s million ? ” 
 “ What million 1 ” 
 
 “ Ah, that is true ! you never knew that, my friend ; 
 but you must not be angry, for it was not my secret. 
 That word ‘ Remember ’ which the king pronounced upon 
 the scaffold — ” 
 
 “ And which means Souviens-toi ! ” 
 
 “ Exactly. It meant this : 4 Remember there is a mil- 
 lion buried in the vaults of Newcastle Abbey, and that 
 that million belongs to my son.’ ” 
 
 “ Ah ! very well, I understand. But what I understand 
 likewise, and what is very frightful is, that every time his 
 Majesty Charles II. will think of me, he will say to him- 
 self : ‘ There is the man who was near making me lose 
 my crown. Fortunately I was generous, great, full of 
 presence of mind.’ This is what the young gentleman in 
 a shabby black doublet will say, who came to the chateau 
 of Blois, hat in hand, to ask me if I would grant him 
 access to the King of France.” 
 
 “ D’Artagnan ! D’Artagnan ! ” said Athos, laying his 
 hand on the shoulder of the musketeer, “ you are unjust.” 
 “ I am right.” 
 
 “ No ; for you are ignorant of the future.” 
 
 D’Artagnan looked his friend full in the face, and began 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 317 
 
 to laugh. “In truth, my dear Athos,” said he, “you 
 speak some words so superb, that they belong only to you 
 and M. le Cardinal Mazarin.” 
 
 Athos made a movement. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” continued D’Artagnan, laughing, — 
 “ I beg your pardon, if I have offended you. The future ! 
 Bah ! Words that promise are pretty words, and how 
 well they fill the mouth in default of other things ! Mor- 
 dioux ! After having met with so many who promise, 
 when shall I find one who gives ? But let that pass ! ” 
 continued D’Artagnan. “ What are you doing here, my 
 dear Athos ? Are you king’s treasurer h ” 
 
 “ What ! — king’s treasurer h ” 
 
 “Well; since the king possesses a million, he must 
 want a treasurer. The King of France, although he is 
 not worth a sou, has still an intendant of finance, M. Fou- 
 quet. It is true that, in exchange, M. Fouquet has a 
 good number of millions of his own.” 
 
 “ Oh ! our million is spent long ago,” said Athos, laugh- 
 ing in his turn. 
 
 “ I understand ; it was frittered away in satin, precious 
 stones, velvet, and feathers of all sorts and colors. All 
 these princes and princesses stood in great need of tailors 
 and dressmakers. Eh ! Athos, do you remember what we 
 fellows expended in equipping ourselves for the cam- 
 paign of La Rochelle, and to make our appearance on 
 horseback 1 ? Two or three thousand livres, by my 
 faith ! But a king’s robe is more ample ; it would re- 
 quire a million to purchase the stuff. At least, Athos, 
 if you are not treasurer, you are on a good footing at 
 court.” 
 
 “By the faith of a gentleman, I know nothing about 
 it,” said Athos, simply. 
 
 “ What ! you know nothing about it ? ” 
 
318 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ No ! I have not seen the king since we left Dover.” 
 
 “ Then he has forgotten you too ! Mordioux ! That is 
 shameful ! ” 
 
 “ His Majesty has had so much business to transact.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried D’Artagnan, with one of those intelligent 
 grimaces which he alone knew how to make, “ that is 
 enough to make me recover my love for Monseigneur 
 Giulio Mazarini. What, Athos ! the king has not seen 
 you since ? ” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “ And you are not furious ? ” 
 
 “ I ! — why should I be ? Do you imagine, my dear 
 D’Artagnan, that it was on the king’s account I acted as 
 I have done? I did not know the young man. I de- 
 fended the father, who represented a principle sacred 
 in my eyes, and I allowed myself to be drawn towards 
 the son by a sympathy for this same principle. Besides, 
 he was a worthy knight, a noble mortal creature, that 
 father; do you remember him?” 
 
 “Yes, that is true ; he was a brave, an excellent man, 
 who led a sad life, but made a fine end.” 
 
 “ Well, my dear D’Artagnan, understand this : to that 
 king, to that man of heart, to that friend of my thoughts, 
 if I durst venture to say so, I swore, at the last hour, to 
 preserve faithfully the secret of a deposit which was to be 
 transmitted to his son, to assist him at his need. This 
 young man came to me ; he described his destitution ; 
 he was unaware that I was anything to him but a liv- 
 ing souvenir of his father. I have accomplished for 
 Charles II. what I promised Charles I. ; that is all. Of 
 what consequence is it to me, then, whether he be grate- 
 ful or not? It is to myself I have rendered a service, by 
 relieving myself of this responsibility, and not to him.” 
 
 “ Well, I have always said,” replied D’Artagnan, with 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 319 
 
 a sigh, “ that disinterestedness is the finest thing in the 
 world.” 
 
 “ Well ; and you, my friend,” resumed Athos, — “are 
 you not in the same situation as myself? If I have prop- 
 erly understood your words, you have allowed yourself 
 to be affected by the misfortunes of this young man ; that, 
 on your part, was much greater than it was upon mine, for 
 I had a duty to fulfil, while you were under no obliga- 
 tion to the son of the martyr. You had not, on your 
 part, to pay him the price of that precious drop of blood 
 which he let fall upon my brow, through the floor of his 
 scaffold. That which made you act was heart alone, — 
 the noble and good heart which you possess beneath your 
 apparent scepticism and sarcastic irony ; you have de-, 
 voted the fortune of a servant, and your own, I suspect, 
 my benevolent miser ! and your sacrifice is not acknowl- 
 edged ! Of what consequence is it ? You wish to repay 
 Planchet his money ? I can comprehend that, my friend ; 
 for it is not becoming in a gentleman to borrow of his 
 inferior, without returning him principal and interest* 
 Well, I will sell La Fere, if necessary, and if not, some 
 little farm. You shall pay Planchet, and there will be 
 enough, believe me, of corn left in my granaries for us 
 two and Raoul. In this way, my friend, you will owe an 
 obligation to nobody but yourself; and, if I know you 
 well, it will not be a small satisfaction to your mind, 
 to be able to say, 1 1 have made a king ! 9 Am I 
 right?” 
 
 “ Athos ! Athos ! ” murmured D’Artagnan, thought- 
 fully, “ I have told you more than once, that the day on 
 which you shall preach, I will attend the sermon ; the 
 day on which you shall tell me there is a hell, mordioux ! 
 I shall be afraid of the gridiron and the forks. You are 
 better than I, or rather, better than anybody ; and I only 
 
320 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 acknowledge the possession of one merit, and that is, of 
 not being jealous. Except that defect, God damn me, as 
 the English say, if I have not all the rest.” 
 
 “ I know nobody equal to D’Artagnan,” replied Athos ; 
 “ but here we are, arrived in good time at the house I 
 inhabit. Will you come in, my friend ? ” 
 
 “ Eh ! why, this is the Stag’s Horn tavern, I think *? ” 
 said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ I confess I chose it on purpose. I like old acquaint- 
 ances ; I like to sit down on that place whereon I sank, 
 overcome by fatigue, overwhelmed with despair, when you 
 returned on the 31st of January.” 
 
 “ After having discovered the abode of the masked 
 executioner'? Yes, that was a terrible day ! ” 
 
 “Come in, then,” said Athos, interrupting him. 
 
 They entered the large apartment, formerly the com- 
 mon one. The tavern in general, and this room in 
 particular, had undergone great changes ; the ancient 
 host of the Musketeers, having become tolerably rich for 
 an innkeeper, had closed his shop, and made of this room 
 a warehouse for colonial provisions. As for the rest of 
 the house, he let it ready furnished to strangers. It 
 was with unspeakable emotion D’Artagnan recognized 
 all the furniture of the chamber of the first story, — 
 the wainscoting, the tapestries, and even that geographi- 
 cal chart which Porthos had so fondly studied in his 
 moments of leisure. 
 
 “It is eleven years ago,” cried D’Artagnan. “ Mor- 
 dioux ! it appears to me a century ! ” 
 
 “And to me but a day,” said Athos. “Imagine the 
 joy I experience, my friend, in seeing you here, in press- 
 ing your hand, in casting from me sword and poniard, and 
 tasting without mistrust this glass of sherry. And, oh ! 
 what still further joy it would be, if our two friends were 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 321 
 
 there, at the two angles of the table, and Raoul, my 
 beloved Raoul, on the threshold, looking at us with his 
 large eyes, at once so brilliant and so soft ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, yes,” said D’Artagnan, much affected, “that is 
 true. I approve particularly of the first part of your 
 thought ; it is very pleasant to smile here where we 
 have with so good reason shuddered at thinking that 
 from one moment to another M. Mordaunt might appear 
 upon the landing.” 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and D’Artagnan, 
 brave as he was, could not restrain a slight movement of 
 fright. Athos understood him ; and smiling, “ It is our 
 host,” said he, “ bringing me a letter.” 
 
 “ Yes, my Lord,” said the good man ; “ here is a letter 
 for your Honor.” 
 
 “Thank you,” said Athos, taking the letter without 
 looking at it. “ Tell me, my dear host, if you do not 
 remember this gentleman.” 
 
 The old man raised his head, and looked attentively at 
 D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ No,” said he. 
 
 “ It is,” said Athos, “ one of those friends of whom I 
 have spoken to you, and who lodged here with me eleven 
 years ago.” 
 
 “ Oh ! but,” said the old man, “ so many strangers 
 have lodged here ! ” 
 
 “But we lodged here on the 30th of January, 1649,” 
 added Athos, believing he would stimulate the lazy 
 memory of the host by this remark. 
 
 “ That is very possible,” replied he, smiling ; “ but it 
 is so long ago ! ” and he bowed, and went out. 
 
 “Thank you,” said D’Artagnan; “perform exploits, 
 accomplish revolutions, endeavor to engrave your name 
 in stone or upon brass with strong swords ! there is 
 VOL. t. — 21 
 
322 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 something more rebellious, more hard, more forgetful 
 than iron, brass, or stone, and that is the aging: brain of 
 the master of lodgings enriched by his trade. He does 
 not know me ! — well, I should have known him.” 
 
 Athos, still smiling, unsealed his letter. “ Ah ! ” said 
 he, “a letter from Parry.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ read it, my friend, read 
 it ! It, no doubt, contains news.” 
 
 Athos shook his head, and read : — 
 
 Monsieur the Count, — The king has experienced much 
 regret at not seeing you to-day, near him, at his entrance. 
 His Majesty commands me to say so, and to recall him to your 
 memory. His Majesty will expect you this evening, at the 
 palace of St. J ames, between nine and ten o’clock. 
 
 I am, with respect, Monsieur the Count, your Honor’s very 
 humble and very obedient servant, Parry. 
 
 “ You see, my dear D’Artagnan,” said Athos, “ we must 
 not despair of the hearts of kings.” 
 
 “Not despair! you have reason to say so!” replied 
 D'Artagnan. 
 
 “ Oh ! my dear, very dear friend,” resumed Athos, 
 whom the almost imperceptible bitterness of D’Artagnan 
 had not escaped. “ Pardon me ! can I have unintention- 
 ally wounded my best comrade V 9 
 
 “ You are mad, Athos, and to prove it I will conduct 
 you to the palace, — to the very gate, I mean ; the walk 
 will do me good.” 
 
 “You will go in with me, my friend; I will speak to 
 his Majesty.” 
 
 “ No, no ! ” replied D’Artagnan, with a true pride, free 
 from all mixture ; “ if there is anything worse than beg- 
 ging yourself, it is making others beg for you. Come, 
 let us go, my friend, the walk will be charming ; I will, 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 323 
 
 in passing, show you the house of M. Monk, who has de- 
 tained me with him. A beautiful house, by my faith! 
 Being a general in England is better than being a mar- 
 shal in France, please to know.” 
 
 Athos allowed himself to be led along, saddened by 
 D’Artagnan’s fictitious gayety. The whole city was in a 
 state of joy ; the two friends were jostled at every mo- 
 ment by enthusiasts who required them, in their intoxi- 
 cation, to cry out, “Long live good King Charles!’ 
 D’Artagnan replied by a grunt, and Athos by a smile. 
 They arrived thus in front of Monk’s house, before which, 
 as we have said, they had to pass on their way to St. 
 James. Athos and D’Artagnan said but little on their 
 way, for the simple reason that they would have had so 
 many things to talk about if they had spoken. Athos 
 thought that by speaking he should evince satisfaction, 
 and that that might wound D’Artagnan. The latter feared 
 that in speaking he should allow some little acerbity to 
 steal into his words which would render his company un- 
 pleasant to his friend. It was a singular emulation of 
 silence between contentment and ill-humor. D’Artagnan 
 gave wa } 7 first to that itching at the tip of his tongue 
 which he so habitually experienced. 
 
 “ Do you remember, Athos,” said he, “ the passage of 
 the ‘Memoires de D’Aubigny,’ in which that devoted ser- 
 vant — a Gascon like myself, poor as myself, and, I was 
 going to add, brave as myself — relates instances of the 
 meanness of Henry IV. ? My father always told me, I 
 remember, that D’Aubigny was a liar. But, neverthe- 
 less, examine how all the princes, the issue of the great 
 Henry, keep up the character of the race.” 
 
 “ Nonsense! ” said Athos, “ the kings of France misers? 
 You are mad, my friend.” 
 
 “ Oh ! you are so perfect yourself? you never agree to 
 
324 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the faults of others. But, in reality, Henry IY. was cove- 
 tous; Louis XIII., his son, was so likewise, — we know 
 something of that, don’t we? Gaston carried this vice 
 to exaggeration, and has made himself, in this respect, 
 hated by all who surround him. Henriette, poor woman, 
 might well be avaricious, — she who did not eat every day, 
 and could not warm herself every winter ; and that is an 
 example she has given to her son Charles II., grandson 
 of the great Henry IV., who is as covetous as his mother 
 and his grandfather. See if I have well traced the gen- 
 ealogy of the misers ! ” 
 
 “ D’Artagnan, my friend,” cried Athos, “you are very 
 rude towards that eagle race called the Bourbons.” 
 
 “ Eh ! and I have forgotten the best instance of all, — 
 the other grandson of the Bcarnais, Louis XIV., my ex- 
 master. Well, I hope he is miserly enough, who would 
 not lend a million to his brother Charles! Good ! I see 
 you are beginning to be angry. Here we are, by good 
 luck, close to my house, or rather to that of my friend, 
 M. Monk.” 
 
 “ My dear D’Artagnan, you do not make me angry, 
 you make me sad ; it is cruel, in fact, to see a man of 
 your merit out of the position his services ought to have 
 acquired ; it appears to me, my dear friend, that your 
 name is as radiant as the greatest names in war and di- 
 plomacy. Tell me if the Luynes, the Bellegardes, and 
 the Bassompierres have merited, as we have, fortunes 
 and honors? You are right, my friend, a hundred times 
 right.” 
 
 D’Artagnan sighed, and preceding his friend under the 
 porch of the mansion Monk inhabited, at the extremity 
 of the city, “ Permit me,” said he, “ to leave my purse at 
 home ; for if in the crowd those clever pickpockets of 
 London, who are much boasted of even in Paris, were to 
 
ATHOS AND D’ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 325 
 
 steal from me the remainder of my poor crowns, I should 
 not be able to return to France. Now, content I left 
 France, and wild with joy I should return to it, seeing 
 that all my prejudices of former days against England 
 are returned, accompanied by many others.” 
 
 Athos made no reply. 
 
 “ So then, my dear friend, one second, and I will fol- 
 low you,” said D’Artagnan. “ 1 know you are in a hurry 
 to go yonder to receive your reward ; but, believe me, I 
 am not less eager to partake of your joy, although at a 
 distance. Wait for me : ” and D’Artagnan w T as already 
 passing through the vestibule, when a man, half servant, 
 half soldier, who filled in Monk’s establishment the 
 double functions of porter and guard, stopped our mus 
 keteer, saying to him, in English, — 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, my Lord d’Artagnan ! ” 
 
 “ Well,” replied the latter ; “ what is it ? Is the general 
 going to dismiss me ^ That only was wanting, — that I 
 should be expelled by him ! ” 
 
 These words, spoken in French, made no impression 
 upon the person to whom they were addressed, and who 
 himself only spoke an English mixed with the rudest 
 Scotch. But Athos was grieved with them, for he began 
 to think D’Artagnan was not wrong. 
 
 The Englishman showed D’Artagnan a letter : “ From 
 the general,” said he. 
 
 “ Ay ! that ’s it, my dismissal ! ” replied the Gascon. 
 “ Must it be read, Athos ? ” 
 
 “You must be deceived,” said Athos, “or I know no 
 other honest people in the world but you and myself.” 
 D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders and unsealed the 
 letter, while the impassive Englishman held for him a 
 large lantern, by the light of which he was enabled to 
 read it.' 
 
326 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Well, what have you?” said Athos, seeing the coun- 
 tenance of the reader change. 
 
 “ Read it yourself,” said the musketeer. 
 
 Athos took the paper and read : — 
 
 M. d’Artagnan, — The king very much regrets you did 
 not come to St. Paul’s with his cortege. You have failed 
 with him as you failed with me, my dear captain. There 
 is but one means of repairing all this. His Majesty expects 
 me -at nine o’clock at the palace of St. James; will you be 
 there at the same time with me ? His gracious Majesty ap- 
 points that hour for an audience he grants you. 
 
 This letter was from Monk. 
 
THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 327 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 “Well?” cried Athos, with a mild look of reproach, 
 when D’Artagnan had read the letter addressed to him 
 by Monk. 
 
 “Well!” said D’Artagnan, red with pleasure, and a 
 little with shame for having so hastily accused the king 
 and Monk, “ this is a politeness, — which leads to noth- 
 ing, it is true, but yet it: is a politeness.” 
 
 “ I could hardly believe the young prince ungrateful,” 
 said Athos. 
 
 “ The fact is, that his present is still too near to his 
 past,” replied D’Artagnan ; “ but, after all, everything to 
 the present moment proves me right.” 
 
 “ I acknowledge it, my dear friend, I acknowledge it. 
 Ah ! there is your cheerful look returned. You cannot 
 think how delighted I am.” 
 
 “ Thus you see,” said D’Artagnan, “ Charles II. re- 
 ceives M. Monk at nine o’clock ; me he will receive at 
 ten ; it is a grand audience, of the sort which at the 
 Louvre are called ‘ distributions of holy court water.’ 
 Come, let us go and place ourselves under the spout, my 
 dear friend ! Come along ! ” 
 
 Athos did not reply ; and both directed their steps, 
 at a quick pace, towards the palace of St. James, which 
 the crowd still surrounded, to catch through the win- 
 dows the shadows of the courtiers and the reflection of 
 the royal person. Eight o’clock was striking, when the 
 
328 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE. 
 
 two friends took their places in the gallery filled with 
 courtiers and politicians. Every one gave a glance at 
 these simply dressed men in foreign habits, at these two 
 noble heads so full of character and meaning. On their 
 side, Athos and D’Artagnan, having with swift glances 
 taken the measure of the whole of the assembly, resumed 
 their chat. A great noise was suddenly heard at the 
 extremity of the gallery, — it was General Monk, who 
 entered, followed by more than twenty officers, all anxious 
 for one of his smiles ; for he had been the evening before 
 master of all England, and a glorious morrow was ex- 
 pected for the restorer of the family of the Stuarts. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said Monk, turning round, “ hencefor- 
 ward I beg you to remember that I am no longer any- 
 thing. Lately I commanded the principal army of the 
 republic ; now that army is the king’s, into whose hands 
 I am about to replace, at his command, my power of 
 yesterday.” 
 
 Great surprise was expressed on the countenances of 
 all ; and the circle of adulators and suppliants which sur- 
 rounded Monk an instant before, was enlarged by de- 
 grees, until it was lost in the large undulations of the 
 crowd. Monk was going into the antechamber, as others 
 did. D’Artagnan could not help remarking this to the 
 Comte de la Fere, who frowned on beholding it. Sud- 
 denly the door of Charles’s cabinet opened, and the young 
 king appeared, preceded by two officers of his household. 
 
 “ Good evening, gentlemen,” said he. “ Is General 
 Monk here 1 ” 
 
 “I am here, Sire,” replied the old general. 
 
 Charles stepped hastily towards him, and seized his 
 hand with the warmest demonstration of friendship. 
 “ General,” said the king, aloud, “ I have just signed your 
 patent, — you are Duke of Albemarle; and my intention 
 
THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 329 
 
 is that no one shall equal you in power and fortune in 
 this kingdom, where — the noble Montrose excepted — 
 no one has equalled you in loyalty, courage, and talent. 
 Gentlemen, the duke is commander of our armies by land 
 and by sea ; pay him your respects, if you please, in that 
 character.” 
 
 While every one was pressing round the general, who 
 received all this homage without losing his impassiveness 
 for an instant, D’Artagnan said to Athos : “ When one 
 thinks that this duchy, this command of the land and sea 
 forces, — all these grandeurs, in a word, — have been shut 
 up in a box six feet long and three feet wide ! — ” 
 
 “My friend,” replied Athos, “much more imposing 
 grandeurs are confined in boxes still smaller, — and re- 
 main there forever.” 
 
 All at once Monk perceived the two gentlemen, who 
 held themselves apart waiting for the crowd to diminish • 
 he himself made a passage towards them, and surprised 
 them in the midst of their philosophical reflections. “ Were 
 you speaking of me h ” said he, with a smile. 
 
 “My Lord,” replied Athos, “we were speaking also of 
 God.” 
 
 Monk reflected for a moment, and then replied gayly : 
 “Gentlemen, let us speak a little of the king likewise, if 
 you please ; for you have, I believe, an audience of his 
 Majesty.” 
 
 “ At nine o’clock,” said Athos. 
 
 “ At ten o’clock,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Let us go into this closet at once,” replied Monk, 
 making a sign to his two companions to precede him ; but 
 to this neither would consent. 
 
 The king during this conversation had returned to the 
 centre of the gallery. 
 
 “ Oh, my Frenchmen ! ” said he, in that tone of care^ 
 
330 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 less gayety which, in spite of so much grief and so many 
 crosses, he had never lost. “ The Frenchmen ! my con- 
 solation ! ” Athos and D’Artagnan bowed. 
 
 “ Duke, conduct these gentlemen into my study. — I 
 am at your service, Messieurs,” added he, in French. 
 And he promptly expedited his court, to return to his 
 Frenchmen, as he called them. “ M. d’Artagnan,” said 
 he, as he entered his cabinet, “ I am glad to see you 
 again.” 
 
 “ Sire, my joy is at its height at having the honor to 
 salute your Majesty in your own palace of St. James.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, you have been willing to render me a great 
 service, and I owe you my gratitude for it. If I did not 
 fear to intrude upon the rights of our general comman- 
 dant, I would offer you some post worthy of you near 
 our person.” 
 
 “Sire,” replied D’Artagnan, “I have quitted the ser- 
 vice of the King of France, making my prince a promise 
 not to serve any other king.” 
 
 “ Humph ! ” said Charles, “ I am sorry to hear that. I 
 should like to do much for you ; you please me.” 
 
 “ Sire — ” 
 
 “ But let us see,” said Charles, with a smile, “ if we 
 cannot make you break your word. — Duke, assist me. — 
 If you were offered — that is to say, if I offered you the 
 chief command of my Musketeers ? ” D’Artagnan bowed 
 lower than before. 
 
 “ I should have the regret to refuse what your gracious 
 Majesty would offer me,” said lie. “A gentleman has 
 but his word ; and that word, as I have had the honor 
 to tell your Majesty, is engaged to the King of France.” 
 
 “We will say no more about it, then,” said the king, 
 turning towards Athos, and leaving D’Artagnan plunged 
 in the deepest pangs of disappointment. 
 
THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 331 
 
 “Ah ! I said so,” muttered the musketeer. “ Words! 
 words ! Court holy water ! Kings have always a mar- 
 vellous talent for offering us that which they know we 
 will not accept, and in appearing generous without 
 risk. Tool ! — triple fool that I was to have hoped for a 
 moment ! ” 
 
 During this time Charles had taken the hand of Athos. 
 “ Count,” said he, “you have been to me a second father ; 
 the services you have rendered me are above all price. I 
 have thought of a recompense, notwithstanding. You 
 were created by my father a Knight of the Garter, — that 
 is an order which all the kings of Europe cannot bear; 
 by the queen regent, Knight of the Holy Ghost, — which 
 is an order not less illustrious ; I join to it that of the 
 Golden Fleece, which the King of France has sent me, to 
 whom the King of Spain, his father-in-law, gave two on 
 the occasion of his marriage ; but, in return, I have a 
 service to ask of you.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said Athos, with confusion, “the Golden Fleece 
 for me, when the King of France is the only person in 
 my country who enjoys that distinction ! ” 
 
 “ I wish you to be, in your country and elsewhere, the 
 equal of all those whom sovereigns have honored with 
 their favor,” said Charles, drawing the chain from his 
 neck ; “ and I am sure, Count, my father smiles on me 
 from the depths of his tomb.” 
 
 “ It is unaccountably strange,” said D’Artagnan to 
 himself, while his friend, on his knees, received the emi- 
 nent order which the king conferred on him, — “ it is 
 almost incredible that I have always seen showers of 
 prosperity fall upon all who surrounded me, and that 
 not a drop ever reached me ! If I were a jealous man, it 
 would be enough to make me tear my hair, by my word 
 of honor ! ” 
 
332 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Athos rose from his knees, and Charles embraced him 
 tenderly. “ General ! ” said he to Monk ; then stopping 
 with a smile, “ Pardon me, — duke I mean. No wonder if 
 I mistake ; the word ‘ duke ’ is too short for me, I always 
 seek for some title to elongate it. I should wish to see 
 you so near my throne that I might say to you, as to 
 Louis XIV., ‘ My brother ! ’ Oh ! I have it ; and you will 
 be almost my brother, for I make you viceroy of Ireland 
 and Scotland, my dear duke. So, after that fashion, 
 henceforward I shall not make a mistake.” 
 
 The duke seized the hand of the king, but without en- 
 thusiasm, without joy, as he did everything. His heart, 
 however, had been moved by this last favor. Charles, by 
 skilfully husbanding his generosity, had left the duke 
 time to wish, although he might not have wished for so 
 much as was given him. 
 
 “ Mordioux! ” grumbled D’Artagnan, “there is the 
 shower beginning again ! Oh, it is enough to turn one’s 
 brain ! ” and he turned away with an air so sorrowful and 
 so comically piteous, that the king could not restrain a 
 smile. Monk was preparing to leave the cabinet to take 
 leave of Charles. 
 
 “ What ! my trusty and well-beloved,” said the king to 
 the duke, “ are you going h ” 
 
 “ If it please your Majesty, for in truth I am tired. 
 The emotions of the day have worn me out ; I need 
 repose.” 
 
 “ But,” said the king, “you are not going without M. 
 d’Artagnan, I hope.” 
 
 “ Why not, Sire ? ” said the old warrior. 
 
 “Well ! you know very well why,” said the king. 
 
 Monk looked at Charles with astonishment. 
 
 “I beg your Majesty’s pardon. I do not know — what 
 you mean.” 
 
THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 333 
 
 “ Oh ! possibly not ; but if you forget, M. d’Artagnan 
 does not.” 
 
 Astonishment was painted on the face of the musketeer. 
 
 Ci Well, then, Duke,” said the king, “do you not lodge 
 with M. d’Artagnan ? ” 
 
 “ I have the honor to offer M. d’Artagnan a lodging ; 
 yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ That idea is your own, and yours solely h ” 
 
 “ Mine and mine only ; yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ Well ! but it could not be otherwise, — the prisoner 
 is always at the home of his conqueror.” 
 
 Monk colored in his turn. “ Ah ! that is true,” said 
 he ; “ I am M. d’Artagnan ’s prisoner.” 
 
 “ Without doubt, Monk, since you are not yet ran- 
 somed ; but do not let that concern you. It was I who 
 took you out of M. d’Artagnan’s hands, and it is I who 
 will pay your ransom.” 
 
 The eyes of D’Artagnan regained their gayety and 
 their brilliancy. The Gascon began to comprehend. 
 Charles advanced towards him. 
 
 “ The general,” said he, “ is not rich, and cannot pay 
 you what he is worth. I am richer, certainly ; but now 
 that he is a duke, and if not a king, almost a king, he is 
 worth a sum I could not perhaps pay. Come, M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan, be moderate with me ; how much do I owe you % ” 
 
 D’Artagnan, delighted at the turn things were taking, 
 but not for a moment losing his self-possession, replied : 
 “ Sire, your Majesty has no occasion to be alarmed. 
 When I had the good fortune to take his Grace, M. Monk 
 was only a general : it is therefore only a general’s ran- 
 som that is due to me. But if the general will have the 
 kindness to deliver me his sword, I shall consider myself 
 paid ; for there is nothing in the world but the general’s 
 sword which is worth so much as himself.” 
 
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 o34 
 
 “ Odds fish ! as my father said,” cried Charles. “ That 
 is a gallant proposal, and a gallant man, is he not, Duke 1 ” 
 
 “ Upon my honor, yes, Sire ; ” and he drew his sword. 
 “ Monsieur,” said he to D’Artagnan, “ here is what you 
 demand. Many may have handled a better blade; but 
 however modest mine may be, I have never surrendered 
 it to any one.” 
 
 D’Artagnan received with pride the sword which had 
 just made a king. 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” cried Charles II. ; “ what ! a sword that 
 has restored me to my throne to go out of the kingdom, 
 and not, one day, to figure among the ornaments of 
 my crown ! No, on my soul ! that shall not be. Cap- 
 tain d’Artagnan, I will give you two hundred thousand 
 livres for your sword ; if that is too little, say so.” 
 
 “ It is too little, Sire,” replied D’Artagnan, with inimi- 
 table seriousness. “ In the first place, I do not at all 
 wish to sell it ; but your Majesty desires me to do so, 
 and that is an order. I obey, then ; but the respect I 
 owe to the illustrious warrior who hears me, commands 
 me to estimate at a half more the reward of my victory. 
 I ask, then, three hundred thousand livres for the sword, 
 or I will give it to your Majesty for nothing;” and 
 taking it by the point he presented it to the king. 
 Charles broke into hilarious laughter. 
 
 “ A gallant man, and a joyous companion ! Odds fish ! 
 is he not, Duke h is he not, Count ^ He pleases me ! 
 I like him ! Here, Chevalier d’Artagnan, take this ; ” 
 and going to the table, he took a pen and wrote an order 
 upon his treasurer for three hundred thousand livres. 
 
 D’Artagnan took it, and turning gravely towards Monk, 
 “ I have still asked too little, I know,” said he ; “ but be- 
 lieve me, Monsieur the Duke, I would rather have died 
 than allow myself to be governed by avarice.” 
 
THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 335 
 
 The king began to laugh again, like the happiest 
 cockney of his kingdom. 
 
 “ You will come and see me again before you go, 
 Chevalier V 1 said he; “I shall want to lay in a stock of 
 gayety, now my Frenchmen are leaving me.” 
 
 “Ah, Sire, it shall not be with the gayety as with the 
 duke’s sword ; I will give it to your Majesty gratis,” 
 replied D’Artagnan, whose feet scarcely seemed to touch 
 the ground. 
 
 “And you, Count,” added Charles, turning towards 
 Athos, “ come again, also ; I have an important message 
 to confide to you. Your hand, Duke.” Monk pressed 
 the hand of the king. 
 
 “ Adieu, gentlemen ! ” said Charles, holding out each of 
 his hands to the tw x o Frenchmen, who carried them to 
 their lips. 
 
 “Well,” said Athos, when they were out of the palace, 
 “ are you satisfied ? ” 
 
 “ Hush ! ” said D’Artagnan, wild with joy, “ I am not 
 yet returned from the treasurer’s ; the spout may fall 
 upon my head.” 
 
336 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 OF THE EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES. 
 
 D’Artagnan lost no time ; and as soon as the thing was 
 suitable and opportune, he paid a visit to the lord- 
 treasurer of his Majesty. He had then the satisfaction 
 of exchanging a piece of paper covered with very ugly writ- 
 ing for a prodigious number of crowns, recently stamped 
 with the image of his very gracious Majesty Charles II. 
 D’Artagnan easily recovered his self-possession ; and yet 
 upon this occasion he could not help evincing a joy which 
 the reader will perhaps comprehend, if he deigns to have 
 some indulgence for a man who, since his birth, had 
 never seen so many pieces and rouleaux of pieces placed 
 together in an order truly agreeable to the eye. The 
 treasurer placed all these rouleaux in bags, and closed 
 each bag with a stamp of the arms of England, — a favor 
 which treasurers do not accord to everybody. Then, 
 impassive, and with all the politeness that should be 
 shown to a man honored with the friendship of the king, 
 he said to D’Artagnan, — 
 
 “Take away your money, sir.” 
 
 Your money ! These words made a thousand chords 
 vibrate in the heart of D’Artagnan, which he had never 
 felt before. He had the bags packed in a small cart, and 
 returned home meditating profoundly. A man who pos- 
 sesses three hundred thousand livres can no longer expect 
 to wear a smooth brow ; a wrinkle for every hundred 
 thousand livres is not too much. D’Artagnan shut him- 
 
OF THE EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES- 
 
 37 
 
 self up, ate no dinner, closed his door against everybody, 
 and with a lighted lamp and a loaded pistol on the table, 
 watched all night, ruminating upon the means of pre- 
 venting these lovely crowns, which from the coffers of 
 the king had passed into his coffers, from passing from 
 his coffers into the pockets of any thief whatever. The 
 best means discovered by the Gascon was to enclose his 
 treasure, for the present, under locks so solid that no 
 wrist could break them, and so complicated that no com- 
 mon key could open them. D’Artagnan remembered that 
 the English have great skill in mechanics and conserva- 
 tive industry ; and he determined to go in the morning 
 in search of a mechanic who would sell him a strong- 
 box. He did not go far. Master Will Jobson, dwelling 
 in Piccadilly, listened to his propositions, comprehended 
 his dilemma, and promised to make him a safety-lock 
 that should relieve him from all future fear. 
 
 “I will give you,” said he, “a piece of mechanism 
 entirely new. At the first serious attempt upon your 
 lock, an invisible plate will open of itself and a small 
 cannon, equally invisible, will vomit forth a pretty copper 
 bullet of eight-ounce weight, which will knock down the 
 intruder, and not without a loud report. What do you 
 think of \tV’ 
 
 “ I think it very ingenious,” cried D’Artagnan ; “ the 
 little copper bullet pleases me mightily. So now, Mon- 
 sieur the mechanic, the terms ” 
 
 “ A fortnight for the execution, and fifteen thousand 
 livres, payable on delivery,” replied the artisan. 
 
 D’Artagnan ’s brow darkened. A fortnight was delay 
 enough to allow the thieves of London time to remove 
 all occasion for the strong box. As to the fifteen thou- 
 sand livres, that would be paying too dear for what a 
 little vigilance would procure him for nothing. 
 vol. i. — 22 
 
338 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I will think of it,” said he; “thank you, Monsieur.” 
 And he returned home at full speed ; nobody had yet 
 touched his treasure. 
 
 That same day, Athos paid his friend a visit, and 
 found him so thoughtful that he could not help express- 
 ing his surprise. 
 
 “ How is this] ” said he, “you are rich and not gay, — 
 you, who were so anxious for wealth ! ” 
 
 “ My friend, the pleasures to which we are not accus- 
 tomed oppress us more than the griefs with which we are 
 familiar. Give me your opinion, if you please. I can ask 
 you, who have always had money : when we have money, 
 what do we do with it ] ” 
 
 “ That depends.” 
 
 “What have you done with yours, seeing that it has 
 not made you a miser or a prodigal ] For avarice dries up 
 the heart, and prodigality drowns it, — is not that so ] ” 
 “Fabricius could not have spoken more justly. But, 
 in truth, my money has never been a burden to me.” 
 
 “ How so 1 Do you place it out at interest ] ” 
 
 “No; you know I have a tolerably handsome house, 
 and that house composes the better part of my prop- 
 erty.” 
 
 “ I know it does.” 
 
 “ So that you can be as rich as I am, and indeed richer, 
 whenever you like, by the same means.” 
 
 “ But your rents, — do you lay them by ] ” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “ What do you think of a chest concealed in a wall ] ” 
 
 “ I never made use of such a thing.” 
 
 “ Then you must have some confidant, some safe man 
 of business, who pays you interest at a fair rate.” 
 
 “Not at all.” 
 
 “ Good heavens ! what do you do with it, then ] ” 
 
OF THE EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES. 
 
 339 
 
 “ I spend all I have, and I have only what I spend, my 
 dear D’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Ah ! that may be. But you are something of a 
 prince ; fifteen or sixteen thousand livres melt away 
 between your fingers ; and then you have expenses and 
 appearances — ” 
 
 “ Well, I don’t see why you should be less of a noble than 
 I am, my friend ; your money would be quite sufficient.” 
 “ Three hundred thousand livres ! Two thirds too 
 much ! ” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon — did you not tell me % — I thought 
 X heard you say — I fancied you had a partner — ” 
 
 “Ah ! mordioux ! that’s true,” cried D’Artagnan, col- 
 oring; “there is Planchet. I had forgotten Planchet, 
 upon my life ! Well, there are my hundred thousand 
 crowns broken into ! That ’s a pity ; it was a round sum, 
 and sounded well. — That is true, Athos ; I am no longer 
 rich. What a memory you have ! ” 
 
 “ Tolerably good ; yes, thank God ! ” 
 
 “ That brave Planchet ! ” grumbled D’Artagnan ; “ he 
 has not had a bad dream ! What a speculation ! Peste ! 
 Well, what is said is said ! ” 
 
 “ How much are you to give him V 9 
 “Oh,” said D’Artagnan, “he is not a bad fellow; I 
 shall arrange matters with him. I have had a great deal 
 of trouble, you see, and expenses ; all that must be taken 
 into account.” 
 
 “ My dear friend, I can depend upon you, and have no 
 fear for the worthy Idanchet ; his interests are better in 
 your hands than in his own. But now that you have 
 nothing more to do here, we will set out, if you please. 
 You can go and thank his Majesty, ask if he has any 
 commands, and in six days we may be able to get sight 
 of the towers of Notre-Dame.” 
 
340 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ My friend, I am most anxious to be off, and will go 
 at once and pay my respects to the king.” 
 
 “ I,” said Athos, “ am going to call upon some friends 
 in the city, and shall be then at your service.” 
 
 “ Will you lend me Grimaud ? ” 
 
 “ With all my heart. What do you want to do with 
 him « ” 
 
 “ Something very simple, and which will not fatigue 
 him ; I will only beg him to take charge of my pistols, 
 which lie there on the table near that coffer.” 
 
 “Very well!” replied Athos, imperturbably. 
 
 “ And he will not stir, will he ” 
 
 “ Not more than the pistols themselves.” 
 
 “ Then I will go and take leave of his Majesty. Au 
 revoir ! ” 
 
 D’Artagnan arrived at St. James’s, where Charles IT., 
 who was busy writing, kept him in the antechamber a full 
 hour. While walking about in the gallery, from the door 
 to the window, from the window to the door, he thought 
 he saw a cloak like Athos’s cross the vestibule ; but at the 
 moment he was going to ascertain if it were he, the usher 
 summoned him to his Majesty’s presence. Charles II. 
 rubbed his hands at receiving the thanks of our friend. 
 
 “Chevalier,” said he, “you are wrong in expressing 
 gratitude to me ; I have not paid you a quarter of the 
 value of the history of the box into which you put the 
 brave general — the excellent Duke of Albemarle, I 
 mean ; ” and the king laughed heartily. 
 
 D’Artagnan did not think it proper to interrupt his 
 Majesty, and bowed with much modesty. 
 
 “A propos ,” continued Charles, “do you think my 
 dear Monk has really pardoned you ? ” 
 
 “ Pardoned me ! yes, I hope so, Sire ! ” 
 
 “ Eh ! but it was a cruel trick ! Odds fish ! to pack up 
 
OF THE EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES. 
 
 341 
 
 the first personage of the English Revolution like a her* 
 ring! In your place, I would not trust him, Chevalier.” 
 
 “ But, Sire — ” 
 
 “ Yes, I know very well that Monk calls you his friend. 
 But he has too penetrating an eye not to have a memory, 
 and too lofty a brow not to be very proud, you know, — 
 grande super cilium. ’ ’ 
 
 “I certainly will learn Latin,” said D’Artagnan to 
 himself. 
 
 “ But stop,” cried the merry monarch, “ I must man- 
 age your reconciliation ; I know how to set about it ; 
 so — ” 
 
 D’Artagnan bit his mustache. “ Will your Majesty 
 permit me to tell you the truth 1 ” 
 
 “ Speak, Chevalier, speak.” 
 
 “ Well, Sire, you alarm me greatly. If your Majesty 
 undertakes the affair, as you seem inclined to do, I am a 
 lost man ; the duke will have me assassinated.” 
 
 The king burst into a fresh roar of laughter, which 
 changed D’Artagnan’s alarm into downright terror. 
 
 “ Sire, I beg you to allow me to settle this matter 
 myself ; and if your Majesty has no further need of my 
 services — ” 
 
 “ No, Chevalier. What ! do you want to leave us 1 ” 
 replied Charles, with an hilarity that grew more and 
 more alarming. 
 
 “ If your Majesty has no more commands for me.” 
 
 Charles became more serious. 
 
 “ One single thing. See my sister, Lady Henrietta. 
 Do you know her ^ ” 
 
 “ No, Sire, but — an old soldier like me is not an 
 agreeable spectacle for a young and gay princess.” 
 
 “ Ay ! but my sister must know you ; she must, at her 
 need, have you to depend upon.” 
 
342 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Sire, every one that is dear to your Majesty will be 
 sacred to me.” 
 
 “ Very well ! — Parry ! Come here, Parry.” 
 
 The lateral door opened ; and Parry entered, his face 
 beaming with pleasure as soon as he saw D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ What is Rochester doing 'l ” said the king. 
 
 “ He is upon the canal with the ladies,” replied Parry. 
 
 “ And Buckingham ? 99 
 
 “ He is there also.” 
 
 “ That is w r ell. You will conduct the chevalier to Vil- 
 liers, — that is, the Duke of Buckingham, Chevalier, — 
 and beg the duke to introduce M. d’Artagnan to the 
 Princess Henrietta/’ 
 
 Parry bowed and smiled to D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Chevalier,” continued the king, “this is your parting 
 audience ; you can aftenvards set out as soon as you 
 please.” 
 
 “ Sire, I thank you.” 
 
 “ But be sure you make your peace with Monk ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, Sire — ” 
 
 “You know there is one of my vessels at your disposal 1 ” 
 
 “ Sire, you overpower me ; I cannot think of putting 
 your Majesty’s officers to inconvenience on my account.” 
 
 The king slapped D’Artagnan upon the shoulder. 
 “ Nobody will be inconvenienced on your account, Chev- 
 alier, but for that of an ambassador I am about sending 
 to France, and to whom you will serve willingly as a com- 
 panion, I fancy, for you know him.” 
 
 D’Artagnan appeared astonished. 
 
 “He is a certain Comte de la Fere, — he you call 
 Athos,” added the king ; terminating the conversation, as 
 he had begun it, by a joyous burst of laughter. “ Adieu, 
 Chevalier, adieu. Love me as I love you.” And there- 
 upon, making a sign to Parry to ask if there were any 
 
OF THE EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES. 
 
 343 
 
 one waiting for him in the adjoining cabinet, the king 
 disappeared into that cabinet, leaving the place to the 
 chevalier, much astonished with this singular audience. 
 The old man took his arm in a friendly way, and led him 
 towards the garden. 
 
344 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 UPON THE CANAL. 
 
 Upon the canal of waters of an opaque green, bordered 
 with marble, upon which time had already scattered black 
 spots and tufts of mossy grass, there glided majestically 
 a long flat boat, ornamented with the arms of England, 
 surmounted by a dais, and carpeted with long damasked 
 stuffs, which trailed their fringes in the water. Eight 
 rowers, leaning lazily to their oars, made it move upon 
 the canal with the graceful slowness of the swans, which, 
 disturbed in their ancient possessions by the approach of 
 the boat, looked from a distance at this splendid and 
 noisy pageant. We say noisy, — for the boat contained 
 four players upon the guitar and the lute, two singers, 
 and several courtiers, all sparkling with gold and pre- 
 cious stones, and showing their white teeth in emulation 
 of each other, to please Lady Henrietta Stuart, grand- 
 daughter of Henry IV., daughter of Charles I., and sister 
 of Charles II., who occupied the seat of honor under the 
 dais of the boat. We know this young princess ; we have 
 seen her at the Louvre with her mother, wanting wood, 
 wanting bread, and fed by the assistant-bishop and the 
 Parliament. She had, therefore, like her brothers, passed 
 through a troublous youth ; then, all at once, she had 
 just awakened from a long and horrible dream, seated on 
 the steps of a throne, surrounded by courtiers and flat- 
 terers. Like Mary Stuart on leaving prison, she aspired 
 not only to life and liberty, but to power and wealth. 
 
UPON THE CANAL. 
 
 345 
 
 Lady Henrietta, in growing, had attained remarkable 
 beauty, which the recent restoration had rendered cele- 
 brated. Misfortune had taken from her the lustre of 
 pride, but prosperity had restored it to her. She was 
 resplendent, then, in her joy and her happiness, — like 
 those hot-house flowers which, forgotten during a night 
 of the first frosts of autumn, have hung their heads, but 
 which on the morrow, warmed once more by the atmos- 
 phere in which they were born, rise again with greater 
 splendor than ever. Yilliers, Duke of Buckingham, son 
 of him who played so conspicuous a part in the early 
 chapters of this history, — Yilliers of Buckingham, a 
 handsome cavalier, melancholy with women, a jester with 
 men, — and Wilmot, Lord Rochester, a jester with both 
 sexes, were standing at this moment before Lady Henri- 
 etta, disputing the privilege of making her smile. As 
 to that young and beautiful princess, reclining upon a 
 cushion of velvet bordered with gold, her hands hanging 
 listlessly so as to dip in the water, she listened carelessly 
 to the musicians without hearing them, and heard the 
 two courtiers without appearing to listen to them. This 
 Lady Henrietta, this charming creature, this woman 
 who joined the graces of Trance to those of England, 
 not having yet loved, was cruel in her coquetry. No 
 smile — that innocent favor of young girls — bright- 
 ened her countenance ; and if at times she raised her 
 eyes, it was to fasten them upon one or other of the 
 cavaliers with such a fixity that their gallantry, bold as 
 it was through experience, took the alarm, and became 
 timid. 
 
 In the mean while the boat continued its course, the 
 musicians made a great noise, and the courtiers began, 
 like them, to be out of breath. Besides, the excursion 
 became doubtless monotonous to the princess; for, all at 
 
346 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 once, shaking her head with an air of impatience, “ Como, 
 gentlemen, enough of this; let us land .’ 7 
 
 “ Ah, Madam,” said Buckingham, “we are very un- 
 fortunate ! We have not succeeded in making the 
 excursion agreeable to your Highness . 7 7 
 
 “My mother expects me , 77 replied the princess; “and 
 I must frankly admit, gentlemen, I am ennuyee ; ” and 
 while uttering this cruel word, Henrietta endeavored to 
 console by a look each of the young men, who appeared 
 terrified at such frankness. The look produced its effect, 
 the two faces brightened ; but immediately, as if the 
 royal coquette thought she had done too much for simple 
 mortals, she made a movement, turned her back to both 
 her adorers, and appeared plunged in a reverie in which 
 it was evident they had no part. 
 
 Buckingham bit his lips with anger ; for he was truly 
 in love with Lady Henrietta, and in that capacity took 
 everything in a serious light. Rochester bit his lips 
 likewise ; but as his wit always dominated over his heart, 
 it was purely and simply to repress a malicious burst of 
 laughter. The princess was then allowing the eyes she 
 turned from the young nobles to wander over the green 
 and flowery turf of the park, when she perceived Parry 
 and D’Artagnan at a distance. 
 
 “ Who is coming yonder '? 77 said she. 
 
 The two young men turned round with the rapidity of 
 lightning. 
 
 “Parry , 77 replied Buckingham; “nobody but Parry.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon , 77 said Rochester, “but I think he 
 has a companion . 77 
 
 “ Yes , 77 said the princess, at first with languor, but 
 then — “ What mean those words, ‘ Nobody but Parry ; 7 
 say, my Lord i 77 
 
 “Because, Madam , 77 replied Buckingham, piqued, “be- 
 
UPON THE CANAL. 
 
 347 
 
 cause the faithful Parry, the wandering Parry, the eternal 
 Parry, is not, I believe, of much consequence.” 
 
 “You are mistaken, Duke. Parry — the wandering 
 Parry, as you call him — has always wandered for the 
 service of my family, and the sight of that old man 
 always gives me satisfaction.” 
 
 Lady Henrietta followed the usual course of pretty 
 women, particularly coquettish women ; she passed from 
 caprice to contradiction. The gallant had undergone 
 the caprice ; the courtier must bend beneath the con- 
 tradictory humor. Buckingham bowed, but made no 
 reply. 
 
 “ It is true, Madam,” said Rochester, bowing in his 
 turn, “ that Parry is the model of servants ; but, Madam, 
 he is no longer young, and we only laugh at seeing cheer- 
 ful objects. Is an old man a gay object? ” 
 
 “Enough, my Lord,” said the princess, coolly; “the 
 subject of conversation is unpleasant to me.” 
 
 Then, as if speaking to herself, “ It is really unaccount- 
 able,” said she, “how little regard my brother’s friends 
 have for his servants.” 
 
 “ Ah, Madam,” cried Buckingham, “ your Grace pierces 
 my heart with a poniard forged by your own hands.” 
 
 “ What is the meaning of that speech, which is turned 
 so like a French madrigal, Duke ? I do not understand 
 it.” 
 
 “It means, Madam, that you yourself, so good, so 
 charming, so sensible, you have laughed sometimes — 
 smiled, I should say — at the idle prattle of that good 
 Parry, for whom your Highness to-day entertains such 
 a marvellous susceptibility.” 
 
 ‘ c Well, my Lord, if I have forgotten myself so far,” 
 said Henrietta, “ you do wrong to remind me of it ; ” and 
 she made a sign of impatience. “The good Parry wants 
 
348 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 to speak to me, I believe ; please to order them to row to 
 the shore, my Lord Rochester.” 
 
 Rochester hastened to repeat the princess’s command ; 
 and, a moment after, the boat touched the bank. 
 
 “ Let us land, gentlemen,” said Henrietta, taking the 
 arm which Rochester offered to her, although Buckingham 
 was nearer to her, and had presented his. Then Roches- 
 ter, with an ill-dissembled pride, which pierced the heart 
 of the unhappy Buckingham through and through, led 
 the princess across the little bridge which the rowers had 
 cast from the royal boat to the shore. 
 
 “ Which way will your Highness go ? ” asked Rochester. 
 
 “ You see, my Lord ; towards that good Parry, who is 
 wandering, as my Lord Buckingham says, and seeking 
 me with eyes weakened by the tears he has shed over our 
 misfortunes.” 
 
 “ Good heavens ! ” said Rochester, “ how sad your 
 Highness is to-day ! We have, in truth, the air of ap- 
 pearing ridiculous fools to you, Madam.” 
 
 “ Speak for yourself, my Lord,” interrupted Bucking- 
 ham, with vexation ; “ for my part, I displease her High- 
 ness to such a degree that I appear absolutely nothing 
 to her.” 
 
 Neither Rochester nor the princess made any reply ; 
 Henrietta only urged her cavalier to a quicker pace. 
 Buckingham remained behind, and took advantage of this 
 isolation to give himself up to such rage in his handker- 
 chief, that the cambric was bitten in holes. 
 
 “ Parry, my good Parry,” said the princess, with her 
 gentle voice, “ corine hither. I see you are seeking for 
 me, and I am waiting for you.” 
 
 “ Ah, Madam,” said Rochester, coming charitably to 
 the succor of his companion, remaining, as we have said, 
 behind, “if Parry cannot see your royal Highness, the 
 
UPON THE CANAL. 
 
 349 
 
 man who follows him is a sufficient guide, even for a blind 
 man ; for he has eyes of flame. That man is a double- 
 lamped lantern.” 
 
 “ Lighting a very handsome martial countenance/’ said 
 the princess, determined to be as ill-natured as possible. 
 Rochester bowed. “ One of those vigorous soldiers’ heads 
 seen nowhere but in France,” added the princess, with 
 the perseverance of a woman sure of impunity. 
 
 Rochester and Buckingham looked at each other, as 
 much as to say, “ What can be the matter with her ] ” 
 
 “ See, my Lord Buckingham, what Parry wants,” said 
 Henrietta; “go!” 
 
 The young man, who considered this order as a favor, 
 resumed his courage, and hastened to meet Parry, who, 
 followed by D’Artagnan, advanced slowly on account of 
 his age. D’Artagnan walked slowly but nobly, as D’Ar- 
 tagnan doubled by the third of a million ought to walk, — 
 that is to say, without conceit or swagger, but without 
 timidity. When Buckingham, who had been very eager 
 to comply with the desire of the princess, had stopped at 
 a marble bench, as if fatigued with the few steps he had 
 gone, — when Buckingham, we say, was at a distance of 
 only a few paces from Parry, the latter recognized him. 
 
 “Ah, my Lord,” cried he, quite out of breath, “will 
 your Grace obey the king ? ” 
 
 “ In what, M. Parry 1 ” said the young man, with a 
 coolness tempered by a desire of making himself agree- 
 able to the princess. 
 
 “ Well, his Majesty begs your Grace to present this 
 gentleman to Lady Henrietta Stuart.” 
 
 “ In the first place, what is the gentleman’s name 1 ” 
 said the duke, haughtily. 
 
 D’Artagnan, as we know, was easily affronted; the 
 tone of the Duke of Buckingham displeased him. He 
 
350 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 surveyed the courtier from head to foot, and two flashes 
 beamed from beneath his bent brows. But, after a 
 struggle, “M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, my Lord,” replied 
 he, quietly. 
 
 “ Pardon me, Monsieur, that informs me as to your 
 name, but nothing more.” 
 
 “ That is to say ? ” 
 
 “ That is to say, I do not know you.” 
 
 “ I am more fortunate than you, Monsieur,” replied 
 D’Artagnan; “ for I have had the honor of knowing 
 much of your family, and particularly my Lord Duke of 
 Buckingham your illustrious father.” 
 
 “ My father*?” said Buckingham. “Well, I think I 
 now remember. M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, do you 
 say ? ” 
 
 D’Artagnan bowed. “ In person,” said he. 
 
 “ Pardon me ; but are you one of those Frenchmen 
 who had secret relations with my father?” • 
 
 “ Exactly, Monsieur the Duke. I am one of those 
 Frenchmen.” 
 
 “ Then, Monsieur, permit me to say that it was strange 
 my father never heard of you during his lifetime.” 
 
 “Ho, Monsieur, but he heard of me at the moment of 
 his death : it was I who sent to him, by the hands of a 
 servant of Anne of Austria, notice of the dangers which 
 threatened him; unfortunately, it came too late.” 
 
 “Never mind, Monsieur,” said Buckingham. “I un- 
 derstand now, that, having had the intention of rendering 
 a service to the father, you are come to claim the protec- 
 tion of the son.” 
 
 “In the first place, my Lord,” replied D’Artagnan, 
 phlegmatically, “ I claim the protection of no man. His 
 Majesty Charles II., to whom I have had the honor of 
 rendering some services, — I may tell you, my Lord, my 
 
UPON THE CANAL. 
 
 351 
 
 life has been passed in such occupations, — King Charles 
 II., then, who wishes to honor me with some kindness, 
 has desired I shall be presented to Lady Henrietta, his 
 sister, to whom I shall, perhaps, have the good fortune 
 to be of service hereafter. Now, the king knew that you 
 at this moment were with her royal Highness, and has 
 sent me to you by the intermission of Parry. There is 
 no other mystery. I ask absolutely nothing of you ; and 
 if you will not present me to her royal Highness, I shall 
 have the pain of doing without you, and the courage to 
 present myself.” 
 
 “ At least, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, determined 
 to have the last word, “ you will not go back from an 
 explanation provoked by yourself.” 
 
 “ I never go back, Monsieur,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ As you have had relations with my father, you must 
 be acquainted with some private details ? ” 
 
 “ These relations are already far removed from us, my 
 Lord, for you were not then born ; and as to some 
 unfortunate diamond studs, which I received from his 
 hands and carried back to France, it is really not worth 
 while awakening so many remembrances.” 
 
 “ Ah, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, warmly, going up 
 to D’Artagnan, and holding out his hand to him, “ it is 
 you, then, — you whom my father sought for so earnestly, 
 and who had a right to expect so much from us.” 
 
 “ To expect, Monsieur ; in truth, that is my strong 
 point : all my life I have expected.” 
 
 At this moment the princess, who was tired of not 
 seeing the stranger approach her, arose and came towards 
 them. 
 
 “ At least, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, “you shall 
 not wait for the presentation you claim of me.” Then 
 turning towards the princess, and bowing, “ Madam,” said 
 
352 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the young mail, “ the king your brother desires me to have 
 the honor of presenting to your Highness M. le Chevalier 
 d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ In order that your Highness may have, at your need, 
 a firm support and a sure friend,” added Parry. 
 
 D’Artagnan bowed. 
 
 “ You have still something to say, Parry, 1 ” replied Hen- 
 rietta, smiling upon D’Artagnan, while addressing the 
 old servant. 
 
 “ Yes, Madam; the king desires you to preserve re- 
 ligiously in your memory the name, and to remember 
 the merit, of M. d’Artagnan, to whom his Majesty owes, 
 he says, the recovery of his kingdom.” 
 
 Buckingham, the princess, and Rochester looked at one 
 another in astonishment. 
 
 “ That,” said D’Artagnan to Buckingham, “is another 
 little secret, of which, in all probability, I shall not boast 
 to his Majesty’s son, as I have done to you with respect 
 to the diamond studs.” 
 
 “ Madam,” said Buckingham, “ Monsieur has just re- 
 called to my memory, for the second time, an event which 
 excites my curiosity to such a degree that I will venture 
 to ask your permission to take him aside for a moment, 
 to converse in private.” 
 
 “Do, my Lord,” said the princess; “but restore to 
 the sister as quickly as possible this friend so devoted 
 to the brother ; ” and she took the arm of Rochester, 
 while Buckingham took that of D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Oh, tell me, Chevalier,” said Buckingham, “all that 
 affair of the diamonds, which nobody knows in England, 
 not even the son of him who was the hero of it.” 
 
 “ My Lord, one person alone had a right to relate all 
 that affair, as you call it, and that was your father; he 
 thought proper to be silent ; I must beg you to allow me 
 
UPON THE CANAL. 
 
 353 
 
 to be so likewise ; ” and D’Artagnan bowed like a 
 man upon whom it was evident no entreaties could 
 prevail. 
 
 “Since it is so, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, “pardon 
 my indiscretion, I beg you ; and if at any time I should 
 go into France — ” and he turned round to take a last 
 look at the princess, who took but little notice of him, 
 totally occupied as she was, or appeared to be, with 
 Rochester. Buckingham sighed. 
 
 “Well I’ * said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ I was saying that if, any day, I were to go into 
 France — ” 
 
 “ You will go, my Lord,” said D’Artagnan ; “ I will 
 answer for that.” 
 
 “ And how so ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, I have strange powers of prediction ; if I do 
 predict anything, I am seldom mistaken. If, then, you 
 do come to France 1 ” 
 
 “ Well, then, Monsieur, I will venture to beg of you, of 
 whom kings ask that valuable friendship which restores 
 crowns to them, a little of that great interest you avowed 
 for my father.” 
 
 “ My Lord,” replied D’Artagnan, “ believe me, I shall 
 deem myself highly honored if, in France, you remember 
 having seen me here. And now permit — ” 
 
 Then, turning towards the princess, “ Madame,” said 
 he, “ your Highness is a daughter of France ; and in 
 that quality I hope to see you again in Paris. One of 
 my happy days will be that on which your Highness 
 shall give me any command whatever, which will assure 
 me that you have not forgotten the recommendations of 
 your august brother ; ” and he bowed respectfully to the 
 young princess, who gave him her hand to kiss with a 
 grace wholly royal. 
 
 VOL. t. — ■ 23 
 
354 
 
 THE V1C0MTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Ah, Madam,” said Buckingham, in a subdued voice, 
 66 what can a man do to obtain a similar favor from your 
 Highness 'l 19 
 
 “ My Lord,” replied Henrietta, “ ask M. d’Artagnan ; 
 he will tell you.” 
 
HOW d’artagnan drew a country-seat. 355 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 HOW D’ARTAGNAN DREW, AS A FAIRY MIGHT HAVE DONE, 
 A COUNTRY-SEAT FROM A DEAL BOX. 
 
 The king’s words regarding the wounded pride of Monk 
 had inspired D'Artagnan with no little apprehension. 
 The lieutenant had had, all his life, the great art of 
 choosing his enemies ; and when he had found them 
 implacable and invincible, it was when he had not been 
 able, under any pretence, to make them otherwise. But 
 points of view change greatly in the course of a life. It 
 is a magic lantern, of which the eye of man every year 
 changes the aspects. It results that from the last day of 
 a year on which we saw white, to the first day of the year 
 on which we shall see black, there is but the interval of 
 a single night. 
 
 Now D’Artagnan, when he left Calais with his ten 
 scamps, would have hesitated as little in attacking a 
 Goliath, a Nebuchadnezzar, or a Holofernes, as he would 
 in crossing swords with a recruit or cavilling with a land- 
 lady. Then he resembled the sparrow-hawk, which, fast- 
 ing, attacks a ram. Hunger blinds ; but D’Artagnan 
 satisfied, D’Artagnan rich, D’Artagnan a conqueror, 
 D’Artagnan proud of so difficult a triumph, — D’Ar- 
 tagnan had too much to lose not to reckon, figure by 
 figure, with probable bad fortune. His thoughts were 
 employed, therefore, all the way on the road from his 
 presentation, with one thing ; and that was, how he should 
 manage a man like Monk, — a man whom Charles himself. 
 
356 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 king as he was, managed with difficulty ; for, scarcely 
 established, the protected might again stand in need of 
 the protector, and would consequently not refuse him, 
 such being the case, the petty satisfaction of transport- 
 ing M. cTArtagnan, or confining him in one of the 
 Middlesex prisons, or drowning him on his passage from 
 Dover to Boulogne. Such sorts of satisfaction kings are 
 accustomed to render to viceroys without disagreeable 
 consequences. It would not be at all necessary for the 
 king to be active in that counterpart of the piece in 
 which Monk should take his revenge. The part of the 
 king would be confined simply to pardoning the viceroy 
 of Ireland all he should undertake against D’Artagnan. 
 Nothing more was necessary to place the conscience of 
 the Duke of Albemarle at rest than a te absolvo said with 
 a laugh, or the scrawl of “ Charles the King ” traced at 
 the foot of a parchment ; and with these two words pro- 
 nounced, and these three words written, poor D’Artagnan 
 was forever crushed under the ruins of his imagination. 
 And then — a thing sufficiently disquieting for a man 
 with such foresight as our musketeer — he found himself 
 alone ; and even the friendship of Athos could not restore 
 his confidence. Certainly, if the affair had concerned only 
 a free distribution of sword-thrusts, the musketeer would 
 have reckoned upon his companion ; but in delicate mat- 
 ters with a king, when the perhaps of an unlucky chance 
 should arise in justification of Monk or of Charles of 
 England, D’Artagnan knew Athos well enough to be 
 sure he would give the best possible coloring to the 
 loyalty of the survivor, and would content himself with 
 shedding floods of tears on the tomb of the dead, suppos- 
 ing the dead to be his friend, and afterwards composing 
 his epitaph in the most pompous superlatives. 
 
 “Decidedly,” thought the Gascon, — and this thought 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN DREW A COUNTRY-SEAT. 357 
 
 was the result of the reflections which he had just whis- 
 pered to himself, and which we have repeated aloud, — 
 “ decidedly, I must be reconciled with M. Monk, and 
 acquire a proof of his perfect indifference for the past. 
 If, which God forbid, he is still sulky and reserved in the 
 expression of this sentiment, I will give my money to 
 Athos to take away with him, and will remain in England 
 just long enough to unmask him. Then, as I have a quick 
 eye and a light foot, I will seize the first hostile sign ; I 
 will decamp, or conceal myself at the residence of my 
 Lord Buckingham, who seems a good sort of devil at 
 bottom, and to whom, in return for his hospitality, I will 
 then relate all that history of the diamonds, which can 
 now compromise nobody but an old queen, who need not 
 be ashamed, after being the wife of a poor creature like 
 Mazarin, of having formerly been the mistress of a hand- 
 some nobleman like Buckingham. Mordioux ! that is 
 the thing, and this Monk shall not get the better of me. 
 Eh ! and besides, I have an idea ! ” 
 
 We know that, in general, D’Artagnan was not want- 
 ing in ideas; and during his monologue he had but- 
 toned his vest up to the chin, and nothing excited his 
 imagination like this preparation for a combat of any 
 kind, called deduction by the Romans. He was quite 
 heated when he reached the mansion of the Duke of 
 Albemarle. He was introduced to the viceroy with a 
 promptitude which proved that he was considered as one 
 of the household. Monk was in his library. 
 
 “My Lord,” said D’Artagnan, with that expression 
 of frankness which the Gascon knew so well how to 
 assume, — “my Lord, I have come to ask your Grace’s 
 advice.” 
 
 Monk, as closely buttoned up morally, as his antago- 
 nist was physically, replied : “ Ask, my friend ; ” and his 
 
358 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 countenance presented an expression not less open than 
 that of D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ My Lord, in the first place, promise me secrecy and 
 indulgence.” 
 
 “ I promise you all you wish. What is the matter 
 Speak ! ” 
 
 “ It is, my Lord, that I am not quite pleased with the 
 king.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! And on what account, my dear lieutenant 1 ” 
 
 “ Because his Majesty gives way sometimes to pleasan- 
 tries very compromising to his servants ; and pleasantry, 
 my Lord, is a weapon that seriously wounds men of the 
 sword like us.” 
 
 Monk did all in his power not to betray his thought, 
 but D’Artagnan watched him with too close an attention 
 not to detect an almost imperceptible redness upon his 
 face. “ Well, now, for my part,” said he, with the most 
 natural air possible, “ I am not an enemy to pleasantry, 
 my dear M. d’Artagnan ; my soldiers will tell you, even, 
 that many times in camp I listened, very indifferently 
 and with a certain pleasure, to the satirical songs which 
 the army of Lambert passed into mine, and which cer- 
 tainly would have made the ears of a general more sus- 
 ceptible than I am, tingle.” 
 
 “ Oh, my Lord,” said D’Artagnan, “ I know you are 
 a complete man ; I know you have been, for a long time, 
 placed above human miseries ; but there are pleasantries 
 and pleasantries, and there are those of a certain kind, 
 which, as to myself, have the power of irritating me be- 
 yond expression.” 
 
 “ May I inquire what kind, my friend 1 ” 
 
 “ Such as are directed against my friends, or against 
 people I respect, my Lord.” 
 
 Monk made a slight movement, but this D’Artagnan 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN DREW A COUNTRY-SEAT. 359 
 
 perceived. “ And how,” asked Monk, “ can the stroke of 
 a pin which scratches another tickle your skin 1 Answer 
 me that.” 
 
 “ My Lord, I can explain it to you in one single sen- 
 tence ; it concerns you.” 
 
 Monk advanced a single step towards D’Artagnan. 
 “ Concerns me ? ” said he. 
 
 “ Yes, and this is what I cannot explain ; but that 
 arises, perhaps, from my w 7 ant of knowledge of his char- 
 acter. How can the king have the heart to joke about a 
 man who has rendered him so many and such great ser- 
 vices ? How can one understand that he should amuse 
 himself in setting by the ears a lion like you with a gnat 
 like me 1 ” 
 
 “ I do not see it so at all,” said Monk. 
 
 “ But so it is. The king, who owed me a reward, might 
 have rewarded me as a soldier, without contriving that 
 history of the ransom, which affects you, my Lord.” 
 
 “ No,” said Monk, laughing, “ it does not affect me in 
 any way, I can assure you.” 
 
 “ Not as regards me, I can understand ; you know me, 
 my Lord, — I am so discreet that the grave would appear 
 a babbler compared to me ; but — do you understand, 
 my Lord h ” 
 
 “ No,” replied Monk, with persistent obstinacy. 
 
 “ If another knew the secret which I know — ” 
 
 “ What secret ? ” 
 
 “ Eh ! my Lord, — why, that unfortunate secret of 
 Newcastle.” 
 
 “ Oh ! the million of M. le Comte de la Fere 'l ” 
 
 “ No, my Lord, no ; the enterprise made upon your 
 Grace's person.” 
 
 “ It was well played, Chevalier ; that is all, and no more 
 is to be said about it. You are a soldier, both brave and 
 
360 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 cunning, which proves that you unite the qualities of 
 Fabius and Hannibal. You employed your means, force 
 and cunning ; there is nothing to be said against that. I 
 ought to have been more guarded.” 
 
 “ Ah, yes, I know, my Lord, and I expected nothing 
 less from your partiality ; so that if it were only the ab- 
 duction in itself, mordioux! that would be nothing; but 
 there are — ” 
 
 “ What ? ” 
 
 “The circumstances of that abduction.” 
 
 “ What circumstances ? ” 
 
 “Oh, you know very well what 1 mean, my Lord.” 
 
 “ No ; curse me, if I do.” 
 
 “ There is — in truth it is difficult to speak it.” 
 
 “ There is — 1” 
 
 “ Well, there is that devil of a box ! ” 
 
 Monk colored visibly. “ Well, I have forgotten it.” 
 
 “ Deal box,” continued D’Artagnan, “ with holes for 
 the nose and mouth. In truth, my Lord, all the rest was 
 well ; but the box, the box ! — decidedly that was a coarse 
 joke.” Monk fidgeted about in his chair. “ And never- 
 theless, since I have done that,” resumed D’Artagnan, — 
 “I, a soldier of fortune, — the matter is quite simple, be- 
 cause, by the side of that action (a little inconsiderate, I 
 admit) which I committed, but which the gravity of the 
 case may excuse, I possess circumspection and reserve.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Monk, “ believe me, I know you well, 
 M. d’Artagnan, and I appreciate you.” 
 
 D’Artagnan never took his eyes off Monk ; studying all 
 which passed in the mind of the general while he was 
 speaking. “ But there is no question about me,” he 
 resumed. 
 
 “Well, then, who is in question? ” said Monk, who be- 
 gan to grow a little impatient. 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN DREW A COUNTRY-SEAT. 361 
 
 “ The king, who will never restrain his tongue.” 
 
 “ Well, and suppose he should say all he knows 1 ” 
 said Monk, with a degree of hesitation. 
 
 “ My Lord,” replied D’Artagnan, “ do not dissemble, I 
 implore you, with a man who speaks so frankly as I do. 
 You have a right to feel your susceptibility excited, how- 
 ever magnanimous you may be. What the devil ! it is 
 not the place for a man of dignity like you, a man who 
 plays with crowns and sceptres as a Bohemian plays with 
 his balls, — it is not the place for a serious man, I said, to 
 be shut up in a box like a curious object of natural history ; 
 for you must understand it would make all your enemies 
 ready to burst with laughter, — and you are so great, so 
 noble, so generous, that you must have many enemies. 
 This secret is enough to set half the human race laugh- 
 ing, if you should be pictured in that box. It is not 
 decent to have the second personage in the kingdom 
 laughed at.” 
 
 Monk was quite out of countenance at the idea of see- 
 ing pictures of himself in his box. Kidicule, as D’Ar- 
 tagnan had shrewdly foreseen, had an effect upon him 
 which neither the chances of war, the aspirations of am- 
 bition, nor the fear of death could have. 
 
 “ Good ! ” thought the Gascon, “ he is frightened : I 
 am safe.” 
 
 “ Oh, as to the king,” said Monk, “ fear nothing, my 
 dear M. d’Artagnan ; the king will not play any jokes 
 with Monk, I assure you.” 
 
 The flash of his eye was intercepted in its passage by 
 D’Artagnan. Monk lowered his tone immediately : “ The 
 king,” continued he, “ is of too noble a nature ; the king’s 
 heart is too high to allow him to wish ill to those who do 
 him good.” 
 
 “ Oh, certainly ! ” cried D’Artagnan. “ I am entirely 
 
362 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 of your Grace’s opinion with regard to his heart, but not 
 as to his head, — it is good, but it is trifling.” 
 
 “ The king will not trifle with Monk, be assured.” 
 
 “ Then you are quite at ease, my Lord ? ” 
 
 “ On that side, at least ; yes, perfectly.” 
 
 “ Oh, I understand you ; you are at ease so far as the 
 king is concerned l ” 
 
 “ I have told you I was.” 
 
 “ But you are not so much so on my account ? ” 
 
 “ I thought I had told you that I had faith in your 
 loyalty and discretion.” 
 
 u Without doubt, without doubt ; but you must remem- 
 ber one thing — ” 
 
 “ What is that 1 ” 
 
 “ That I was not alone, that I had companions ; and 
 what companions ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I know them.” 
 
 u And, unfortunately, my Lord, they know you too.” 
 
 “ Well 1 ” 
 
 “Well; they are yonder, at Boulogne, waiting forme.” 
 “ And } r ou fear — ” 
 
 " Yes, I fear that in my absence — Pccrbleu ! if I were 
 near them, I could answer for their silence.” 
 
 “ Was I not right in saying that the danger, if there 
 was any danger, would not come from his Majesty, how- 
 ever disposed he may be to joke, but from your compan- 
 ions, as you say — To be laughed at by a king may be 
 tolerable, but by the horse-boys and scamps of the army ] 
 Damnation ! ” 
 
 " Yes, I comprehend ! that would be insupportable. 
 That is why, my Lord, I came to say, — do you not think 
 it would be better that I should set out for France as 
 soon as possible 'l ” 
 
 “ Certainly, if you think your presence — ” 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN DREW A COUNTRY-SEAT. 363 
 
 “ Would impose silence upon these scoundrels ? Oh ! I 
 am sure of that, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Your presence will not prevent the report from spread- 
 ing, if the tale has already transpired.” 
 
 “ Oh, it has not transpired, my Lord ; I will guarantee 
 that. At all events, be assured that I am determined 
 upon one thing.’ * 
 
 “ What is that ] ” 
 
 “ To blow out the brains of the first who shall have 
 propagated that report, and of the first who has heard it : 
 after which I will return to England to seek an asylum, 
 and perhaps employment with your Grace.” 
 
 “ Oh, come back ! come back ! ” 
 
 “Unfortunately, my Lord, I am acquainted with no- 
 body here but your Grace; and if I should no longer 
 find you, or if you should have forgotten me in your 
 greatness ? ” 
 
 “ Listen to me, M. d’Artagnan,” replied Monk ; “ you 
 are a superior gentleman, full of intelligence and courage ; 
 you merit all the good fortune this world can bring you : 
 come with me into Scotland, and, I swear to you, I will 
 create you a destiny which all may envy.” 
 
 “ Oh, my Lord, that is impossible at present. At 
 present I have a sacred duty to perform ; I have to watch 
 over your glory, I have to prevent a low joker from tar- 
 nishing in the eyes of our contemporaries — who knows ? 
 in the eyes of posterity even — the splendor of your 
 name.” 
 
 “ Of posterity, M. d’Artagnan ] ” 
 
 “ Doubtless. It is necessary, as regards posterity, that 
 all the details of that history should remain a mystery ; 
 for, admit that this unfortunate history of the deal box 
 should spread, and it should be asserted that you had 
 not re-established the king loyally and of your free will, 
 
364 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 but in consequence of a compromise entered into at Sche- 
 veningen between you two ; — it would be in vain for me 
 to declare how the thing came about, — for me, who know. 
 I should not be believed, and it would be said that I had 
 received my part of the cake and was eating it.” 
 
 Monk knitted his brow. “ Glory, honor, probity,” 
 said he, “ you are but words ! ” 
 
 “ Mist ! ” replied D’Artagnan ; “ nothing but mist, 
 through which nobody can see clearly.” 
 
 “ Well, then, go to France, my dear M. d’Artagnan,” 
 said Monk, “go; and to render England more attractive 
 and agreeable to you, accept a remembrance of me.” 
 
 “ What now 1 ” thought D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ I have on the banks of the Clyde,” continued Monk, 
 “ a little house beneath trees, — a cottage, as it is called 
 here. To this house are attached a hundred acres of 
 land. Accept it.” 
 
 “ Oh, my Lord ! — ” 
 
 “ Dame ! you will be there in your own home, and 
 that will be the place of refuge you were talking of just 
 now.” 
 
 “ For me to be obliged to your Lordship to such an 
 extent ! Keally, your Grace, I am ashamed.” 
 
 “ Not at all, not at all, Monsieur,” replied Monk, with 
 an arch smile ; “ it is I who shall be obliged to you, 
 and,” pressing the hand of the musketeer, “ I will go and 
 draw up the deed of gift ; ” and he left the room. 
 
 D’Artagnan looked at him as he went out, with some- 
 thing of a pensive and even an agitated air. 
 
 “ After all,” said he, “ he is a brave man. It is a sad' 
 reflection that it is only from fear of me, and not affection, 
 that he acts thus. Well, I will endeavor that affection 
 may follow.” Then, after an instant’s deeper reflection, — 
 “ Bah ! ” said he, “ to what purpose 1 He is an English- 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN drew A COUNTRY-SEAT. 365 
 
 man ; ” and he in his turn went out, a little confused 
 with the combat. “ So,” said he, “ I am a land-owner ! 
 But how the devil am I to share the cottage with Plan- 
 chet ? — unless I give him the land and I take the chateau, 
 or he takes the chateau and I — Nonsense ! M. Monk 
 will never allow me to share with a grocer a house he has 
 inhabited. He is too proud for that. Besides, why 
 should I say anything about it to him ? It was not with 
 the money of the company that I acquired that property, 
 it was with my mother- wit alone ; it is all mine, then. 
 So now I will go and find Athos ; ” and he directed his 
 steps towards the dwelling of the Comte de la Fere. 
 
366 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 HOW D’ARTAGNAN REGULATED THE “ PASSIVE ” OF THE 
 COMPANY BEFORE HE ESTABLISHED ITS (( ACTIVE.” 
 
 “ Decidedly,” said D’Artagnan to himself, “ I am in good 
 vein. That star which shines once in the life of every 
 man, which shone for Job and Irus, the most unfortunate 
 of the Jews and the poorest of the Greeks, has come at last 
 to shine on me. I will commit no folly, I will take ad- 
 vantage of it ; it comes quite late enough to find me 
 reasonable.” 
 
 He supped that evening, in very good humor, with his 
 friend Athos. He said nothing to him about the expected 
 donation ; but he could not forbear questioning his friend, 
 while he was eating, about country produce, sowing and 
 planting. Athos replied genially, as he always did. His 
 idea was that D’Artagnan wished to become a proprietor ; 
 only he could not help regretting, more than once, the 
 absence of the lively humor and amusing sallies of the 
 cheerful companion of former days. In fact, D’Artagnan 
 was so absorbed, that, with his knife, he took advantage 
 of the grease left at the bottom of his plate, to trace 
 ciphers and make additions of surprising rotundity. 
 
 The order, or rather license, for their embarkation ar- 
 rived at Athos’ lodgings that evening. At the same time 
 this paper was remitted to the count, another messenger 
 brought to D’Artagnan a little bundle of parchments, 
 adorned with all the seals used in embellishing deeds of 
 real estate in England. Athos surprised him turning 
 over the leaves of these different deeds which effected the 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN regulated the company. 367 
 
 transfer of property. The prudent Monk — others would 
 say the generous Monk — had commuted the donation 
 into a sale, and acknowledged the receipt of a sum of fif- 
 teen thousand livres as the price of the property ceded. 
 The messenger being gone, D’Artagnan still continued 
 reading. Athos watched him with a smile. DArtagnan, 
 surprising one of those smiles over his shoulder, put the 
 parchments into their wrapper. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon,” said Athos. 
 
 “Oh, you are not indiscreet, my friend,” replied the 
 lieutenant ; “ I will tell you — ” 
 
 u No, don’t tell me anything, I beg you ; orders are 
 things so sacred, that to one’s brother, one’s father the 
 person charged with such orders should never open his 
 mouth. Thus I, who speak to you, and love you more 
 tenderly than brother, father, or all the world — ” 
 
 “ Except your Raoul ? ” 
 
 “ I shall love Raoul still better when he shall be a man, 
 and I shall have seen him develop himself in all the 
 phases of his character and his actions, — as I have seen 
 you, my friend.” 
 
 “You said, then, that you had an order likewise, and 
 that you would not communicate it to me.” 
 
 “ Yes, my dear D’Artagnan.” 
 
 The Gascon sighed. “There was a time,” said he, 
 “ when you would have placed that order open upon the 
 table, saying, ‘ D’Artagnan, read this scrawl to Porthos, 
 Aramis, and me.’ ” 
 
 “ That is true. Oh, that was the time of youth, confi- 
 dence, the generous season when the blood commands, 
 when it is warmed by feeling ! ” 
 
 “ Well, Athos, will you allow me to tell you ? ” 
 
 “ Speak, my friend ! ” 
 
 “ That delightful time, that generous season, that 
 
368 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 domination of the heated blood, were all very fine things, 
 no doubt ; but I do not regret them at all. It is absolutely 
 like the period of studies. I have constantly met with 
 fools who would boast of the days of pensums , ferules, 
 and crusts of dry bread. It is singular, but I never loved 
 all that : for my part, however active and sober I might 
 be (you knew if I was so, Athos), so simple as I might 
 appear in my clothes, I would not the less have preferred 
 the embroideries of Porthos to my little porous cassock, 
 which admitted the wind in winter and the sun in sum- 
 mer. Do you know, my friend, I shall always mistrust 
 him who pretends to prefer evil to good. Now, in times 
 past, all was evil with me, — the times past in which every 
 month found a new hole in my cassock and in my skin, a 
 gold crown less in my poor purse ; of that execrable time 
 of small beer and see-saw, I regret absolutely nothing, 
 nothing, nothing but our friendship ; for within me I 
 have a heart, and it is a miracle that heart has not been 
 dried up by the wind of poverty which passed through 
 the holes of my cloak, or pierced by the swords of all 
 shapes which passed through the holes in my poor flesh.” 
 
 “ Do not regret our friendship,” said Athos ; “ that will 
 only die with ourselves. Friendship is composed, above 
 all things, of remembrances and habits ; and if you have 
 just now made a little satire upon mine, because I hesi- 
 tate to tell you the nature of my mission into France — ” 
 
 “ Who ] 1 1 Oh, heavens ! if you knew, my dear 
 
 friend, how indifferent all the missions of the w r orld will 
 henceforth become to me ! ” and he laid his hand upon 
 the parchment in his vast pocket. 
 
 Athos rose from the table and called the host, in order 
 to pay the reckoning. 
 
 “ Since I have known you, my friend,” said D’Artagnan, 
 
 “ I have never discharged the reckoning. Porthos often 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN REGULATED THE COMPANY. 369 
 
 did, Aramis sometimes, and you — you almost always 
 drew out your purse with the dessert. I am now rich, 
 and should like to try if it is heroic to pay.” 
 
 “ Do so,” said Athos, returning his purse to his pocket. 
 
 The two friends then directed their steps towards 
 the port, not, however, without D’Artagnan’s frequently 
 turning round to watch the transport of his precious 
 crowns. Night had just spread her thick veil over the 
 yellow waters of the Thames ; they heard those noises of 
 casks and pulleys, the precursors of getting under sail 
 which had so many times made the hearts of the muske- 
 teers beat when the dangers of the sea were the least of 
 those they were going to face. This time they were to 
 embark on board a large vessel which awaited them at 
 Gravesend ; and Charles II., always delicate in small 
 matters, had sent one of his yachts, with twelve men of 
 his Scotch guard, to do honor to the ambassador he was 
 deputing to France. At midnight the yacht had depos- 
 ited its passengers on board the vessel, and at eight 
 o’clock in the morning the vessel landed the ambassador 
 and his friend before the pier at Boulogne. 
 
 While the count, with Grimaud, was busy in procuring 
 horses to go straight to Paris, D’Artagnan hastened to the 
 hostelry where, according to his orders, his little army 
 was to wait for him. These gentlemen were at breakfast 
 upon oysters, fish, and aromatized brandy, when D’Ar- 
 tagnan appeared. They were all very gay, but not one 
 of them had yet exceeded the bounds of reason. A hurrah 
 of joy welcomed the general. 
 
 ‘‘Here I am,” said D’Artagnan; “the campaign is 
 ended. I have come to bring each his supplement of 
 pay, as agreed upon.” Their eyes sparkled. “ I will lay 
 a wager there are not, already, a hundred livres remaining 
 in the purse of the richest among you.” 
 vol. i. — 24 
 
370 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ That is true ! ” cried they in chorus. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “ then this is the last 
 order. The treaty of commerce has been concluded, 
 thanks to our exploit which made us masters of the most 
 skilful financier of England ; for now I am at liberty to 
 confess to you that the man we had to carry off was the 
 treasurer of General Monk.” 
 
 This word “ treasurer ” produced a certain effect in his 
 army. D’Artagnan observed that the eyes of Menneville 
 alone did not evince perfect faith. 
 
 “ This treasurer/’ continued D’Artagnan, “ I have con- 
 veyed to a neutral territory, Holland ; I have forced him 
 to sign the treaty ; I have even reconducted him to New- 
 castle ; and as he was obliged to be satisfied with our 
 proceedings towards him, — the deal box being always 
 carried without jolting, and being lined softly, — I asked 
 for a gratification for you. Here it is.” He threw a 
 respectable-looking purse upon the cloth ; and all, invol- 
 untarily, stretched out their hands. “ One moment, my 
 lambs,” said D’Artagnan; ‘‘if there are benefits, there 
 are also charges.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” murmured they. 
 
 “ We are about to find ourselves, my friends, in a posi- 
 tion that would not be tenable for people without brains. I 
 speak plainly ; we are between the gallows and the Bastille.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said the chorus. 
 
 “ That is easy to be understood. It was necessary to 
 explain to General Monk the disappearance of his treas- 
 urer. I waited for that purpose, till the very unhoped- 
 for moment of the restoration of King Charles II., who is 
 one of my friends.” 
 
 The army exchanged a glance of satisfaction in reply 
 to the sufficiently proud look of D’Artagnan. “ The king 
 being restored, I restored Monk his man of business, — a 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN REGULATED THE COMPANY. 371 
 
 little plucked, it is true, — but, in short, I restored him. 
 Now, General Monk, when he pardoned me, — for he has 
 pardoned me, — could not help repeating these words to 
 me, which I charge every one of you to engrave deeply 
 there, between the eyes, under the vault of the cranium : 
 4 Monsieur, the joke has been a good one, but I don’t 
 naturally like jokes ; if ever a word of what you have 
 done 9 (you understand me, M. Menneville) ‘ escapes from 
 your lips, or the lips of your companions, I have, in my 
 government of Scotland and Ireland, seven hundred and 
 forty-one wooden gibbets, of strong oak, clamped with 
 iron, and newly greased every week. I will make a pres- 
 ent of one of these gibbets to each of you ; and observe 
 well, M. d’Artagnan,’ added he (remark it also, M. Menne- 
 ville), ‘ I shall still have seven hundred and thirty left for 
 my private pleasures. And still further — ’ ” 
 
 “ Ah ! ah ! ” said the auxiliaries, “ is there more still ? ” 
 
 “ One trouble more. ‘ M. d’Artagnan, I send to the 
 King of France the treaty in question, with a request 
 that he will cast into the Bastille provisionally, and then 
 send to me, all who have taken part in this expedition ; 
 and that is a prayer with which the king will certainly 
 comply.’ ” 
 
 A cry of terror broke from all corners of the table. 
 
 ‘ ‘There! there!” said D’Artagnan, “ this brave M. 
 Monk has forgotten one thing, and that is that he does 
 not know the name of any one of you ; I alone know you, 
 and it is not I, you may well believe, who will betray 
 you. Why should 1 1 As for you, I cannot suppose you 
 will be silly enough to denounce yourselves ; for then the 
 king, to spare himself the expenses of feeding and lodg- 
 ing you, will send you off to Scotland, where the seven 
 hundred and forty-one gibbets are to be found. That 
 is all, Messieurs; I have not another word to add to 
 
372 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 what I have had the honor to tell you. I am sure you 
 have understood me perfectly well, have you not, M. 
 Menneville? ” 
 
 “ Perfectly,” replied the latter. 
 
 “ Now the crowns!” said D’Artagnan. “Shut the 
 doors,” he cried ; and opened the bag upon the table, from 
 which rolled several fine gold crowns. Every one made 
 a movement towards the floor. 
 
 “ Gently ! ” cried D’Artagnan, <e I insist upon it nobody 
 stoops, and then I shall not be out in my reckoning.” 
 He found it all right ; gave fifty of those splendid crowns 
 to each man, and received as many benedictions as he 
 bestowed pieces. “Now,” said he, “if it were possible 
 for you to reform a little, if you could become good and 
 honest citizens — ” 
 
 “That is rather difficult,” said one of the troop. 
 
 “What then, Captain'?” said another. 
 
 “ Because I might be able to find you again ; and, who 
 knows? refreshed from time to time by some windfall — ” 
 He made a sign to Menneville, who listened to all he said 
 with a composed air. “Menneville,” said he, “come with 
 me. Adieu, my brave fellows ! I need not recommend 
 you to be discreet.” 
 
 Menneville followed him, while the salutations of the 
 auxiliaries were mingled with the sweet sound of the 
 money clinking in their pockets. 
 
 “Menneville,” said D’Artagnan, when they were once 
 in the street, “ you are not duped ; beware of being so. 
 You do not appear to me to have any fear of the gibbets 
 of Monk, or the Bastille of his Majesty King Louis XIV., 
 but you will do me the favor of being afraid of me. 
 Then listen : at the smallest word that shall escape you, 
 I will kill you as I would a fowl. I have absolution from 
 our holy Father the Pope in my pocket.” 
 
HOW D’ARTAGNAN REGULATED THE COMPANY. 373 
 
 “ I assure you I know absolutely nothing, my dear M. 
 d’Artagnan, and that your words have all been to me so 
 many articles of faith.” 
 
 “I was quite sure you were an intelligent fellow,” said 
 the musketeer; “I have tried you for twenty-five years. 
 These fifty gold crowns which I give you more than the 
 rest, will prove the estimation I hold you in. Take them.” 
 
 “ Thanks, M. d’Artagnan,” said Menneville. 
 
 “ With that sum you can really become an honest 
 man,” replied D’Artagnan, in the most serious tone pos- 
 sible. “It would be disgraceful for a mind like yours, 
 and a name you no longer dare to bear, to sink forever 
 under the rust of an evil life. Become a gallant man, 
 Menneville, and live for a year upon those hundred gold 
 crowns : it is a good provision ; twice that of a high 
 officer. In a year come to me, and, mordioux ! I will 
 make something of you.” 
 
 Menneville swore, as his comrades had sworn, that he 
 would be as mute as the tomb. And yet some one must 
 have spoken ; and as to a certainty it was not one of 
 the nine companions, as equally certainly it was not 
 Menneville, it must have been D’Artagnan, who in his 
 quality of a Gascon had his tongue very near his lips. 
 For in short if it was not he, who could it be % And 
 how can it be explained that the secret of the deal box 
 pierced with holes should come to our knowledge, and in 
 so complete a fashion that we have, as has been seen, 
 related the history of it in all its most intimate details, 
 — details which, besides, throw a light as new as unex- 
 pected upon all that portion of the history of England 
 which has been left, up to the present day, completely in 
 the shade by our brother historians ? 
 
374 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI II. 
 
 IN WHICH IT IS SEEN THAT THE FRENCH GROCER HAD 
 ALREADY BEEN ESTABLISHED IN THE SEVENTEENTH 
 CENTURY. 
 
 His accounts once settled, and his recommendations made, 
 D’Artagnan thought of nothing but regaining Paris as 
 soon as possible. Athos, on his part, was anxious to 
 reach home and to repose a little. However entire may 
 remain the character and the man after the fatigues of a 
 voyage, the traveller perceives with pleasure, at the close 
 of the day, — even though the day has been a fine one, — 
 that night is approaching, and will bring a little sleep 
 with it. So, from Boulogne to Paris, jogging on side by 
 side, the two friends, in some degree absorbed each in his 
 individual thoughts, conversed of nothing sufficiently in- 
 teresting for us to present to our readers. Each of them, 
 given up to his personal reflections, and constructing his 
 future after his own fashion, was, above all, anxious to 
 abridge the distance by speed. Athos and D’Artagnan 
 arrived at the barriers of Paris on the evening of the 
 fourth day after leaving Boulogne. 
 
 “ Where are you going, my friend ? ” asked Athos. “ I 
 shall direct my course straight to my hotel.” 
 
 “And I straight to my partner’s.” 
 
 “ To Planchet’s ] ” 
 
 “ Good Lord ! yes ; at the Pilon d’Or.” 
 
 “Well, but shall we not meet again'?” 
 
 “If you remain in Paris, yes ; for I shall stay here.” 
 
THE FRENCH GROCER. 
 
 375 
 
 “No; after having embraced Raoul, with whom I have 
 appointed a meeting at my hotel, I shall set out immedi- 
 ately for La Fere.” 
 
 “Well, adieu, then, dear and true friend. ,, 
 
 “ Au revoir ! I should rather say, for why can you not 
 come and live with me at Blois? You are free ; you are 
 rich. I will purchase for you, if you like, a handsome 
 property in the environs of Chiverny or of Bracieux. On 
 the one side you will have the finest woods in the world, 
 which join those of Chambord ; on the other, admirable 
 marshes. You who love sporting, and who whether you 
 admit it or not are a poet, my dear friend, you will find 
 pheasants, rail, and teal, without reckoning sunsets and 
 excursions on the water, to make you fancy yourself Nim- 
 rod and Apollo themselves. Awaiting the acquisition, 
 you can live at La Fere, and we will go together to fly 
 our hawks among the vines, as Louis XIII. used to do. 
 That is a quiet amusement for old fellows like us.” 
 
 D’Artagnan took the hands of Athos in his own. “ Dear 
 count,” said he, “ I will say neither 4 Yes’ nor ‘ No.’ Let 
 me pass in Paris the time necessary for the regulation of 
 my affairs, and accustom myself, by degrees, to the heavy 
 and glittering idea which is beating in my brains and 
 dazzles them. I am rich, do you see ; and from this mo- 
 ment till I shall have acquired the habit of being rich, — 
 I know myself, — I shall be an unendurable animal. 
 Now, I am not enough of a fool to wish to appear to have 
 lost my wits before a friend like you, Athos. The habit 
 is handsome, the habit is richly gilded, but it is new, and 
 does not seem to fit me.” 
 
 Athos smiled. “ So be it,” said he. “But a propos of 
 this habit, dear D’Artagnan, will you allow me to offer 
 you a little advice I ” 
 
 “Yes, willingly.” 
 
376 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ You will not be angry h ” 
 
 “ Proceed.” 
 
 “ When wealth falls to any one late or all at once, he 
 will most likely become a miser, to avoid change, — that 
 is to say, will not spend much more money than he had 
 done before ; or else will become a prodigal, and contract 
 so many debts as to become poor again.” 
 
 “ Oh ! but what you say looks very much like a soph- 
 ism, my dear philosopher.” 
 
 “ I do not think so. Will you become a miser'? ” 
 
 “ No, 'par (Lieu ! I was one already, having nothing. Let 
 us change.” 
 
 “Then be prodigal.” 
 
 “ Still less, mordioux ! Debts terrify me. Creditors 
 appear to me, by anticipation, those devils who turn the 
 damned upon the gridirons ; and as patience is not my 
 dominant virtue, I am always tempted to thrash those 
 devils.” 
 
 “You are the wisest man I know, and stand in no need 
 of counsel from any one. Great fools must they be who 
 think they have anything to teach you. But are we not 
 at the Rue St. Honore ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, dear Athos.” 
 
 “ Look yonder, on the left, that small, long white house 
 is the hotel at which I lodge. You may observe that it 
 has but two stories. I occupy the first ; the other is let 
 to an officer, whose duties oblige him to be absent eight 
 or nine months in the year, — so I am in that house as at 
 my own home, without the expense.” 
 
 “ Oh, how well you manage, Athos ! What order and 
 what liberality ! They are what I wish to unite. But 
 of what use to try % That comes from birth, and cannot 
 be acquired.” 
 
 “ Flatterer ! Well, adieu, dear friend ! By the way, 
 
THE FRENCH GROCER. 
 
 377 
 
 remember me to Master Planchet ; he is still a lad of 
 spirit, is he not h ” 
 
 “ And of heart too, Athos. Adieu.” 
 
 And they separated. During all this conversation 
 D’Artagnan had not for a moment lost sight of a certain 
 pack-horse, in whose panniers, under some hay, were 
 spread the money-bags with the portmanteau. Nine 
 o’clock was striking at St. Merri ; Planchet’s lads were 
 shutting up his shop. D’Artagnan stopped the postilion 
 who rode the pack-horse, at the corner of the Rue des 
 Lombards, under a pent-house, and calling one of Plan- 
 chet’s boys, desired him not only to take care of the 
 two horses, but to watch the postilion ; after which he 
 entered the shop of the grocer, who had just finished sup- 
 per, and who in his little private room w r as, with some 
 anxiety, consulting the calendar, from which every even- 
 ing he scratched out the day that was past. At the 
 moment when Planchet, according to his daily custom, 
 with the back of his pen, uttering a sigh, w 7 as erasing 
 another day, D’Artagnan kicked with his feet at the door, 
 and the blow made his steel spur jingle. 
 
 “ Oh, good Lord ! ” cried Planchet. 
 
 The worthy grocer could say no more ; he perceived his 
 partner. D’Artagnan entered with a bent back and a dull 
 eye ; the Gascon had an idea with regard to Planchet. 
 
 “ Good God ! ” thought the grocer, looking earnestly at 
 the traveller, “ he looks very sad. ” The musketeer sat 
 down. 
 
 “ My dear M. d’Artagnan ! ” said Planchet, with a hor- 
 rible palpitation of the heart. “ Here you are ! and your 
 health 1 ” 
 
 “ Tolerably good, Planchet, tolerably good ! ” said 
 D’Artagnan, with a profound sigh. 
 
 “ You have not been wounded, I hope 1 ” 
 
378 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Pugh ! ” 
 
 u Ah! I see,” continued Planchet, more and more 
 alarmed, “ the expedition has been a trying one h ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said D’Artagnan. A shudder ran through the 
 whole frame of Planchet. “ T should like to have some- 
 thing to drink,” said the musketeer, raising his head 
 piteously. 
 
 Planchet ran to the cupboard, and poured D’Artagnan 
 out some wine in a large glass. D’Artagnan examined 
 the bottle. 
 
 “ What wine is that 1 ” asked he. 
 
 “Alas! that which you prefer, Monsieur,” said Plan- 
 chet ; “ that good old Anjou wine, which was one day 
 nearly costing us all so dear.” 
 
 “Ah !” replied D’Artagnan, with a melancholy smile, 
 “ ah, my poor Planchet ! ought I still to drink good 
 wine % ” 
 
 “ Come, my dear master,” said Planchet, making a 
 superhuman effort, while all his contracted muscles, his 
 paleness, and his trembling betrayed the most acute 
 anguish. “ Come ! I have been a soldier, and conse- 
 quently have some courage ; do not keep me in suspense, 
 dear M. d’Artagnan : our money is lost, is it not % ” 
 
 Before answering, D’Artagnan made a pause which 
 seemed an age to the poor grocer. Meanwhile he did 
 nothing but turn about upon his chair. 
 
 “ And if that were the case,” said he slowly, moving 
 his head up and down, “ what would you say, my dear 
 friend ? ” 
 
 Planchet, from being pale, turned yellow. It might 
 have been thought he was going to swallow his tongue, 
 so full became his throat, so red were his eyes. 
 
 “ Twenty thousand livres ! ” murmured he. “ Twenty 
 thousand livres, though ! ” 
 
THE FRENCH GROCER. 
 
 379 
 
 D’Artagnan, with his neck elongated, his legs stretched 
 out, and his hands hanging listlessly, looked like a statue 
 of discouragement. Planchet heaved a sigh from the 
 deepest cavities of his breast. 
 
 “Well,” said he, “I see how it is. Let us be men! 
 It is all over, is it not ] The principal thing is, Mon- 
 sieur, that you have saved your life.” 
 
 “Doubtless, doubtless, life is something; but I am 
 ruined ! ” 
 
 “ Cordieu ! Monsieur,” said Planchet, “if it is so, we 
 must not despair for that. You shall become a grocer 
 with me ; I will make you my partner, we will share the 
 profits ; and if there should be no more profits, well 
 then we will share the almonds, raisins, and prunes, 
 and we will nibble together the last quarter of Dutch 
 cheese.” 
 
 D’Artagnan could hold out no longer. “ Mordioux !” 
 cried he, with great emotion, “ thou art a brave fellow, 
 by my honor, Planchet ! You have not been playing 
 comedy, have you] You have not seen the pack-horse 
 with the money-bags under the shed yonder] ” 
 
 “ What horse ] What money-bags ] ” said Planchet, 
 whose trembling heart began to suggest that D’Artagnan 
 was mad. 
 
 “ Why ! the English money-bags, mordioux ! ” said 
 D’Artagnan, all radiant, quite transfigured. 
 
 “ Ah, good God ! ” articulated Planchet, drawing back 
 before the dazzling fire of his eyes. 
 
 “Imbecile!” cried D’Artagnan, “you think me mad! 
 Mordioux ! on the contrary, never was my head more 
 clear, or my heart more joyous. To the money-bags, 
 Planchet, to the money-bags ! ” 
 
 “My God ! to what money-bags]” 
 
 D’Artagnan pushed Planchet towards the window* 
 
380 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Under the pent-house, yonder, don’t you see a 
 horse ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 '‘Don’t you see how his back is laden 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, yes ! ” 
 
 “ Don’t you see your lad chatting with the postilion 1 
 
 “ Yes, yes, yes ! ” 
 
 “ Well, you know the name of that lad, because he is 
 your own. Call him.” 
 
 “Abdon! Abdon ! ” vociferated Planchet from the 
 window. 
 
 “ Bring the horse ! ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Bring the horse ! ” screamed Planchet. 
 
 “ Now give ten livres to the postilion,” said D’Artagnan, 
 in the tone he would have employed in commanding a 
 manoeuvre; “two lads to bring up the first two sacks, 
 two to bring up the last two, — and move, mordioux ! be 
 alive ! ” 
 
 Planchet precipitated himself down the stairs as if the 
 devil were at his heels. The moment after, the lads 
 ascended the staircase, bending beneath their burden. 
 D’Artagnan sent them off to their garrets, carefully closed 
 the door, and addressing Planchet, who, in his turn, looked 
 a little wild, — 
 
 “ Now we are by ourselves,” said he ; and he spread 
 upon the floor a large cover, and emptied the first sack 
 into it. Planchet did the same with the second ; then 
 D’Artagnan, all in a tremble, let out the precious bowels 
 of the third with a knife. When Planchet heard the 
 intoxicating sound of the silver and gold ; when he saw 
 bubbling out of the bags the shining crowns, which glit- 
 tered like fish from the sweep-net ; when he felt himself 
 plunging his hands up to the elbow in that still rising 
 tide of yellow and silver pieces, — a giddiness seized him. 
 
THE FRENCH GROCER. 
 
 381 
 
 and he sank, like a man who is thunderstruck, heavily 
 down upon the enormous heap, which his weight caused 
 to roll away in all directions. Planchet, suffocated with joy, 
 had lost his senses. D’Artagnan threw a glass of white 
 wine in his face, which immediately recalled him to life. 
 
 “ Ah, good heavens ! good heavens ! good heavens ! 
 said Planchet, wiping his mustache and beard. 
 
 At that time, as they do now, grocers wore the cavalier 
 mustache and the lansquenet beard ; but silver baths, 
 already become rare in those days, have become almost: 
 unknown now. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ there are a hundred 
 thousand livres for you, partner. Draw your share, if 
 you please ; and I will draw mine.” 
 
 “ Oh, the lovely sum ! M. d’Artagnan, the lovely 
 sum ! ” 
 
 “I confess that half an hour ago I regretted that I 
 had to give you so much ; but I now no longer regret it. 
 Thou art a brave grocer, Planchet. There, let us close 
 our accounts ; for, as they say, short reckonings make 
 long friends.” 
 
 “ Oh ! rather, in the first place, tell me the whole 
 history,” said Planchet ; “ that must be better than the 
 money.” 
 
 “ My faith ! ” said D’Artagnan, stroking his mustache, 
 “ I can’t say no ; and if ever the historian turns to me 
 for information, he will be able to say he has not dipped 
 his bucket into a dry spring. Listen, then, Planchet, I 
 will tell you all about it.” 
 
 “And I will build piles of crowns,” said Planchet. 
 “Begin, my dear master.” 
 
 “Well, this is it,” said DArtagnan, drawing breath. 
 
 “ And that is it,” said Planchet, picking up his first 
 handful of crowns. 
 
382 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 mazarin’s gaming-party. 
 
 In a large chamber of the Palais-Royal, covered with a 
 dark-colored velvet, which threw into strong relief the 
 gilded frames of a great number of magnificent pictures, 
 on the evening of the arrival of the two Frenchmen, the 
 whole court was assembled before the alcove of M. le Car- 
 dinal de Mazarin, who was giving a party, for the purposes 
 of play, to the king and queen. A small screen separated 
 three prepared tables. At one of these tables the king 
 and the two queens were seated. Louis XIV., placed op- 
 posite to the young queen, his wife, smiled upon her wfith 
 an expression of real happiness. Anne of Austria held 
 the cards against the cardinal ; and her daughter-in-law 
 assisted her in her game, when she was not engaged in 
 smiling at her husband. As for the cardinal, who, very 
 weary, reclined his attenuated form upon his bed, his 
 cards were held by the Comtesse de Soissons, and he 
 watched them with an incessant look of eagerness and 
 cupidity. 
 
 The cardinal had been painted by Bernouin ; but the 
 rouge, which glowed only on his cheeks, threw into 
 stronger contrast the sickly pallor of the rest of his coun- 
 tenance and the shining yellow of his brow. His eyes alone 
 acquired a more lively expression from this auxiliary ; 
 and upon those sick man’s eyes were turned, from time 
 to time, the uneasy looks of the king, the queens, and 
 the courtiers. The fact is, that the two eyes of Signor 
 

MAZARIN’S GAMING-PARTY. 
 
 383 
 
 Mazarin were the stars more or less brilliant in which the 
 France of the seventeenth century read its destiny every 
 evening and every morning. Monseigneur neither won 
 nor lost ; he was, therefore, neither gay nor sad. It was 
 a stagnation in which, full of pity for him, Anne of Aus- 
 tria would not have willingly left him ; but in order to 
 attract the attention of the sick man by some brilliant 
 stroke, she must have either won or lost. To win would 
 have been dangerous, because Mazarin would have changed 
 his indifference for an ugly grimace ; to lose would like- 
 wise have been dangerous, because she must have cheated, 
 and the infanta, who watched her game, would doubtless 
 have exclaimed against her partiality for Mazarin. Prof- 
 iting by this calm, the courtiers were chatting. When 
 not in a bad humor, M. de Mazarin was a very debonair 
 prince ; and he, who prevented nobody from singing, pro- 
 vided they paid, was not tyrant enough to prevent people 
 from talking, provided they made up their minds to lose. 
 They were chatting, then. At the first table the king’s 
 younger brother, Philip, Due d’Anjou, was admiring his 
 handsome face in the glass of a box. His favorite, the 
 Chevalier de Lorraine, leaning over the fauteuil of the 
 prince, was listening, with secret envy, to the Comte de 
 Guiche, another of Philip’s favorites, who was relating in 
 choice terms the various vicissitudes of fortune of the 
 royal adventurer Charles II. He told, as so many fabu- 
 lous events, all the history of his peregrinations in Scot- 
 land, and his terrors when the enemy’s party was so 
 closely on his track ; of nights passed in trees, and days 
 passed in hunger and combats. By degrees, the fate of 
 the unfortunate king interested his auditors so greatly 
 that the play languished even at the royal table ; and the 
 young king, with a pensive look and downcast eye, fol- 
 lowed, without appearing to give any attention to it, 
 
334 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BHAGELONNE. 
 
 the smallest details of this Odyssey, very picturesquely 
 related by the Comte de Guiche. 
 
 The Comtesse de Soissons interrupted the narrator. 
 •'‘Confess, Count, you are inventing.* * 
 
 “ Madame, I am repeating like a parrot all the stories 
 related to me by different Englishmen. I am compelled 
 to my shame to say that I am as textual as a copy.” 
 
 “ Charles II. would have died before he could have 
 endured all that.” 
 
 Louis XIV. raised his intelligent and proud head. 
 “Madame,” said he in a grave tone, still partaking some- 
 what of the timid child, “ Monsieur the Cardinal will 
 tell you that in my minority the affairs of France were 
 in jeopardy, and that if I had been older, and obliged 
 to take sword in hand, it would sometimes have been to 
 gain the evening meal. ,, 
 
 “ Thanks to God,” said the cardinal, who spoke for the 
 first time, “your Majesty exaggerates, and your supper 
 has always been ready, with that of your servants.” 
 
 The king colored. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried Philip, inconsiderately, from his place, 
 and without ceasing to admire himself, “ I recollect once, 
 at Milan, the supper was laid for nobody, and that the 
 king ate two thirds of a slice of bread, and left to me 
 the other third.” 
 
 The wliole assembly, seeing Mazarin smile, began to 
 laugh. Courtiers flatter kings with the remembrance of 
 past distresses, as with the hopes of future good fortune. 
 
 “It is not to be denied that the crown of France has 
 always remained firm upon the heads of its kings,” Anne 
 of Austria hastened to say, “ and that it has fallen 
 from that of the King of England ; and when, by 
 chance, that crown oscillated a little, — for there are 
 throne-quakes as well as earthquakes, — every time, I 
 
MAZARIN’S GAMING-PARTY. 
 
 385 
 
 say, that rebellion threatened it, a good victory restored 
 tranquillity.” 
 
 “ With a few gems added to the crown,” said Mazarin. 
 
 The Comte de Guiche was silent ; the king composed 
 his countenance ; and Mazarin exchanged looks with Anne 
 of Austria, as if to thank her for her intervention. 
 
 “It is of no consequence,” said Philip, smoothing his 
 hair. “ My cousin Charles is not handsome, but he i? 
 very brave, and has fought like a reiter ; and if he con- 
 tinues to fight thus, no doubt he will finish by gaining a 
 battle, like Rocroy — ” 
 
 “He has no soldiers,” interrupted the Chevalier de 
 Lorraine. 
 
 “ The King of Holland, his ally, will give him some. 
 I would willingly have given him some if I had been King 
 of France.” 
 
 Louis XIV. blushed excessively. Mazarin affected to 
 be more attentive to his game than ever. 
 
 “ By this time,” resumed the Comte de Guiche, “ the 
 fortune of this unhappy prince is decided. If he has been 
 deceived by Monk, he is ruined. Imprisonment, perhaps 
 death, will finish what exile, battles, and privations have 
 begun.” 
 
 Mazarin’s brow became clouded. 
 
 “Is it certain,” said Louis XIV., “that his Majesty 
 Charles II. has quitted the Hague ? ” 
 
 “ Quite certain, your Majesty,” replied the young man ; 
 “my father has received a letter containing all the de- 
 tails. It is even known that the king has landed at 
 Dover; some fishermen saw him entering the port. The 
 rest is still a mystery.” 
 
 “ I should like to know the rest,” said Philip, impetu- 
 ously. “You know, — you, my brother.” 
 
 Louis XIV. colored again. That was the third time 
 vol. i. — 25 
 
386 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 within an hour. “ Ask Monsieur the Cardinal/* replied 
 he, in a tone which made Mazarin, Anne of Austria, and 
 everybody else open their eyes. 
 
 “ Which means, my son/* said Anne of Austria, laugh- 
 ing, “ that the king does not like affairs of State to be 
 talked of out of the council.” 
 
 Philip received the reprimand with a good grace, and 
 bowed, first smiling at his brother, and then at his mother. 
 But Mazarin saw from the corner of his eye that a group 
 was about to be formed in an angle of the room ; that the 
 Due d’ Anjou, with the Comte de Guiche and the Chev- 
 alier de Lorraine, prevented from talking aloud, might 
 say in a whisper what it was not convenient should 
 be said aloud. He was beginning then to dart at them 
 glances full of mistrust and uneasiness, inviting Anne of 
 Austria to throw perturbation amid the unlawful assem- 
 bly, when suddenly Bernouin, entering under the tapes- 
 try of the bedroom, whispered in the ear of his master, 
 “ Monseigneur, an envoy from his Majesty the King of 
 England ! ” 
 
 Mazarin could not help exhibiting a slight emotion, 
 which was perceived by the king. To avoid being indis- 
 creet, still less than not to appear useless, Louis XIY. 
 rose immediately, and approaching his Eminence, wished 
 him good-night. All the assembly had risen with a 
 great noise of rolling of chairs and tables being pushed 
 away. 
 
 “ Let everybody depart by degrees/’ said Mazarin in a 
 whisper to Louis XIY., “ and be so good as to excuse me 
 a few minutes. I am going to expedite an affair about 
 which I wish to converse with your Majesty this very 
 evening.” 
 
 “And the queens'?” asked Louis XIY. 
 
 “ And M. le Due d* Anjou,” said his Eminence. 
 
MAZARIN’S GAMING-PARTY. 
 
 387 
 
 At the same time he turned round in his recess, the 
 curtains of which, in falling, concealed the bed. The car- 
 dinal, nevertheless, did not lose sight of the conspirators. 
 
 “M. le Comte de Guiche,” said he in a fretful voice, 
 while putting on, behind the curtain, his robe de chambre, 
 with the assistance of Bernouin. 
 
 “I am here, Monseigneur, ” said the young man, as he 
 approached. 
 
 “ Take my cards ; you are lucky. Win a little money 
 for me of these gentlemen.” 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 The young man sat down at the table from which the 
 king withdrew to talk with the two queens. A serious 
 game was begun between the Count and several rich 
 courtiers. In the mean time Philip was discussing ques- 
 tions of dress with the Chevalier de Lorraine, and they 
 had ceased to hear the rustling of the cardinal’s silk robe 
 from behind the curtain. His Eminence had followed 
 Bernouin into the cabinet adjoining the bedroom. 
 
388 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AN AFFAIR OF STATE. 
 
 The cardinal, on passing into his cabinet, found the Comte 
 de la Fere, who was waiting for him, engaged in admiring 
 a very fine Raphael placed over a sideboard covered with 
 plate. His Eminence came in softly, lightly, and silently 
 as a shadow, and surprised the count, as he was accus- 
 tomed to do, pretending to divine, by the simple expres- 
 sion of the face of his interlocutor, what would be the 
 result of the conversation. But this time Mazarin was 
 disappointed in his expectation ; he read nothing upon 
 the face of Athos, not even the respect he was accustomed 
 to meet with on all faces. Athos was dressed in black, 
 with a simple lacing of silver. He wore the Holy Ghost, 
 the Garter, and the Golden Fleece, — three orders of such 
 importance that a king alone, or else a player, could 
 wear them at once. 
 
 Mazarin rummaged a long time in his somewhat troubled 
 memory to recall the name he ought to give to this icy 
 figure, but he did not succeed. “ I am told,” said he, at 
 length, “that you have a message from England for me.” 
 
 And he sat down, dismissing Bernouin and Brienne, 
 who in his capacity as secretary was getting his pen 
 ready. 
 
 “From his Majesty the King of England; yes, your 
 Eminence.” 
 
 “You speak very good French, for an Englishman, 
 Monsieur,” said Mazarin, graciously, looking through his 
 
AN AFFAIR OF STATE. 
 
 389 
 
 fingers at the Holy Ghost, Garter, and Golden Fleece, 
 but more particularly at the face of the messenger. 
 
 “I am not an Englishman, but a Frenchman, Monsieur 
 the Cardinal,” replied Athos. 
 
 “ It is remarkable that the King of England should 
 choose a Frenchman for his ambassador ; it is an excellent 
 augury. Your name, Monsieur, if you please.” 
 
 “ Comte de la Fere,” replied Athos, bowing more 
 slightly than the ceremonial and pride of the all-powerful 
 minister required. 
 
 Mazarin bent his shoulders, as if to say, “I do not 
 know that name.” 
 
 Athos did not alter his carriage. 
 
 “ And you come, Monsieur,” continued Mazarin, “ to 
 tell me — ” 
 
 “ I come on the part of his Majesty the King of Great 
 Britain to announce to the King of France ” — Mazarin 
 frowned — “to announce to the King of France,” con- 
 tinued Athos, imperturbably, “the happy restoration 
 of his Majesty Charles II. to the throne of his an- 
 cestors.” 
 
 This shade did not escape his cunning Eminence. Ma- 
 zarin was too much accustomed to mankind, not to see in 
 the cold and almost haughty politeness of Athos an index 
 of hostility, which was not of the temperature of that hot- 
 house called a court. 
 
 “You have powers, I suppose?” asked Mazarin, in a 
 short, querulous tone. 
 
 “Yes, Monseigneur;” and the word “monseigneur” 
 came so painfully from the lips of Athos, that it might be 
 said it skinned them. 
 
 “ In that case, show them.” 
 
 Athos took a despatch from an embroidered velvet bag 
 which he carried under his doublet. The cardinal held 
 
390 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 out his hand for it. “ Your pardon, Monseigneur,” said 
 Athos. “ My despatch is for the king.” 
 
 “ Since you are a Frenchman, Monsieur, you ought to 
 know what the position of a prime minister is at the court 
 of France.” 
 
 “ There was a time,” replied Athos, “ when I occupied 
 myself with the importance of prime ministers ; but 1 
 formed, long ago, a resolution to treat no longer with 
 any but the king.” 
 
 u Then, Monsieur,” said Mazarin, who began to be irri- 
 tated, “you will see neither the minister nor the king.” 
 Mazarin rose. Athos replaced his despatch in its bag, 
 bowed gravely, and took several steps towards the door. 
 This coolness exasperated Mazarin. “ What strange 
 diplomatic proceedings are these ! ” cried he. “ Are we 
 again in the times in which Cromwell sent us bullies in 
 the guise of charges d'affaires? You want nothing, Mon- 
 sieur, but the steel cap on your head, and a Bible at your 
 girdle.” 
 
 “Monsieur,” said Athos, dryly, “I have never had, as 
 you have, the advantage of treating with M. Cromwell \ 
 and I have only seen his charges d'affaires sword in hand : 
 I am therefore ignorant of how he treated with prime 
 ministers. As for the King of England, Charles II., I 
 know that when he writes to his Majesty King Louis 
 XIV., he does not write to his Eminence the Cardinal 
 Mazarin. I see no diplomacy in that distinction.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” cried Mazarin, raising his attenuated hand and 
 striking his head, “ I remember now ! ” Athos looked at 
 him in astonishment. “Yes, that is it,” said the car- 
 dinal, continuing to look at his interlocutor ; “ yes, that 
 is certainly it. I know you now, Monsieur. Ah ! diavolo ! 
 I am no longer astonished.” 
 
 “ In fact, / was astonished that with the excellent 
 
AN AFFAIR OF STATE. 
 
 391 
 
 memory your Eminence has/’ replied Athos, smiling, 
 “you did not recognize me before.” 
 
 “Always refractory and grumbling, Monsieur — Mon- 
 sieur — What do they call you ? Stop ! — a name of a 
 river — Potamos ; no — the name of an island — Naxos 
 no, per Giove ! — the name of a mountain — Athos ! now I 
 have it. Delighted to see you again, and to be no longer 
 at Rueil, where you and your damned companions made 
 me pay ransom. Fronde ! still Fronde ! accursed Fronde ! 
 Oh, what a source of evil ! Why, Monsieur, have your 
 antipathies survived mine? If any one had cause to 
 complain, I think it could not be you, who got out of the 
 affair not only in a sound skin, but with the cordon of 
 the Holy Ghost round your neck.” 
 
 “Monsieur the Cardinal,” replied Athos, “ permit me to 
 dispense with considerations of that kind. I have a mis- 
 sion to fulfil. Will you assist me in fulfilling that mission ? ” 
 “I am astonished,” said Mazarin, quite delighted at 
 having regained the remembrance, and bristling with 
 malicious points, — “ I am astonished, Monsieur — Athos 
 — that a Frondeur like you should have accepted a mis- 
 sion to Mazarin, as used to be said in the good old 
 times — ” and Mazarin began to laugh, in spite of a 
 painful cough, which cut short his sentences, converting 
 them into sobs. 
 
 “ I have only accepted the mission to the King of 
 France, Monsieur the Cardinal,” retorted the count, 
 though with less asperity, for he thought he had suffi- 
 ciently the advantage to show himself moderate. 
 
 “And yet, Monsieur the Frondeur,” said Mazarin, 
 gayly, “the affair with which you charge yourself must, 
 from the king — ” 
 
 “With which I am charged, Monseigneur. I do not 
 run after affairs.” 
 
392 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Be it so. I say that this negotiation must pass 
 through my hands. Let us lose no precious time, then. 
 Tell me the conditions.” 
 
 “ I have had the honor of assuring your Eminence* that 
 the letter alone of his Majesty King Charles II. contains 
 the revelation of his wishes.” 
 
 “ Pooh ! you are ridiculous with your obstinacy, M. 
 Athos. It is plain you have kept company with the 
 Puritans yonder. As to your secret, I know it better 
 than you do ; and you have done wrongly, perhaps, in 
 not having shown some respect for a very old and suffer- 
 ing man, who has labored much during his life, and kept 
 the field bravely for his ideas, as you have for yours. — 
 You will not communicate your letter to me] You will 
 say nothing to me] Wonderfully well ! Come with me 
 into my chamber ; you shall speak to the king — and be- 
 fore the king. Now, then, one last word : who gave you 
 the Fleece] I remember you passed for having the 
 Garter ; but as to the Fleece, I did not know — ” 
 
 “ Becently, Monseigneur, Spain, on the occasion of the 
 marriage of his Majesty Louis XIV., sent King Charles II. 
 a brevet of the Fleece in blank ; Charles II. immediately 
 transmitted it to me, filling up the blank with my name.” 
 
 Mazarin arose, and leaning on the arm of Bernouin, 
 returned to his private recess at the moment the name of 
 Monsieur the Prince was being announced. The Prince 
 de Conde, the first prince of the blood, the conqueror of 
 Bocroy, Lens, and Nordlingen, was, in fact, entering the 
 apartments of Monseigneur de Mazarin, followed by his 
 gentlemen, and had already saluted the king, when the 
 prime minister raised his curtain. Athos had time to 
 see Baoul press the hand of the Comte de Guiche, and 
 to return him a smile for his respectful bow. He had 
 time, likewise, to see the radiant countenance of the 
 
AN AFFAIR OF STATE. 
 
 393 
 
 cardinal, when he perceived before him, upon the table, 
 an enormous heap of gold, which the Comte de Guiche 
 had won in a run of luck, after his Eminence had con- 
 fided his cards to him. So, forgetting ambassador, em- 
 bassy, and prince, his first thought was of the gold. 
 “ What ! ” cried the old man, “ all that — won ? ” 
 
 “ Some fifty thousand crowns; yes, Monseigneur, ” re- 
 plied the Comte de Guiche, rising. “ Must I give up my 
 place to your Eminence, or shall I continue V 1 
 
 “ Give up ! give up ! you are mad. You would lose all 
 you have won. Peste !” 
 
 “ Monseigneur ! ” said the Prince de Conde, bowing. 
 
 “ Good-evening, Monsieur the Prince,” said the min- 
 ister, in a careless tone ; “ it is very kind of you to visit 
 an old sick friend.” 
 
 “ A friend ! ” murmured the Comte de la Fere, at wit- 
 nessing with stupor this monstrous collocation of words, 
 
 — “ friend, when the parties are Conde and Mazarin ! ” 
 
 Mazarin seemed to divine the thought of the Frondeur, 
 
 for he smiled upon him with triumph ; and immediately, 
 
 — “ Sire,” said he to the king, “I have the honor of 
 presenting to your Majesty, M. le Comte de la Fere, 
 ambassador from his Britannic Majesty. An affair of 
 State, Messieurs,” added he, waving his hand to all who 
 filled the chamber, and who, the Prince de Conde at 
 their head, all disappeared at the simple gesture. Baoul, 
 after a last look cast at the count, followed M. de Conde. 
 Philip of Anjou and the queen appeared to be consulting 
 about departing. 
 
 “A family affair,” said Mazarin, suddenly, detaining 
 them in their seats. 4 ‘This gentleman is bearer of a 
 letter, in which King Charles II., completely restored to 
 his throne, demands an alliance between Monsieur, the 
 brother of the king, and Mademoiselle Henrietta, grand- 
 
394 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BHAGELONNE. 
 
 daughter of Henry IV. Will you pass your credentials 
 to the king, Monsieur the Count V 9 
 
 Athos remained for a minute stupefied. How could 
 the minister possibly know the contents of the letter, 
 which had never been out of his keeping for a single 
 instant'? Nevertheless, always master of himself, he held 
 out the despatch to the young king, Louis XIV., who took 
 it with a blush. A solemn silence reigned in the chamber 
 of the cardinal. It was only troubled by the dull sound 
 of the gold which Mazarin, with his yellow, dry hand, 
 piled up in a box, while the king was reading. 
 
THE RECITAL. 
 
 395 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE RECITAL. 
 
 The malice of the cardinal did not leave much for the 
 ambassador to say ; nevertheless, the word “ restored ” had 
 struck the king, who, addressing the count, upon whom 
 his eyes had been fixed since that person’s entrance, — 
 “ Monsieur,” said he, “ will you have the kindness to 
 give us some details of English affairs'? You come from 
 that country, you are a Frenchman, and the orders which 
 I see glitter upon your person announce you to be a man 
 of merit as well as a man of quality.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the cardinal, turning towards the 
 queen-mother, “is an ancient servant of your Majesty’s, 
 M. le Comte de la Fere.” 
 
 Anne of Austria was as oblivious as a queen whose life 
 had been mingled with fine and stormy days. She looked 
 at Mazarin, whose malign smile promised her something 
 annoying ; then, by another look, she solicited from 
 Athos an explanation. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” continued the cardinal, “ was a Treville 
 musketeer, in the service of the late king. Monsieur is 
 well acquainted with England, whither he has made sev- 
 eral voyages at various periods ; he is a subject of the 
 highest merit.” 
 
 These words contained allusion to all the remembran- 
 ces which Anne of Austria dreaded to revive. “Eng- 
 land,” — that was her hatred of Richelieu and her love 
 
396 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 of Buckingham; “ a Treville musketeer,” — that was the 
 whole Odyssey of the triumphs which had made the 
 heart of the young woman throb, and of the dangers 
 which had been so near overturning the throne of the 
 young queen. These words had much power ; for they 
 rendered mute and attentive all the royal personages, 
 who, with widely diverse sentiments, at once tried to re- 
 construct the mysterious years, which the young among 
 them had not seen, and which the old had believed to be 
 forever effaced. 
 
 “ Speak, Monsieur,” said Louis XI V., the first to es- 
 cape from troubles, suspicions, and remembrances. 
 
 “ Yes, speak,” added Mazarin, to whom the little piece 
 of malice inflicted upon Anne of Austria had restored 
 energy and gayety. 
 
 “ Sire,” said the count, “ a sort of miracle has changed 
 the whole destiny of Charles II, What men till that time 
 had been unable to do, God resolved to accomplish.” 
 Mazarin coughed, while tossing about in his bed. 
 
 “ King Charles II.,” continued Athos, “left the Hague 
 neither as a fugitive nor as a conqueror, but like an abso- 
 lute king, who, after a distant voyage from his kingdom, 
 returns amid universal benedictions.” 
 
 “A great miracle, indeed,” said Mazarin ; “for if the 
 news was true, King Charles II., who has just returned 
 amid benedictions, went away amid musket-shots.” 
 
 The king remained impassive. Philip, younger and 
 more frivolous, could not repress a smile, which flattered 
 Mazarin as an applause of his pleasantry. 
 
 “ It is plain,” said the king, “there is a miracle ; but 
 God, who does so much for kings, Monsieur the Count, 
 nevertheless employs the hand of man to bring about 
 the triumph of His designs. To what men does Charles 
 II. principally owe his re-establishment^” 
 
THE KECITAL. 
 
 397 
 
 “ Why,” interrupted Mazarin, without any regard for 
 the self-love of the king, “ does not your Majesty know 
 that it is to M. Monk % ” 
 
 “ I ought to know it,” replied Louis XIV., resolutely ; 
 “ and yet I ask Monsieur the ambassador the causes of 
 the change in this M. Monk.” 
 
 “ And your Majesty touches precisely the question,” 
 replied Athos ; “ for without the miracle I have had the 
 honor to speak of, M. Monk would probably have re- 
 mained an implacable enemy to Charles II. God willed 
 that a strange, bold, and ingenious idea should enter into 
 the mind of a certain man, while a devoted and coura- 
 geous idea took possession of the mind of another man. 
 The combination of these two ideas brought about such a 
 change in the position of M. Monk that from an inveter- 
 ate enemy he became a friend to the deposed king.” 
 
 “ These are exactly the details I asked for,” said the 
 king. “Who and what are the two men of whom you 
 speak 1 ” 
 
 “ Two Frenchmen, Sire.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! I am glad of that.” 
 
 “ And the two ideas,” said Mazarin, — “I am more 
 curious about ideas than about men, for my part.” 
 
 “ Yes,” murmured the king. 
 
 “ The second idea — the devoted, courageous idea — the 
 less important, Sire — was to go and dig up a million 
 in gold, buried by King Charles I. at Newcastle, and to 
 purchase with that gold the adherence of Monk.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said Mazarin, reanimated by the word 
 ‘‘million.” “But Newcastle was at the time occupied 
 by Monk.” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur the Cardinal, and that is why I ven- 
 ture to call the idea courageous as well as devoted. The 
 plan was, — if Monk should refuse the offers of the nego- 
 
398 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 tiator, — to reinstate King Charles II. in possession of 
 this million, which was to be torn, as it were, from the 
 loyalty of General Monk, if not from his loyalism. This 
 was effected, in spite of many difficulties : the general 
 proved to be loyal, and allowed the money to be taken 
 away.” 
 
 “ It seems to me,” said the timid, thoughtful king, 
 “that Charles II. could not have known of this million 
 while he was in Paris.” 
 
 “It seems to me,” rejoined the cardinal, maliciously, 
 “ that his Majesty the King of Great Britain knew per- 
 fectly well of this million, but that he preferred having 
 two millions to having one.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said Athos, firmly, “ the King of England 
 while in France was so poor that he had not even money 
 to take the post, so destitute of hope that he fre- 
 quently thought of dying. He was so entirely ignorant 
 of the existence of the million at Newcastle, that but for 
 a gentleman, — one of your Majesty’s subjects, the 
 moral depositary of the million, and who revealed the 
 secret to King Charles II., — that prince would still be 
 vegetating in the most cruel oblivion.” 
 
 “ Let us pass on to the strange, bold, and ingenious 
 idea,” interrupted Mazarin, whose sagacity foresaw a 
 check. “ What was that idea h ” 
 
 “ This : M. Monk being the only obstacle to the re- 
 establishment of the fallen king, a Frenchman imagined 
 the idea of suppressing this obstacle.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! but he is a scoundrel, that Frenchman,” 
 said Mazarin ; “ and the idea is not so ingenious as to 
 prevent its author being tied up by the neck at the Place 
 de Greve, by decree of the Parliament.” 
 
 “ Your Eminence is mistaken,” replied Athos, dryly. 
 “I did not say that the Frenchman in question had re- 
 
THE RECITAL. 
 
 399 
 
 solved to assassinate M. Monk, but only to suppress him. 
 The words of the French language have a value which 
 the gentlemen of France know perfectly. Besides, this is 
 an affair of war ; and when men serve kings against their 
 enemies they are not to be condemned by a parliament, — 
 they have God. This French gentleman, then, formed 
 the idea of gaining possession of the person of Monk, and 
 he executed his plan.” 
 
 The king became animated at the recital of great ac- 
 tions. The king’s younger brother struck the table with 
 his hand, exclaiming, “Ah, that is fine! ” 
 
 “ He carried off Monk % ” said the king. “ Why, Monk 
 was in his camp.” 
 
 “ And the gentleman was alone, Sire.” 
 
 “ That is marvellous ! ” said Philip. 
 
 “ Marvellous indeed ! ” cried the king. 
 
 “Good ! There are two little lions unchained,” mur- 
 mured the cardinal. And with an air of spite, which 
 he did not dissemble, said aloud, “I am unacquainted 
 with these details ; will you guarantee the authenticity 
 of them, Monsieur'?” 
 
 “All the more easily, Monsieur the Cardinal, from 
 having seen the events.” 
 
 “ You have % ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 The king had involuntarily drawn close to the count ; 
 the Due d’Anjou had turned sharply round, and pressed 
 Athos on the other side. 
 
 “Next, Monsieur, next!” cried both at the same 
 time. 
 
 “ Sire, M. Monk, being taken by the Frenchman, was 
 brought to King Charles II. at the Hague. The king 
 restored Monk his liberty; and the grateful general, in 
 return, gave Charles II. the throne of Great Britain, 
 
400 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 for which so many valiant men have contended without 
 result.” 
 
 Philip clapped his hands with enthusiasm ; Louis XIY., 
 more reflective, turned towards the Comte de la Fere. 
 
 “ Is this true,” said he, “ in all its details'?” 
 
 “ Absolutely true, Sire.” 
 
 “ That one of my gentlemen knew the secret of the 
 million, and kept it ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ The name of that gentleman ? ” 
 
 “ It was your humble servant,” said Athos, simply. 
 
 A murmur of admiration made the heart of Athos 
 swell with pleasure. He had reason to be proud, at least. 
 Mazarin himself had raised his arms towards heaven. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king, “ I will seek, I will find, 
 means to reward you.” Athos made a movement. “ Oh, 
 not for your probity, — to be paid for that would humili- 
 ate you ; but I owe you a reward for having participated 
 in the restoration of my brother, King Charles II.” 
 “Certainly,” said Mazarin. 
 
 “ It is the triumph of a good cause which fills the whole 
 house of France with joy,” said Anne of Austria. 
 
 “I continue,” said Louis XIY. : “Is it also true that 
 a single man penetrated to Monk, in his camp, and 
 carried him off?” 
 
 “ That man had ten auxiliaries, taken from an inferior 
 rank.” 
 
 “ Nothing but that?” 
 
 “ Nothing more.” 
 
 “ And you call him ? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur d’Artagnan, formerly lieutenant of the 
 Musketeers of your Majesty.” 
 
 Anne of Austria colored ; Mazarin became yellow with 
 shame ; Louis XIY. was deeply thoughtful, and a drop of 
 
THE RECITAL. 
 
 401 
 
 sweat fell from his pale brow. “ What men!” mur- 
 mured he ; and involuntarily he darted a glance at the 
 minister, which would have terrified him, if Mazarin at the 
 moment had not concealed his head under his pillow. 
 
 “Monsieur,” said the young Due d’Anjou, placing his 
 hand, delicate and white as that of a woman, upon the 
 arm of Athos, “tell that brave man, I beg you, that 
 Monsieur, brother of the king, will to-morrow drink his 
 health before a hundred of the best gentlemen of 
 France ; ” and on finishing these words, the young 
 man, perceiving that his enthusiasm had deranged one 
 of his ruffles, set to work to put it to rights with the 
 greatest care imaginable. 
 
 “ Let us resume business, Sire,” interrupted Mazarin, 
 who never was enthusiastic and who wore no ruffles. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur,” replied Louis XI Y. “Enter upon 
 your communication, Monsieur the Count,” added he, 
 turning towards Athos. 
 
 Athos immediately began, and offered in due form the 
 hand of the Princess Henrietta Stuart to the young 
 prince, the king’s brother. The conference lasted an 
 hour ; after which the doors of the chamber were thrown 
 open to the courtiers, who resumed their places as if 
 nothing had been kept from them in the occupations 
 of that evening. Athos then found himself again with 
 Eaoul, and the father and son were able to clasp hands 
 once more. 
 
 vol. i. — 26 
 
402 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 IN WHICH MAZARIN BECOMES PRODIGAL. 
 
 While Mazarin was endeavoring to recover from the 
 serious alarm he had just experienced, Athos and Raoul 
 exchanged a few words in a corner of the chamber. 
 
 “Well, here you are in Paris, then, Raoul V’ said the 
 count. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur, since the return of Monsieur the 
 Prince.” 
 
 “ I cannot converse freely with you here, because we 
 are observed ; but I shall return home presently, and 
 shall expect you as soon as your duty permits.” 
 
 Raoul bowed ; and at that moment Monsieur the 
 Prince came up to them. The prince had that clear 
 and keen look which distinguishes birds of prey of the 
 noble species ; his physiognomy itself presented several 
 distinct traits of this resemblance. Of the Prince de 
 Conde it is well known that his aquiline nose sprang, 
 sharp and incisive, from a brow slightly retreating and 
 not very high ; and this, according to the railers of the 
 court, — a pitiless race, even for genius, — constituted 
 rather an eagle’s beak than a human nose, for the heir 
 of the illustrious princes of the house of Conde. This 
 penetrating look, this imperious expression of the whole 
 countenance, generally disturbed those to whom the 
 prince spoke, more than either the majesty or the noble 
 appearance of the conqueror of Rocroy could have done. 
 Besides this, the fire mounted so suddenly to his pro- 
 
MAZARIN BECOMES PRODIGAL. 
 
 403 
 
 jecting eyes, that with the prince every sort of animation 
 resembled anger. Now, on account of his rank every- 
 body at the court respected Monsieur the Prince ; and 
 many even, seeing only the man, carried their respect 
 to the height of fear. 
 
 Louis de Conde, then, advanced towards the Comte de 
 la Fere and Raoul, with the marked intention of being 
 saluted by the one and of speaking to the other. No man 
 bowed with more reserved grace than the Comte de la 
 Fere. He disdained to put into a salutation all the 
 shades which a courtier ordinarily borrows from the 
 same color, — the desire to please. Athos knew his own 
 personal value, and bowed to the prince as a man, — cor- 
 recting by something sympathetic and indefinable that 
 which might have appeared offensive to the pride of the 
 highest rank in the inflexibility of his attitude. The prince 
 was about to speak to Raoul. Athos prevented him. 
 
 “ If M. le Yicomte de Bragelonne,” said he, “ were not 
 one of the humble servants of your royal Highness, I would 
 beg him to pronounce my name before you, my Prince.” 
 
 “ I have the honor to address M. le Comte de la Fere,” 
 said Conde, instantly. 
 
 “My protector,” added Raoul, blushing. 
 
 “ One of the most honorable men in the kingdom,” 
 continued the prince ; “ one of the first gentlemen of 
 France, and of whom I have heard so much that is good 
 that I have frequently desired to number him among my 
 friends.” 
 
 “ An honor of which I should be unworthy,” replied 
 Athos, “ but for the respect and admiration I entertain 
 for your Highness.” 
 
 “ M. de Bragelonne,” said the prince, “ is a good officer, 
 who it is plain has been to a good school. Ah, Monsieur 
 the Count, in your time generals had soldiers ! ” 
 
404 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ That is true, Monseigneur ; but nowadays soldiers 
 have generals.” 
 
 This compliment, which savored so little of flattery, 
 gave a thrill of joy to a man whom already Europe con- 
 sidered a hero, and who might be thought to be satiated 
 with praise. 
 
 “ I very much regret,” continued the prince, “ that you 
 should have retired from the service, Monsieur the Count ; 
 for it is more than probable that the king will soon have 
 a war with Holland or England, and opportunities for 
 distinguishing himself would not be wanting to a man 
 who, like you, knows Great Britain as well as France.” 
 
 “ I believe I may say, Monseigneur, that I have acted 
 wisely in retiring from the service,” said Athos, smiling. 
 “France and Great Britain will henceforward live like 
 two sisters, if I can trust my presentiments.” 
 
 “ Your presentiments ? ” 
 
 “ Stop, Monseigneur ! listen to what is said yonder, at 
 the table of Monsieur the Cardinal.” 
 
 “ Where they are playing? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 The cardinal had just raised himself upon one elbow, 
 and made a sign to the king’s brother, who went to him. 
 “ Monseigneur,” said the cardinal, “ pick up, if you please, 
 all those gold crowns ; ” and he pointed to the enormous 
 pile of yellow and glittering pieces which the Comte de 
 Guiche had gradually accumulated by a surprising run of 
 luck at play. 
 
 “ For me ? ” cried the Due d’ Anjou. 
 
 “ Those fifty thousand crowns ; yes, Monseigneur, they 
 are yours.” 
 
 “ Do you give them to me ? ” 
 
 “ I have been playing on your account, Monseigneur,” 
 replied the cardinal, getting weaker and weaker, as if this 
 
MAZARIN BECOMES PRODIGAL. 
 
 405 
 
 effort of giving money had exhausted all his physical and 
 moral faculties. 
 
 “ Oh, good heavens ! ” exclaimed Philip, wild with joy ; 
 “ what a fortunate day ! ” and he himself, making a rake 
 of his fingers, drew a part of the sum into his pockets, 
 which he filled, and still full a third remained on the 
 table. 
 
 u Chevalier,” said Philip to his favorite, the Chevalier 
 de Lorraine, “ come hither, Chevalier.” The favorite 
 quickly obeyed. “ Pocket the rest,” said the young 
 prince. 
 
 This singular scene was regarded by those present as 
 only an exhibition of family feeling. The cardinal as- 
 sumed the airs of a father with the sons of France, and 
 the two young princes had grown up under his wing. 
 No one then imputed this liberality on the part of the 
 first minister to pride, or even impertinence, as we 
 should nowadays. The courtiers contented themselves 
 with envying the prince. The king turned away his 
 head. 
 
 “I never had so much money before,” said the young 
 prince, joyously, as he crossed the chamber with his 
 favorite, to go to his carriage. “ No, never ! How heavy 
 they are, — a hundred and fifty thousand livres ! ” 
 
 “ But why has Monsieur the Cardinal given all that 
 money at once 1 ” asked Monsieur the Prince of the 
 Comte de la Fere. “ He must be very ill, the dear 
 cardinal ! ” 
 
 “Yes, Monseigneur, very ill, without doubt; and be- 
 sides, he looks very ill, as your Highness may perceive.” 
 
 “Assuredly! but he will die of it. A hundred and 
 fifty thousand livres ! Oh, it is incredible ! But why, 
 Count ? Tell me a reason for it.” 
 
 “Patience, Monseigneur, I beg of you. Here comes 
 
406 
 
 THE VICOMTK DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 M. le Due d’Anjou, talking with the Chevalier de Lor- 
 raine ; I should not be surprised if they spared us the 
 trouble of being indiscreet. Listen to them.” 
 
 Tn fact, the chevalier said to the prince in a low voice: 
 •‘Monseigneur, it is not natural for M. Mazarin to give 
 you so much money. Take care ! you will let some of 
 the pieces fall, Monseigneur. What design has the 
 cardinal upon you, to make him so generous 1 ” 
 
 “ As I said,” whispered Athos in the prince’s ear, “now, 
 perhaps, we shall have a reply to your question.” 
 
 “Tell me, Monseigneur,” repeated the chevalier, im- 
 patiently, while he estimated, by weighing it in his 
 pocket, the quota of the gift which had glanced his 
 way. 
 
 “My dear chevalier, a nuptial present.” 
 
 “ What ! a nuptial present ! ” 
 
 “ Eh ! yes, I am going to be married ! ” replied the 
 Due d’Anjou, without perceiving, at the moment he 
 was passing, the prince and Athos, who both bowed 
 respectfully. 
 
 The chevalier darted at the young duke a glance so 
 strange and so malicious that the Comte de la Fere was 
 startled by it. “You! you to be married!” repeated 
 he ; “ oh, that ’s impossible ! You would not commit 
 such a folly ! ” 
 
 “Bah! I don’t do it myself; I am made to do it,” 
 replied the Due d ’Anjou. “ But come quick ! let us get 
 rid of our money.” Thereupon he disappeared with his 
 companion, laughing and talking, while all heads bowed 
 as he went by. 
 
 “Then,” whispered the prince to Athos, “that is the 
 secret.” 
 
 “It was not I that told you so, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ He is to marry the sister of Charles II. 1 " 
 
MAZARIN BECOMES PRODIGAL. 
 
 407 
 
 “ I believe so.” 
 
 The prince reflected for a moment, and his eye shot 
 forth a vivid flash. “ Humph ! ” said he slowly, as if 
 speaking to himself ; “ once more our swords are to be 
 hung on the wall — for a long time ! ” and he sighed. 
 
 All which that sigh contained of ambition silently 
 stifled, of illusions extinguished and hopes disappointed, 
 Athos alone divined, for he alone had heard it. Imme- 
 diately after, the prince took leave and the king departed. 
 Athos, by a sign made to Bragelonne, renewed the desire 
 he had expressed at the beginning of the scene. By 
 degrees the chamber was deserted, and Mazarin was left 
 alone, a prey to sufferings which he could no longer con- 
 ceal. “ Bernouin ! Bernouin ! ” cried he, in a broken 
 voice. 
 
 “ What does Monseigneur want h ” 
 
 “ Guenaud, — let Guenaud be sent for,” said his Emi- 
 nence. “ I think I am dying.” 
 
 Bernouin, in great terror, rushed into the cabinet to 
 give the order; and the courier, who hastened to fetch 
 the physician, passed the king’s carriage in the Bue 
 St. Honore. 
 
408 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 GUENAUD. 
 
 The order of the cardinal was pressing ; Guenaud quickly- 
 obeyed it. He found his patient stretched upon his bed, 
 his legs swelled, livid, and his stomach collapsed. Maza- 
 rin had just undergone a severe attack of gout. He suf- 
 fered cruelly, and with the impatience of a man who has 
 not been accustomed to resistance. On the arrival of 
 Guenaud, “ Ah ! ” said he, “ now I am saved ! ” 
 
 Guenaud was a very learned and circumspect man, 
 who did not need the censure of Boileau to obtain a repu- 
 tation. When in face of a disease, if it were personified 
 in a king, he treated the patient as a Turk or a Moor. He 
 did not therefore reply to Mazarin as the minister ex- 
 pected : ‘‘Here is the doctor; good-by, disease. ,, On 
 the contrary, on examining his patient with a very 
 serious air, “ Oh ! oh ! ” said he. 
 
 “ Eh ? what ? Guenaud ! How you look ! ” 
 
 “I look as I ought to do on seeing your complaint, 
 Monseigneur ; it is a very dangerous one.” 
 
 “ The gout — oh, yes, the gout.” 
 
 “ With complications, Monseigneur.” 
 
 Mazarin raised himself upon his elbow, and, questioning 
 by look and gesture : 66 What do you mean by that 1 Am 
 I worse than I think 1 ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur,” said Guenaud, seating himself by the 
 bed, “your Eminence has wwked very hard during your 
 life ; your Eminence has suffered much.” 
 
GUENAUD. 
 
 409 
 
 “ But I am not so very old, I fancy. The late M. de 
 Richelieu was but seventeen months younger than I am, 
 when he died — and died of a mortal disease. I am 
 young, Guenaud ; remember that I am scarcely fifty- 
 two.” 
 
 “ Oh, Monseigneur, you are much more than that ! 
 How long did the Fronde last 1 ” 
 
 “ Why do you ask that ] ” 
 
 “For a medical calculation, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “Well, some ten years — off and on.” 
 
 “Very well; be kind enough to reckon every year of 
 the Fronde as three years, — that makes thirty^ ; now 
 twenty and fifty-two make seventy-two years. You are 
 seventy-two, Monseigneur ! and that is a great age.” 
 While saying this, he felt the pulse of his patient. It 
 exhibited indications so fatal that the physician continued, 
 notwithstanding the interruptions of the patient : “ Put 
 down the years of the Fronde at four each; you have 
 lived eighty-two years.” 
 
 “ Are you speaking seriously, Guenaud 1 ” 
 
 “Alas! yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “You announce to me, then, in this roundabout way, 
 that I am very ill] ” 
 
 “ My faith ! yes, Monseigneur ; and with a man of the 
 mind and courage of your Eminence, it ought not to be 
 necessary to speak indirectly.” 
 
 The cardinal breathed with such difficulty that he in- 
 spired pity even in a pitiless physician. “ There are 
 diseases and diseases,” resumed Mazarin ; “ from some 
 of them people escape.” 
 
 “ That is true, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ Is it not ] ” cried Mazarin, almost joyously ; “ for, in 
 short, of what use would power be, and strength, and will 1 
 Of what use would genius be, — your genius, Guenaud] 
 
410 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Of what use would science and art be, if the patient, who 
 controls all that, cannot be saved from peril 1 ” 
 
 Guenaud was about to open his mouth, but Mazarin 
 continued. 
 
 “ Kemember,” said he, “ I am the most confiding of 
 your patients; remember that I obey you blindly, and 
 that consequently — ” 
 
 “I know all that,” said Guenaud. 
 
 “ I shall be cured, then 1 ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur, there is neither strength of will, nor 
 power, nor genius, nor science that can overcome disease, 
 which God doubtless sends, or which he cast upon the 
 earth at the creation, with full power to destroy and kill 
 mankind. When the disease is mortal, it kills, and 
 nothing can — ” 
 
 “ Is — my disease — mortal 'l ” asked Mazarin. 
 
 “ Yes, Mon seigneur.” 
 
 His Eminence sank down for a moment, like an unfor- 
 tunate wretch who is crushed by a falling column. But 
 the spirit of Mazarin was strong, or rather his mind was 
 firm. “ Guenaud,” said he, recovering from the first 
 shock, “you will permit me to appeal from your judgment. 
 I will call together the most learned men of Europe; I 
 will consult them. I will live, in short, by the power of 
 some remedy, I care not what.” 
 
 et Monseigneur must not suppose,” said Guenaud, “ that 
 I have the presumption to pronounce alone upon an ex- 
 istence so valuable as his. 1 have already assembled all 
 the good physicians and practitioners of France and 
 Europe. There were twelve of them.” 
 
 “ And they have said — ” 
 
 “ They have said that your Eminence is attacked with 
 a mortal disease ; I have the consultation signed in my 
 portfolio. If your Eminence will please to see it, you 
 
GUENAUD. 
 
 411 
 
 will find the names of all the incurable diseases we have 
 met with. There is, first — ” 
 
 44 No, no ! ” cried Mazarin, pushing away the paper. 
 44 No, no, Guenaud, I yield ! I yield ! 99 and a profound 
 silence, during which the cardinal resumed his senses and 
 recovered his strength, succeeded to the agitation of this 
 scene. 44 There is another thing,” murmured Mazarin ; 
 44 there are empirics and charlatans. In my country, 
 those whom physicians abandon run the chance of a 
 vender of orvietan, which ten times kills them, but a 
 hundred times saves them.” 
 
 “ Has not your Eminence observed that during the last 
 month I have altered my remedies ten times ? ” 
 
 44 Yes. Well ? ” 
 
 “ Well, I have spent fifty thousand livres in purchasing 
 the secrets of all these fellows; the list is exhausted, and 
 so is my purse. You are not cured ; and but for my 
 art you would be dead.” 
 
 “ That ends it ! ” murmured the cardinal ; 44 that ends 
 it ; ” and he threw a melancholy look upon the riches 
 which surrounded him. 44 And must I quit all that h 99 
 sighed he. 44 I am dying, Guenaud ! I am dying ! 99 
 44 Oh, not yet, Monseigneur ! 99 said the physician. 
 Mazarin seized his hand. 44 In how long a time V 9 asked 
 he, fixing his large eyes upon the impassive countenance 
 of the physician. 
 
 44 Monseigneur, we never tell that.” 
 
 44 To ordinary men, perhaps not ; but to me, — to me, 
 whose every minute is worth a treasure. Tell me, Gue- 
 naud, tell me ! ” 
 
 44 No, no, Monseigneur.” 
 
 44 1 insist upon it, 1 tell you ! Oh, give me a month, 
 and for every one of those thirty days I will pay you a 
 hundred thousand livres ! 99 
 
412 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Monseigneur,” replied Guenaud, in a firm voice, “ it 
 is God who can give you days of grace, and not I. God 
 allows you only fifteen days.” 
 
 The cardinal breathed a painful sigh, and sank back 
 upon his pillow, murmuring, “ Thank you, Guenaud, 
 thank you ! ” 
 
 The physician was about to depart ; the dying man 
 raising himself up, “ Keep it secret,” said he, with eyes 
 of flame, “ keep it secret ! ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur, I have known this secret two months ; 
 you see that I have kept it faithfully.” 
 
 “ Go, Guenaud, — I will take care of your fortunes, — 
 go, and tell Brienne to send me a clerk ; have them call 
 M. Colbert. Go ! ” 
 
COLBERT. 
 
 413 
 
 CHAPTER XLIY. 
 
 COLBERT. 
 
 Colbert was not far off. During the whole evening he 
 had remained in one of the corridors, chatting with Ber- 
 nouin and Brienne, and commenting, with the ordinary 
 skill of people of a court, upon the views which developed 
 themselves, like air-bubbles upon the water, on the sur- 
 face of each event. It is doubtless time to trace, in a few 
 words, one of the most interesting portraits of the age ; 
 and we shall trace it with as much truth, perhaps, as 
 contemporary painters have been able to do. 
 
 Colbert was a man in whom the historian and the moral- 
 ist have an equal interest. He was thirteen years older 
 than Louis XIV., his future master. Of middle height, 
 rather thin than otherwise, he had deep-set eyes, a mean 
 appearance, coarse black and thin hair, — which, say the 
 biographers of his time, made him take early to the skull- 
 cap. A look full of severity, of harshness even, a sort of 
 stiffness, — which with inferiors was pride, with superiors 
 an affectation of virtuous dignity, — a surly cast of coun- 
 tenance upon all occasions, even when looking at himself in 
 a glass alone ; so much for the exterior of this personage. 
 As to the moral part of his character, the depth of his 
 talent for accounts, and his ingenuity in making sterility 
 itself productive were much boasted of. 
 
 Colbert had formed the idea of forcing governors of 
 frontier places to feed the garrisons without pay, by 
 levying contributions. Such a valuable quality made 
 
414 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Mazarin think of replacing Joubert, his intendant, who had 
 recently died, by M. Colbert, who had such skill in nib- 
 bling down allowances. Colbert by degrees crept into 
 the court, notwithstanding the meanness of his birth ; for 
 he was the son of a man who sold wine, as his father had 
 done, but who afterwards sold cloth, and then silk stuffs. 
 Colbert, destined for trade, had been a clerk to a mer- 
 chant at Lyons, whom he had quitted to come to Paris in 
 the office of a chatelet procurator named Biterne. It 
 was here he had learned the art of drawing up an ac- 
 count, and the much more valuable one of complicating 
 it. That stiffness of Colbert’s had been of great benefit 
 to him ; so true is it that fortune, when she has a caprice, 
 resembles those women of antiquity, whose fancy nothing 
 physical or moral, in either things or men, could repel. 
 Colbert, placed with Michel Letellier, Secretary of State 
 in 1648, by his cousin Colbert, Seigneur de St. Pouange, 
 who favored him, received one day from the minister a 
 commission for Cardinal Mazarin. His Eminence was 
 then in the enjoyment of flourishing health, and the bad 
 years of the Fronde had not yet counted triple and quad- 
 ruple for him. He was, at Sedan, very much annoyed at 
 a court intrigue in which Anne of Austria appeared to wish 
 to desert his cause. Of this intrigue Letellier held the 
 thread. He had just received a letter from Anne of Aus- 
 tria, — a letter very valuable to him, and strongly compro- 
 mising Mazarin ; but as he already played the double 
 part which served him so well, and by which he always 
 managed two enemies so as to draw advantage from both, 
 either by embroiling them more and more or by recon- 
 ciling them, Michel Letellier wished to send Anne of Aus- 
 tria’s letter to Mazarin, in order that he might take 
 notice of him and be grateful for a service so handsomely 
 rendered. To send the letter was an easy matter; to 
 
COLBERT. 
 
 415 
 
 recover it again, after having communicated it, that was 
 the difficulty. Letellier cast his eyes around him, and 
 seeing the black and meagre clerk scribbling away with 
 his scowling brow, in his office, preferred him to the best 
 gendarme for the execution of this design. 
 
 Colbert was commanded to set out for Sedan, with pos- 
 itive orders to carry the letter to Mazarin and bring it 
 back to Letellier. He listened to his orders with scrupu- 
 lous attention, required them to be repeated to him tw 7 ice, 
 and was particular in learning whether the bringing back 
 was as necessary as the communicating; and Letellier 
 said to him, “ More necessary/ 7 Then he set out, trav- 
 elled like a courier, without any care for his body, and 
 placed in the hands of Mazarin, first a letter from Letel- 
 lier, which announced to the cardinal the sending of the 
 precious letter, and then that letter itself. Mazarin col- 
 ored greatly while reading Anne of Austria’s letter, gave 
 Colbert a gracious smile, and dismissed him. 
 
 “ When shall I have the answer, Monseigneur 1 ” said 
 the courier, humbly. 
 
 “ To-morrow.” 
 
 “ To-morrow morning 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 The clerk turned upon his heel, after making his very 
 best bow. The next day he was at his post at seven 
 o’clock. Mazarin made him wait till ten. He remained 
 patiently in the antechamber ; his turn having come, he 
 entered. Mazarin gave him a sealed packet. Upon the 
 envelope of this packet were these words : U AM. Michel 
 Letellier,” etc. Colbert looked at the packet with much 
 attention ; the cardinal put on a pleasant countenance, 
 and pushed him towards the door. 
 
 “ And the letter of the queen-mother, Monseigneur 1 ” 
 asked Colbert. 
 
416 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BK AGELONNE. 
 
 “ It is with the rest in the packet/’ said Mazarin. 
 
 “Oh, very well !” replied Colbert; and placing his hat 
 between his knees, he began to unseal the packet. 
 
 Mazarin uttered a cry. “ What are you doing ?” said 
 he, angrily. 
 
 “ I am unsealing the packet, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “You mistrust me, then, master pedant, do you? Did 
 any one ever see such impertinence ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, Monseigneur, do not be angry with me ! It is 
 certainly not your Eminence’s word I place in doubt, 
 God forbid ! ” 
 
 “ What then ? ” 
 
 “It is the carefulness of your officials, Monseigneur. 
 W r hat is a letter ? A rag. May not a rag be forgotten ? 
 And, look, Monseigneur, see if I was not right. Your 
 clerks have forgotten the rag; the letter is not in the 
 packet.” 
 
 “You are an insolent fellow, and you have not looked,” 
 cried Mazarin, angrily; “begone and wait my pleasure!” 
 While saying these words, with a subtlety quite Italian, 
 he snatched the packet from the hands of Colbert, and 
 re-entered his apartments. 
 
 But this anger could not last so long as not to give 
 way in time to reason. Mazarin, every morning, on open- 
 ing the door of his cabinet, found the figure of Colbert 
 standing like a sentinel at his post ; and this disagreeable 
 figure never failed to ask him humbly, but with insist- 
 ence, for the queen-mother’s letter. Mazarin could hold 
 out no longer, and was obliged to surrender the letter. 
 He accompanied this restitution with a most severe rep- 
 rimand, during which Colbert contented himself with ex- 
 amining, feeling, even smelling, as it were, the papers, the 
 characters, and the signature, neither more nor less than 
 if he had had to do with the greatest forger in the king- 
 
COLBERT. 
 
 417 
 
 dom. Mazarin behaved more rudely still to him ; but 
 Colbert, still impassive, having assured himself that 
 the letter was the true one, went off’ as if he had been 
 deaf. This conduct afterwards was worth the post of 
 Joubert to him ; for Mazarin, instead of bearing malice, 
 admired him, and was desirous of attaching so much 
 fidelity to himself. 
 
 It may be judged, by this single anecdote, what the 
 character of Colbert was. Events, gradually developing 
 themselves, brought all the resources of his mind into 
 action. Colbert was not long in insinuating himself into 
 the good graces of the cardinal ; he became even indis- 
 pensable to Mazarin. The clerk was acquainted with all 
 the cardinaTs accounts, without his Eminence ever having 
 spoken to him about them. This secret between them 
 was a powerful tie ; and it was for this reason that when 
 about to appear before the Master of another world, 
 Mazarin was desirous of taking Colbert’s advice in dis- 
 posing of the wealth he was so unwillingly obliged to 
 leave in this world. After the visit of Guenaud, he there- 
 fore sent for Colbert, desired him to sit down, and said to 
 him, “ Let us converse, M. Colbert, and seriously ; for I 
 am very sick, and I may chance to die.” 
 
 “ Man is mortal,” replied Colbert. 
 
 “ I have always remembered that, M. Colbert, and I 
 have worked with that in mind. You know that I have 
 amassed a little wealth.” 
 
 “ I know you have, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “At how much do you estimate, approximately, the 
 amount of this wealth, M. Colbert ?” 
 
 “At forty million five hundred and sixty thousand 
 two hundred livres nine sous eight deniers,” replied 
 Colbert. 
 
 The cardinal fetched a deep sigh, and looked at Col 
 vol. i. — 27 
 
418 
 
 THE VIOOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 bert with wonder ; but he allowed a smile to steal across 
 his lips. 
 
 “ Property known/’ added Colbert, in reply to that 
 smile. 
 
 The cardinal made quite a start in his bed. “What 
 do you mean by that!” said he. 
 
 “ I mean,” said Colbert, “ that besides those forty 
 million five hundred and sixty thousand two hundred 
 livres nine sous eight deniers, there are thirteen millions 
 that are not known.” 
 
 “ Ouf /” sighed Mazarin, “ what a man ! ” 
 
 At this moment the head of Bern ou in appeared through 
 the opening of the door. 
 
 “ What is it 1 ” asked Mazarin ; “ and why do you dis- 
 turb me/’ 
 
 “ The Theatin father, your Eminence’s director, was 
 sent for this evening ; and he cannot come again to Mon- 
 seigneur till after to-morrow.” 
 
 Mazarin looked at Colbert, who arose and took his hat, 
 saying, “ I will come again, Monseigneur.” 
 
 Mazarin hesitated. “ No, no,” said . he ; “ I have as 
 much business to transact with you as with him. Besides, 
 you art my other confessor ; and what I have to say to one, 
 the other may hear. Remain where you are, Colbert.” 
 “But, Monseigneur, if there be a secret of penitence, 
 will the director consent to my being here 1 ?” 
 
 “ Do not trouble yourself about that ; come into the 
 recess.” 
 
 “ I can wait outside, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ No, no ; it will do you good to hear the confession of 
 a rich man.” 
 
 Colbert bowed, and went into the recess. 
 
 “ Introduce the Theatin father,” said Mazarin, closing 
 the curtains. 
 
CONFESSION OF A MAN OF WEALTH. 
 
 419 
 
 CHAPTER XLY. 
 
 CONFESSION OF A MAN OF WEALTH. 
 
 The Theatin entered deliberately, without being too much 
 astonished at the noise and agitation which anxiety for 
 the health of the cardinal had raised in his household. 
 
 “ Come in, my reverend father,” said Mazarin, after a 
 last look at the recess, — “ come in, and console me.” 
 
 “ That is my duty, Monseigneur,” replied the Theatin. 
 “ Begin by sitting down and making yourself comfor- 
 table, for I am going to make a general confession ; you 
 will afterwards give me a good absolution, and I shall be 
 more tranquil.” 
 
 “ Monseigneur,” said the father, “you are not so ill as 
 to make a general confession urgent, and it will be very 
 fatiguing ; take care ! ” 
 
 “ You suspect, then, that it may be long, Father'? ” 
 
 “ How can I think it otherwise, when a man has lived 
 so completely as your Eminence has done *? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! that is true. Yes, the recital may be long.” 
 
 “ The mercy of God is great ! ” snuffled the Theatin. 
 
 “ Stop ! ” said Mazarin ; u there I begin to terrify myself 
 with having allowed so many things to pass which the 
 Lord might reprove.” 
 
 “Is not that always so'?” said the Theatin, naively, 
 removing farther from the lamp his thin pointed face, 
 like that of a mole. “ Sinners are so : forgetful before- 
 hand, and scrupulous when it is too late.” 
 
420 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Sinners \_pecheurs\V 9 replied Mazarin. “Do you use 
 that word ironically, and to reproach me with all the gen- 
 ealogies I have allowed to be made on my account, — I, 
 the son of a fisherman \_pecheur~\, in fact ? ” 
 
 “ Humph ! ” said the Theatin. 
 
 “That is a first sin, Father; for I have allowed myself 
 to be made to be descended from ancient Roman consuls, 
 T. Geganius Macerinus I., Macerinus II., and Proculus 
 Macerinus III., of whom the Chronicle of Haolander 
 speaks. Between ‘ Macerinus 9 and ‘ Mazarin ’ was a 
 tempting similarity. ‘ Macerinus,’ a diminutive, means 
 leanish , poorish , out of case. Oh, reverend father ! 6 Ma- 
 zarin i ’ may now well mean, in the augmentative, thin as 
 Lazarus. Look ! ” and he showed his fleshless arms and 
 his legs wasted by fever. 
 
 “ In your having been born of a family of fishermen I 
 see nothing blameworthy in you, — for Saint Peter was a 
 fisherman ; and if you are a prince of the Church, Mon- 
 seigneur, he was the supreme head of it. Pass on, if you 
 please.” 
 
 “ The more readily because I threatened with the Bas- 
 tille a certain Bonnet, a priest of Avignon, who wanted 
 to publish a genealogy of the Casa Mazarini much too 
 marvellous.” 
 
 “To be probable?” replied the Theatin. 
 
 “ Oh, if I had acted up to his idea, Father, that would 
 have been the vice of pride, — another sin.” 
 
 “ It was excess of invention ; and a person is not to be 
 reproached with abuses of that kind. Pass on, pass on ! ” 
 “I was all pride. Look you, Father, I will endeavor 
 to divide that into capital sins.” 
 
 “I like divisions, when well made.” 
 
 “I am glad of that. You must know that in 1630 — 
 alas ! that is thirty-one years ago.” 
 
CONFESSION OF A MAN OF WEALTH. 
 
 421 
 
 “ You were then twenty-nine years old, Monseigneur.” 
 “ A hot-headed age. I was then something of a soldier, 
 and I threw myself at Casal into the arquebusades, to 
 show that I rode on horseback as well as an officer. It 
 is true I restored peace between the French and the 
 Spaniards ; that redeems my sin a little.” 
 
 “I see no sin in being able to ride well on horseback,” 
 said the Theatin ; “ that is in perfect good taste, and 
 does honor to our gown. As a Christian, I approve of 
 your having prevented the effusion of blood ; as a monk, 
 I am proud of the bravery a colleague has exhibited.” 
 Mazarin bowed his head humbly. “Yes,” said he; 
 “but the consequences 1” 
 
 “ What consequences ? ” 
 
 “Eh ! that damned sin of pride has roots without end. 
 From the time when I threw myself in that manner 
 between two armies, since I have smelt powder and 
 faced lines of soldiers, I have held generals a little in 
 contempt.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the father. 
 
 “ There is the evil, — so that since that time I have 
 not found one among them that was endurable.” 
 
 “The fact is,” said the Theatin, “that the generals we 
 have had have not been remarkable.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried Mazarin, “ there was Monsieur the Prince. 
 I have tormented him thoroughly.” 
 
 “He is not much to be pitied ; he has acquired suffi- 
 cient glory and sufficient wealth.” 
 
 “ That may be, for Monsieur the Prince ; but M. de 
 Beaufort, for example, — whom I made suffer so long in 
 the dungeons of Vincennes ] ” 
 
 “ Ah ! but he was a rebel ; and the safety of the 
 State required that you should make a sacrifice. Pass 
 on ! ” 
 
422 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I believe I have exhausted pride. There is another 
 sin which I am afraid to qualify.” 
 
 “ I will qualify it myself. Tell it.” 
 
 “ A great sin, reverend father ! ” 
 
 “We shall judge, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ You cannot fail to have heard of certain relations 
 which I have had — with her Majesty the queen-mother. 
 The malevolent — ” 
 
 “ The malevolent, Monseigneur, are fools ; was it not 
 necessary, for the good of the State and the interests of 
 the young king, that you should live in good intelligence 
 with the queen 1 Pass on, pass on ! ” 
 
 “I assure you,” said Mazarin, “you remove a terrible 
 weight from my breast.” 
 
 “ These are all trifles ! Look for something serious.” 
 
 “ I have had much ambition, Father.” 
 
 “ That is the march of great things, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ Even that trifle of the tiara ? ” 
 
 “ To be Pope is to be the first of Christians. Why 
 should you not desire that ? ” 
 
 “ It has been printed that, to gain that object, I sold 
 Cambrai to the Spaniards.” 
 
 “ You have, perhaps, yourself written pamphlets with- 
 out too much persecuting pamphleteers.” 
 
 “ Then, reverend father, I have truly a clean breast. I 
 feel nothing remaining but slight peccadilloes.” 
 
 “ What are they h ” 
 
 “ Play.” 
 
 “ That is rather mundane ; but you were obliged by 
 the duties of greatness to keep a good house.” 
 
 “ I like to win.” 
 
 “No player plays to lose.” 
 
 “ I cheated a little.” 
 
 “You took your advantage. Pass on.” 
 
CONFESSION OF A MAN OF WEALTH. 
 
 423 
 
 “ Well, reverend father, I feel nothing else upon my 
 conscience. Give me absolution, and my soul will be 
 able, when God shall please to call it, to mount without 
 obstacle even to his throne — ” 
 
 The Theatin moved neither his arms nor his lips. 
 
 44 What are you waiting for, Father 1 ” said Mazarin. 
 
 “ I am waiting for the end.” 
 
 “ The end of what 1 ” 
 
 “ Of the confession, Monseigneur.” 
 
 66 But I have ended.” 
 
 “ Oh, no ; your Eminence is mistaken.” 
 
 “ Not that I know of.” 
 
 “ Search diligently.” 
 
 44 I have searched as well as possible.” 
 
 “ Then I will assist your memory.” 
 
 “ Do.” 
 
 The Theatin coughed several times. “ You have said 
 nothing of avarice, another capital sin, nor of those mil- 
 lions,” said he. 
 
 “ Of what millions, Father 1 ” 
 
 “ Why, of those you possess, Monseigneur. ” 
 
 44 Father, that money is mine ; why should I speak to 
 you about that 1 ” 
 
 44 Because, see you, our opinions differ. You say that 
 money is yours ; while I — I believe it belongs in some 
 degree to others.” 
 
 Mazarin lifted his cold hand to his brow, which was 
 dewed with sweat. 44 How so 1 ” stammered he. 
 
 44 In this way. Your Eminence has gained much wealth 
 — in the service of the king.” 
 
 “ Humph ! much — it is not too much.” 
 
 4 4 Whatever it may be, whence came that wealth 1 ” 
 
 44 From the State.” 
 
 44 The State, — that is the king ” 
 
424 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ But what do you conclude from that, Father]” said 
 Mazarin, who began to tremble. 
 
 “ I cannot conclude without seeing a list of the riches 
 you possess. Let us reckon a little, if you please. You 
 have the bishopric of Metz ] ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ The abbeys of St. Clement, St. Arnoud, and St. Vin- 
 cent, all at Metz ] ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ You have the abbey of St. Denis, in France,- — a 
 magnificent property ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, Father.” 
 
 “ You have the abbey of Cluny, which is rich]” 
 
 “ I have.” 
 
 “ That of St. Medard, at Soissons, with a revenue of a 
 hundred thousand livres]” 
 
 “ I cannot deny it.” 
 
 “ That of St. Victor, at Marseilles, — one of the best 
 in the South ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, Father.” 
 
 “ A good million a year. With the emoluments of the 
 cardinalship and the ministry, it is perhaps two millions 
 a year.” 
 
 “ Eh ! ” 
 
 “ In ten years that is twenty millions ; and twenty 
 millions placed out at fifty per cent give, by compounding, 
 twenty additional millions in ten years.” 
 
 “ How well you reckon, for a Theatin ! ” 
 
 “ Since your Eminence placed our order in the convent 
 we occupy, near St. Germain des Pres, in 1641, I have 
 kept the accounts of the society.” 
 
 “ And mine likewise, apparently, Father.” 
 
 “ One ought to know a little of everything, Monseigneur. ” 
 “ Very well. Now conclude.” 
 
CONFESSION OF A MAN OF WEALTH. 
 
 425 
 
 “ I conclude that your baggage is too heavy to allow 
 you to pass through the gates of Paradise.” 
 
 “ I shall be damned ? ” 
 
 “ If you do not make restitution, yes.” 
 
 Mazarin uttered a piteous cry. “ Restitution ! — but 
 to whom, good God ? ” 
 
 “ To the owner of that money, — to the king.” 
 
 “ But the king has given it all to me ! ” 
 
 “ One moment, — the king does not sign the treasury 
 orders.” 
 
 Mazarin passed from sighs to groans. “ Absolution ! 
 absolution ! ” cried lie. 
 
 “ Impossible, Monseigneur. Restitution ! restitution ! ” 
 replied the Theatin. 
 
 “ But you absolve me from all other sins ; why not from 
 that h ” 
 
 “ Because,” replied the father, “ to absolve you on that 
 count would be a sin for which the king would never 
 absolve me, Monseigneur.” 
 
 Thereupon the confessor quitted his penitent with an 
 air full of compunction. He then went out in the same 
 manner as he had entered. 
 
 “ Oh, good God ! ” groaned the cardinal. “ Come here, 
 Colbert ! I am very, very ill indeed, my friend.” 
 
426 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE DONATION. 
 
 Colbert reappeared beneath the curtains. 
 
 “ Have you heard h ” said Mazarin. 
 
 “ Alas ! yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “Can he be right'? Can all this money be badly 
 acquired % ” 
 
 “ A Theatin, Monseigneur, is a bad judge in matters of 
 finance,” replied Colbert, coolly ; “ and yet it is very 
 possible that, according to his theological ideas, your 
 Eminence has been, in a certain degree, wrong. People 
 generally find they have been so, — when they die.” 
 
 “ In the first place, they commit the wrong of dying, 
 Colbert.” 
 
 “ That is true, Monseigneur. Against whom, however, 
 did the Theatin make out that you had committed these 
 wrongs % — against the king ? ” 
 
 Mazarin shrugged his shoulders. “ As if I had not 
 saved both his State and its finances ! ” 
 
 “ That admits of no contradiction, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ Does it not ? Then I have received only a legitimate 
 salary, notwithstanding the opinion of my confessor i ” 
 
 “ That is beyond doubt.” 
 
 “ And I might fairly keep for my own family, which is 
 so needy, a good fortune, — the whole, even, of what I 
 have gained V 1 
 
 “ I see no impediment to that, Monseigneur.” 
 
THE DONATION. 
 
 427 
 
 “ I felt assured that in consulting you, Colbert, I should 
 have sage advice,’ ’ replied Mazarin, greatly delighted. 
 
 Colbert made a pedantic grimace. “ Monseigneur,” 
 interrupted he, “ 1 think it would be quite as well to 
 examine whether what the Theatin said is not a snare.’’ 
 
 “ Oh, no ! A snare % What for ? The Theatin is an 
 honest man.” 
 
 “ He believed your Eminence to be at the gates of the 
 tomb, because your Eminence consulted him. Did not I 
 hear him say, ‘ Distinguish that which the king has 
 given you from that which you have given yourself 9 1 
 Kecollect, Monseigneur, if he did not say something a 
 little like that to you. That is a speech quite in the 
 Theatin style.” 
 
 “ That is possible.” 
 
 “ In which case, Monseigneur, I should consider you 
 as required by the Theatin to — ” 
 
 “ To make restitution i ” cried Mazarin, with great 
 warmth. 
 
 “ Eh ! I do not say no.” 
 
 “ Destitution of all 1 You do not dream of such a thing ! 
 You speak like the confessor.” 
 
 “ To make restitution of a part, — that is to say, his 
 Majesty’s part ; and that, Monseigneur, may have its 
 dangers. Your Eminence is too skilful a politician not to 
 know that at this moment the king does not possess a 
 hundred and fifty thousand livres clear in his coffers.” 
 
 “ That is not my affair,” said Mazarin, triumphantly ; 
 “ that belongs to M. le Surintendant Fouquet, whose ac- 
 counts for months past I have given you to verify.” 
 Colbert bit his lips at the name of Fouquet. “ His 
 Majesty,” said he, between his teeth, “ has no money but 
 that which M. Fouquet collects ; your money, Monseign- 
 eur, would afford him a delicious banquet.” 
 
428 THE VICOMTE DE RRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well, but I am not the intendant of his Majesty’s 
 finances ; I have my own purse. Indeed, I would do 
 much for his Majesty’s welfare, — some legacy, — but I 
 cannot disappoint my family.” 
 
 u The legacy of a part would dishonor you and offend 
 the king. Leaving a part to his Majesty is to avow that 
 that part has inspired you with doubts as to its lawful 
 acquisition.” 
 
 “ M. Colbert ! ” 
 
 “ I thought your Eminence did me the honor to ask 
 my advice ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; but you are ignorant of the principal details of 
 the question.” 
 
 “ I am ignorant of nothing, Monseigneur. During ten 
 years all the columns of figures which are found in France 
 have passed in review before me ; and if I have painfully 
 nailed them into my brain they are there now so well 
 riveted, that, from the office of M. Letellier, who is mod- 
 erate, to the little secret largesses of M. Fouquet, 
 who is prodigal, I could recite, figure by figure, all the 
 money that is spent in France, from Marseilles to 
 Cherbourg.” 
 
 “ Then you would have me throw all my money into 
 the coffers of the king ? ” cried Mazarin, ironically, 
 from whom at the same time the gout forced painful 
 moans. “ Certainly the king would reproach me with 
 nothing ; but he would laugh at me while absorbing my 
 millions, and with reason.” 
 
 “Your Eminence has misunderstood me. I did not, 
 the least in the world, pretend that his Majesty ought to 
 spend your money.” 
 
 “ You said so clearly, it seems to me, when you 
 advised me to give it to him.” 
 
 “Ah!” replied Colbert, “that is because your Emu 
 
THE DONATION. 
 
 429 
 
 nence, absorbed as you are by your disease, entirely 
 loses sight of the character of Louis XIV.” 
 
 “ How so h ” 
 
 “That character, if I may venture to express myself 
 thus, resembles that which Monseigneur confessed just 
 now to the Theatin.” 
 
 “Go on ! That is—” 
 
 “ Pride ! Pardon me, Monseigneur ; haughtiness I 
 mean. Kings have no pride ; that is a human passion.” 
 “ Pride, — yes, you are right. Next ? ” 
 
 “ Well, Monseigneur, if I have divined rightly, your 
 Eminence has but to give all your money to the king, 
 and that immediately.” 
 
 “But what for'? ” said Mazarin, quite bewildered. 
 
 “ Because the king will not accept the whole.” 
 
 “ Oh ! a young man who has no money, and is con- 
 sumed by ambition ! ” 
 
 “ Precisely.” 
 
 “ A young man who is anxious for my death — ” 
 
 “ Mon seigneur ! ” 
 
 “ To inherit, yes, Colbert, yes ; he is anxious for my 
 death in order to inherit. Triple fool that I am ! I 
 would prevent him ! ” 
 
 “ Exactly ; if the donation is made in a certain form, 
 he will refuse it.” 
 
 “ Well ; but how 1 ” 
 
 “ It is certain. A young man who has yet done 
 nothing, who burns to distinguish himself, who burns to 
 reign alone, will never take anything ready built ; he will 
 wish to construct for himself. This prince, Monseigneur, 
 will never be content with the Palais-Royal, which M. de 
 Richelieu left him ; nor with the Palais-Mazarin, which 
 you have caused to be so superbly constructed ; nor 
 with the Louvre, which his ancestors inhabited ; nor with 
 
430 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 St. Germain, where he was born. All that does not pro- 
 ceed from himself he will disdain. I predict it.” 
 
 “And you will guarantee that if I give my forty 
 millions to the king — ” 
 
 “Saying certain things to him at the same time, I 
 guarantee he will refuse them.” 
 
 “ But those things,. — what are they h ” 
 
 “ I will write them, if Monseigneur is willing to employ 
 me.” 
 
 “ Well ; but, after all, what advantage will that be to meV’ 
 u An enormous one. Nobody will afterwards be able 
 to accuse your Eminence of that unjust avarice with 
 which pamphleteers have reproached the most brilliant 
 mind of the present age.” 
 
 “ You are right, Colbert, you are right ; go and seek 
 the king, on my part, and carry him my will.” 
 
 “A donation, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ But if he should accept it, — if he should accept it ! ” 
 “ Then there would remain thirteen millions for your 
 family ; and that is a good round sum.” 
 
 “ But then you would be either a fool or a traitor.” 
 “And I am neither the one nor the other, Monseigneur. 
 You appear to be much afraid the king will accept ; oh, 
 fear rather that he will not accept ! ” 
 
 “ But, see you, if he does not accept, I should like to 
 guarantee my thirteen reserved millions to him, — yes, I 
 will do so, — yes. But my pains are returning ; I shall faint. 
 I am very, very ill, Colbert ; I am very near my end ! ” 
 Colbert started. The cardinal was indeed very ill ; 
 large drops of sweat flowed down upon his bed of agony, 
 and the frightful paleness of a face streaming with water 
 was a spectacle which the most hardened practitioner 
 could not have beheld without compassion. Colbert was, 
 without doubt, very much affected ; for he quitted the 
 
THE DONATION. 
 
 431 
 
 chamber, calling Bernouin to attend the dying man, and 
 went into the corridor. There, walking about with a 
 meditative expression, which almost gave nobleness to 
 his vulgar head, his shoulders thrown up, his neck 
 stretched out, his lips half open, to give vent to uncon- 
 nected fragments of incoherent thoughts, he lashed up 
 his courage to the pitch of the undertaking contemplated ; 
 while within ten paces of him, separated only by a wall, 
 his master was overcome by pain which drew from him 
 lamentable cries, thinking no more of the treasures of 
 the earth or of the joys of Paradise, but much of all the 
 horrors of hell. While burning-hot napkins, topicals, 
 revulsives, and Guenaud, who was recalled, were per- 
 forming their functions with increased activity, Colbert, 
 holding his great head in both his hands, to compress 
 within it the fever of the projects engendered by the 
 brain, was meditating the tenor of the donation he 
 would make Mazarin write, at the first hour of respite 
 his disease should afford him. It would appear as if 
 all the cries of the cardinal, and all the attacks of death 
 upon this representative of the past, were stimulants for 
 the genius of this thinker with the bushy eyebrows, who 
 was turning already towards the rising of the new sun 
 of a regenerated society. Colbert resumed his place at 
 Mazarin’s pillow at the first interval of pain, and per- 
 suaded him to dictate a donation thus conceived : — 
 
 About to appear before God, the Master of mankind, I beg 
 the king, who was my master on earth, to resume the wealth 
 which his bounty has bestowed upon me, and which my family 
 would be happy to see pass into such illustrious hands. The 
 particulars of my property will be found — they are drawn up 
 — at the first requisition of his Majesty, or at the last sigh of 
 his most devoted servant. 
 
 Jules, Cardinal de Mazarin. 
 
432 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 The cardinal sighed heavily as he signed this. Colbert 
 sealed the packet, and carried it immediately to the 
 Louvre, whither the king had returned. He then went 
 back to his own home, rubbing his hands Avith the 
 confidence of a workman who has done a good day’s 
 work. 
 
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 
 
 433 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 HOW ANNE OF AUSTRIA GAVE ONE PIECE OF ADVICE 
 TO LOUIS XIV., AND HOW M. FOUQUET GAVE HIM 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 The news of the extremity into which the cardinal had 
 fallen had already spread, and attracted at least as much 
 attention among the people of the Louvre as the news of 
 the marriage of Monsieur, the king’s brother, which had 
 already been announced as an official fact. Scarcely had 
 Louis XIV. returned home, with his thoughts fully occu- 
 pied with the various things he had seen and heard in 
 the course of the evening, when an usher announced that 
 the same crowd of courtiers who in the morning had 
 thronged his lever , presented themselves again at his 
 couclier , — a remarkable piece of respect which during the 
 reign of the cardinal the court, not very discreet in its 
 preferences, had accorded to the minister without caring 
 about displeasing the king. 
 
 But the minister had had, as we have said, an alarm- 
 ing attack of gout, and the tide of flattery was mounting 
 towards the throne. Courtiers have a marvellous in- 
 stinct in scenting events beforehand : they possess a 
 supreme science ; they are diplomatists to throw light 
 upon the unravelling of difficult circumstances, captains 
 to divine the issue of battles, and physicians to cure the 
 sick. Louis XIV., to whom his mother had taught this 
 commonplace truth, among many others, understood at 
 once that Monsieur the Cardinal must be very ill. 
 vol. i.— 28 
 
434 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Scarcely had Anne of Austria conducted the young queen 
 to her apartments and relieved her brows of the head- 
 dress of ceremony, when she went to seek her son in his 
 cabinet, where, alone, melancholy and depressed, he spent 
 upon himself, as if to exercise his will, one of those ter- 
 rible inward passions — kings’ passions — which create 
 events when they break out, and which with Louis XIV., 
 thanks to his astonishing command over himself, became 
 tempests so benign that his most violent, his unique 
 passion, that which Saint-Simon mentions with astonish- 
 ment, was that famous burst of anger which he exhibited 
 fifty years later, on the occasion of a little concealment 
 by the Due du Maine, and which had for result a shower 
 of blows inflicted with a cane upon the back of a poor 
 valet who had stolen a biscuit. The young king then 
 was, as we have seen, a prey to a double excitement ; and 
 he said to himself, as he looked in a glass : “ 0 king ! — 
 king by name, and not in fact ! — phantom, vain phan- 
 tom as thou art ! — inert statue, who hast no other 
 power than that of inciting salutations from courtiers ! — 
 when wilt thou be able to raise thy velvet arm, or clench 
 thy silken hand] When wilt thou be able to open, for 
 any purpose but to sigh or smile, lips condemned to the 
 motionless stupidity of the marbles of thy gallery ] ” 
 Then, passing his hand over his brow and feeling the 
 want of air, he approached a window, whence he saw be- 
 low some cavaliers talking together, and groups of the 
 timidly curious. These cavaliers were a portion of the 
 guard ; the groups were of the people, — to whom a king is 
 always a curious thing, as a rhinoceros, a crocodile, or a 
 serpent is. He struck his brow with his open hand, cry- 
 ing : “ King of France ! what a title ! People of France ! 
 what a heap of creatures ! I have just returned to my 
 Louvre ; my horses, just unharnessed, are still smoking, 
 
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 
 
 435 
 
 and I have created interest enough to induce scarcely 
 twenty persons to look at me as I passed. Twenty ! what 
 do I say ? — no ; there were not twenty anxious to see the 
 King of France. There are not even ten archers to guard 
 my place of residence ; archers, people, guards, all are at 
 the Palais-Koyal ! My God ! why h Have not I, the 
 king, the right to ask you that ? ” 
 
 “ Because,” said a voice, replying to his, and which 
 sounded from the other side of the door of the cabinet, — 
 “ because at the Palais-Royal there is all the gold, — that 
 is to say, all the power of him who desires to reign.” 
 Louis turned sharply round. The voice which had 
 pronounced these words was that of Anne of Austria. 
 The king started, and advanced towards his mother. “ I 
 hope,” said he, “your Majesty has paid no attention to 
 the vain declamations the idea of which the solitude 
 and disgust familiar to kings may give to the happiest 
 characters % ” 
 
 “ I paid attention to only one thing, my son, and that 
 was that you were complaining.” 
 
 “Who*? I % Not at all,” said Louis XIV.; “no, in 
 truth, you mistake, Madame.” 
 
 “ What were you doing then, Sire 1 ” 
 
 “ I imagined I was under the ferule of my professor, and 
 was developing a subject of amplification.” 
 
 “My son,” replied Anne of Austria, shaking her head, 
 “ you are wrong not to trust to my word ; you are wrong 
 not to grant me your confidence. A day will come, per- 
 haps quickly, wherein you will have occasion to remember 
 that axiom, ‘ Gold is universal power ; and they alone are 
 kings who are all powerful. 5 ” 
 
 “Your intention,” continued the king, “was not, how- 
 ever, to cast blame upon the rich of this age, was it % ” 
 
 “ No,” said the queen, warmly ; “ no, Sire. They who 
 
436 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 are rich in this age, under your reign, are rich because 
 you have been willing they should be so ; and I entertain 
 for them neither malice nor envy. They have, without 
 doubt, served your Majesty sufficiently well to deserve 
 that your Majesty should permit them to reward them- 
 selves. That is what I mean to say by the words for 
 which you reproach me.” 
 
 “ God forbid, Madame, that I should ever reproach my 
 mother with anything ! ” 
 
 “ Besides,” continued Anne of Austria, “ the Lord 
 gives the goods of this world but for a season. The Lord, 
 as correctives to honor and riches, has placed sufferings, 
 sickness, and death ; and no one,” added she, with a mel- 
 ancholy smile, which proved that she applied the funereal 
 precept to herself, — “no one can take his wealth or his 
 greatness with him into the tomb. It thence results that 
 the young gather the abundant harvest prepared for them 
 by the old.” 
 
 Louis listened with increased attention to the words 
 which Anne of Austria pronounced with a view, no doubt, 
 of consoling him. “ Madame,” said he looking earnestly 
 at his mother, “ one would almost say you had something 
 else to announce to me.” 
 
 “ I have absolutely nothing, my son ; only you cannot 
 have failed to remark that Monsieur the Cardinal is very 
 ill” 
 
 Louis looked at his mother, expecting some emotion in 
 her voice, some sorrow in her countenance. The face of 
 Anne of Austria was apparently a little changed, but that 
 was from a pain of quite a personal character. Per- 
 haps the alteration was caused by the cancer which had 
 begun to consume her breast. “Yes, Madame,” said the 
 king; “yes, M. de Mazarin is very ill.” 
 
 “ And it would be a great loss to the kingdom if his 
 
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 
 
 437 
 
 Eminence were to be called away by God. Is not that 
 your opinion as well as mine, my son ? ” said the queen. 
 
 “ Yes, Madame ; yes, certainly, it would be a great loss 
 for the kingdom, 1 ” said Louis, coloring. “ But the peril 
 does not seem to me to be so great ; besides, Monsieur 
 the Cardinal is young yet.” The king had scarcely 
 ceased speaking when an usher lifted the tapestry, and 
 stood with a paper in his hand, waiting for the king to 
 interrogate him. 
 
 “ What have you there ? ” asked the king. 
 
 “ A message from M. de Mazarin,” replied the usher. 
 
 “ Give it to me,” said the king ; and he took the paper. 
 But at the moment he was about to open it, there was a 
 great noise in the gallery, the antechambers, and the 
 court. 
 
 “ Ah ! ah ! ” said Louis XIV., who had no doubt what 
 the triple noise meant ; “ what did I say"? — there was but 
 one king in France % I was mistaken ; there are two.” 
 
 As he spoke or thought thus, the door opened, and the 
 superintendent of the finances, Fouquet, appeared before 
 Louis XIV. It was he who made the noise in the gallery ; 
 it was his lackeys who made the noise in the antechambers; 
 it was his horses that made the noise in the court. In 
 addition to all this a loud murmur was heard along his 
 course, which did not die away till some time after he had 
 passed. It was this murmur which Louis XIV. so much 
 regretted not hearing die away behind him, as he passed. 
 
 “ He is not precisely a king, as you fancy,” said Anne 
 of Austria to her son. “ He is only a man who is much 
 too rich ; that is all.” 
 
 While saying these words, a bitter feeling gave to the 
 words of the queen a most malicious expression ; whereas 
 the brow of the king, calm and self-possessed, on the con- 
 trary, was without the slightest wrinkle. He nodded, 
 
438 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 therefore, familiarly to Fouquet, while he continued to un- 
 fold the paper given to him by the usher. Fouquet per- 
 ceived this movement, and with a politeness at once easy 
 and respectful, advanced towards Anne of Austria, so as to 
 leave the king wholly at liberty. Louis had opened the 
 paper, and yet he did not read it. He heard Fouquet 
 making the most charming compliments to the queen 
 upon her hand and arm. The frown of Anne of Austria 
 relaxed a little ; she even almost smiled. Fouquet per- 
 ceived that the king, iustead of reading, was attending to 
 him ; he turned half round, therefore, and thus, while con- 
 tinuing to be engaged with the queen, faced the king. 
 
 “You know, M. Fouquet/’ said Louis XIV., “how ill 
 M. Mazarin is ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire, I know that,” said Fouquet; “in fact, he 
 is very ill. I was at my country-house of Vaux when 
 the news reached me ; and the affair seemed so pressing 
 that I left at once.” 
 
 “You left Vaux this evening, Monsieur 1 ” 
 
 “ An hour and a half ago ; yes, your Majesty,” said 
 Fouquet, consulting a watch richly ornamented with 
 diamonds. 
 
 “ An hour and a half ! ” said the king, still able to 
 restrain his anger, but not to conceal his astonishment. 
 
 “ I understand you, Sire. Your Majesty doubts my 
 word, and you have reason to do so ; but I have really 
 come so quickly, though it is wonderful. I have received 
 from England three pairs of very fast horses, as I had 
 been assured. They were placed at distances of four 
 leagues apart, and I have tried them this evening. They 
 really brought me from Vaux to the Louvre in an hour 
 and a half ; so your Majesty sees I have not been cheated.” 
 
 The queen-mother smiled with secret envy. But Fou- 
 quet caught her evil thought. “ Madame,” he promptly 
 
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 
 
 439 
 
 said, “ such horses are made for kings, not for subjects ; 
 for kings ought never to yield to any one in anything.” 
 The king looked up. 
 
 “ And yet,” interrupted Anne of Austria, “you are not 
 a king, that I know of, M. Fouquet.” 
 
 “ And therefore, Madame, the horses only wait the 
 orders of his Majesty to enter the royal stables ; and if I 
 allowed myself to try them, it was only out of the fear of 
 offering to the king anything that was not positively 
 wonderful.” 
 
 The king became quite red. 
 
 “ You know, M. Fouquet,” said the queen, “ that at 
 the court of France it is not the custom for a subject to 
 offer anything to his king.” 
 
 Louis started. 
 
 “I hoped, Madame,” said Fouquet, much agitated, 
 “that my love for his Majesty, my incessant desire to 
 please him, would serve as a counterpoise to that scruple 
 of etiquette. It was not, besides, so much a present that 
 I permitted myself to offer, as a tribute I paid.” 
 
 “Thank you, M. Fouquet,” said the king, politely; 
 “ and I am gratified by your intention, for I love good 
 horses. But you know I am not very rich ; you, who are 
 my superintendent of finances, know it better than any 
 one else. I am not able, then, however willing I may be, 
 to purchase such a valuable set of horses.” 
 
 Fouquet darted a look of haughtiness at the queen- 
 mother, who appeared to triumph at the false position the 
 minister had got into, and replied : “ Luxury is the virtue 
 of kings, Sire ; it is luxury which makes them resemble 
 God : it is by luxury they are more than other men. 
 With luxury a king nourishes his subjects, and honors 
 them. Under the mild heat of this luxury of kings 
 springs the luxury of individuals, a source of riches for 
 
440 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the people. His Majesty, by accepting the gift of these 
 six incomparable horses, would have piqued the self-love 
 of the breeders of our country, — of Limousin, Perche, 
 and Normandie, — and this emulation would have been 
 beneficial to all. But the king is silent, and consequently 
 I am condemned.” 
 
 During this speech Louis was unconsciously folding 
 and unfolding Mazarin’s paper, upon which he had not 
 cast his eyes. At length he glanced at it, and uttered a 
 faint cry on reading the first line. 
 
 “ What is the matter, my son ? ” asked the queen, anx- 
 iously, and going towards the king. 
 
 “ From the cardinal,” replied the king, continuing to 
 read ; “yes, yes, it is really from him.” 
 
 “ Is he worse, then ” 
 
 “ Bead ! ” said the king, passing the parchment to his 
 mother, as if he thought that nothing less than reading 
 would convince Anne of Austria of a thing so astonishing 
 as was conveyed in that paper. 
 
 Anne of Austria read in her turn ; and as she read, her 
 eyes sparkled with a joy the more apparent for her use- 
 less endeavor to hide it, which attracted the attention of 
 Fouquet. “ Oh! a regularly drawn up deed of donation,” 
 said she. 
 
 “ A donation ? ” repeated Fouquet. 
 
 “ Yes,” said the king, replying pointedly to the super- 
 intendent of finances, — “ yes, at the point of death, 
 Monsieur the Cardinal makes me a donation of all his 
 wealth.” 
 
 “ Forty millions ! ” cried the queen. “ Oh, my son, 
 this is very noble on the part of Monsieur the Cardinal, 
 and will silence all malicious rumors ; forty millions 
 scraped together slowly, coming back all in one heap to 
 the royal treasury ! It is the act of a faithful subject 
 
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 
 
 441 
 
 and a good Christian.” And having once more cast her 
 eyes over the letter, she restored it to Louis XIV., whom 
 the announcement of that enormous sum greatly excited. 
 
 Fouquet had taken some steps backward, and remained 
 silent. The king looked at him, and held the paper out 
 to him, in his turn. The superintendent only bestowed a 
 haughty look of a second upon it ; then bowing, “ Yes, 
 Sire,” said he ; “a donation, I see.” 
 
 “ You must reply to it, my son,” said Anne of Austria; 
 “you must reply to it, and that immediately.” 
 
 “ But how, Madame ! ” 
 
 “By a visit to the cardinal.” 
 
 “Why, it is but an hour since I left his Eminence,” 
 said the king. 
 
 “ Write, then, Sire.” 
 
 “ Write ! ” said the young king, with evident repugnance. 
 
 “ Well,” replied Anne of Austria, “ it seems to me, 
 my son, that a man who has just made such a present 
 has a good right to expect to be thanked for it with some 
 degree of promptitude.” Then turning towards Fouquet, 
 “Is not that likewise your opinion, Monsieur'?” 
 
 “ That the present is worth the trouble ! Yes, Ma- 
 dame,” said Fouquet, with a lofty air that did not escape 
 the king. 
 
 “Accept, then, and thank him,” insisted Anne of 
 Austria. 
 
 “What says M. Fouquet 1 ?” asked Louis XIY. 
 
 “ Does your Majesty wish to know my opinion!” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Thank him, Sire — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the queen. 
 
 “ But do not accept,” continued Fouquet. 
 
 “ And why not 1 ” asked the queen. 
 
 “ You have yourself said why, Madame,” continued 
 
442 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE. 
 
 Fouquet ; “ because kings ought not to and cannot receive 
 presents from their subjects.” 
 
 The king remained mute between these two so opposite 
 opinions. 
 
 “ But forty millions ! ” said Anne of Austria, in the 
 same tone as that in which, at a later period, poor Marie 
 Antoinette replied, “ You will tell me so much ! ” 
 
 “ I know,” said Fouquet, laughing, “ forty millions are 
 a good round sum, — such a sum as could tempt even 
 a royal conscience.” 
 
 “But, Monsieur,” said Anne of Austria, “ instead of 
 persuading the king not to receive this present, recall to 
 his Majesty’s mind — you, whose duty it is — that these 
 forty millions are a fortune to him.” 
 
 “ It is precisely, Madame, because these forty millions 
 would be a fortune that I will say to the king, ‘ Sire, if it 
 be not decent for a king to accept from a subject six 
 horses, worth twenty thousand livres, it would be dis- 
 graceful for him to owe a fortune to another subject, 
 more or less scrupulous in the choice of the materials 
 which contributed to the building up of that fortune. ” 
 
 “ It ill becomes you, Monsieur, to give your king a 
 lesson,” said Anne of Austria ; “ rather procure him forty 
 millions to replace those you make him lose.” 
 
 “ The king shall have them whenever he wishes,” said 
 the superintendent of the finances, bowing. 
 
 “Yes ; by oppressing the people,” said the queen. 
 
 “ And were they not oppressed, Madame,” replied 
 Fouquet, “ when they were made to sweat the forty 
 millions given by this deed? Furthermore, his Majesty 
 has asked my opinion, — I have given it ; if his Majesty 
 asks my concurrence, it will be the same.” 
 
 “ Nonsense ! accept, my son, accept ! ” said Anne of 
 Austria. “ You are above reports and interpretations.” 
 
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 
 
 443 
 
 “ Refuse, Sire ! ” said Fouquet. “ As long as a king 
 lives, he has no other measure but his conscience, no 
 other judge but his own desires; but when dead, there is 
 posterity, which applauds or accuses.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Mother,” replied Louis, bowing respect- 
 fully to the queen. “ Thank you, M. Fouquet,” said he, 
 dismissing the superintendent civilly. 
 
 “ Do you accept 1 ” asked Anne of Austria, once more. 
 
 “ I will reflect,” replied he, looking at Fouquet. 
 
444 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 AGONY. 
 
 The day after the deed of donation had been sent to the 
 king, the cardinal caused himself to be transported to 
 Vincennes. The king and the court followed him thither. 
 The last flashes of this torch still cast splendor enough 
 around to absorb in its radiations all other lights. Be- 
 sides, as has been seen, the faithful satellite of his 
 minister, young Louis XIV., marched, even to the last 
 minute, in accordance with his gravitation. The disease, 
 as Guenaud had predicted, had gained the mastery ; it 
 was no longer an attack of gout, but of death. Then 
 there was another thing which made that agony more 
 agonizing still ; and that was the agitation introduced 
 into his mind by the donation he had sent to the king, 
 and which, according to Colbert, the king ought to 
 send back not accepted to the cardinal. The cardinal 
 had, as we have seen, great faith in the predictions of his 
 secretary ; but the sum was a large one, and whatever 
 might be the genius of Colbert, from time to time the 
 cardinal thought to himself that the Theatin also might 
 possibly have been mistaken, and that there was at least 
 as much chance of his not being damned as there was 
 that Louis XIV. w6uld send him back his millions. Be- 
 sides, the longer the donation was in coming back, the 
 more Mazarin thought that forty millions were worth 
 a little risk, particularly of so hypothetical a thing as the 
 soul. Mazarin, in his character of cardinal and prime 
 
AGONY. 
 
 445 
 
 minister, was almost an atheist, and quite a materialist. 
 Every time that the door opened, he turned sharply 
 round, expecting to see the return of his unfortunate 
 donation ; then, deceived in his hope, he lay down again 
 with a sigh, and found his pains so much the greater for 
 having forgotten them for an instant. 
 
 Anne of Austria had also followed the cardinal ; her 
 heart, though age had made it selfish, could not help 
 evincing towards the dying man a sorrow which she 
 owed him as a wife, according to some ; and as a sover- 
 eign, according to others. She had, in some sort, put 
 mourning in her countenance beforehand ; and all the 
 court wore it as she did. 
 
 Louis, in order not to show on his face what was 
 passing at the bottom of his heart, persisted in re- 
 maining in his own apartments, where his nurse alone 
 kept him company ; the more he reckoned upon the 
 approach of the time when all constraint would be at 
 an end, the more humble and patient he was, falling 
 back upon himself, as all strong men do when they form 
 great designs, in order to gain more spring at the decisive 
 moment. 
 
 Extreme unction had been administered secretly to the 
 cardinal, who, faithful to his habits of dissimulation, strug- 
 gled against appearances, and even against reality, receiv- 
 ing company while on his bed, as if afflicted with a merely 
 temporary complaint. Guenaud, on his part, preserved 
 profound secrecy; fatigued with visits and questions, he 
 answered only, “ His Eminence is still full of youth and 
 strength, but God wills that which he wills; and when 
 he has decided that man is to be laid low, he will be laid 
 low.” These words, which he scattered with a sort of 
 discretion, reserve, and selection, were commented upon 
 earnestly by two persons, — the king and the cardinal. 
 
446 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Mazarin, notwithstanding the prophecy of Guenaud, still 
 deceived himself, or rather so well played his part that 
 the most cunning, when saying he deceived himself, 
 proved that they were his dupes. 
 
 Louis, absent from the cardinal two days, — Louis, 
 with his eyes fixed upon that same donation which so 
 constantly preoccupied the cardinal, — Louis did not 
 exactly know how to interpret Mazarin’s conduct. The 
 son of Louis XIII., following the paternal traditions, had 
 hitherto been so little of a king, that, while ardently 
 desiring royalty, he desired it with that terror which 
 always accompanies the unknown. Thus, having formed 
 his resolution, which, besides, he communicated to no- 
 body, he determined to have an interview with Mazarin. 
 It was Anne of Austria, who, constant in her attendance 
 upon the cardinal, first heard this proposition of the king, 
 and who transmitted it to the dying man, whom it greatly 
 agitated. For what purpose could Louis wish for an in- 
 terview ? Was it to return the deed, as Colbert had said 
 he would ? Was it to keep it after thanking him, as 
 Mazarin thought he would? Nevertheless, as the dying 
 man felt that the uncertainty increased his torments, he 
 did not hesitate an instant. 
 
 “ His Majesty will be welcome, — yes, very welcome,” 
 cried he, making Colbert, who was seated at the foot of 
 the bed, a sign which the latter comprehended perfectly. 
 “ Madame,” continued Mazarin, “ will your Majesty be 
 good enough to assure the king yourself of the truth of 
 wdiat I have just said ? ” 
 
 Anne of Austria rose ; she herself was anxious to see a 
 decision reached in regard to the forty millions which 
 seemed to lie heavy on the mind of everybody. Anne of 
 Austria went out. Mazarin made a great effort, and rais- 
 ing himself up towards Colbert, “ Well, Colbert,” said 
 
AGONY. 
 
 447 
 
 he, “ two days have passed away, — two mortal days, — 
 and, you see, nothing has come back from yonder/’ 
 
 “ Patience, Monseigneur ! ” said Colbert. 
 
 “ Art thou mad, thou wretch ] Thou advisest me to 
 have patience ! Oh, in sad truth, Colbert, thou art laugh- 
 ing at me. I am dying, and thou callest out to me to 
 wait ! ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur,” said Colbert, with his habitual cool- 
 ness, “ it is impossible that things should not fall out as 
 I have said. His Majesty is coming to see you; and, no 
 doubt, he brings back the deed himself.” 
 
 “ Do you think so 1 ? Well, I, on the contrary, am sure 
 that his Majesty is coming to thank me.” 
 
 At this moment Anne of Austria returned. On her 
 way to the apartments of her son, she had met in the 
 antechambers a new empiric. There was a suggestion of 
 a powder which, it was said, had power to save the cardi- 
 nal ; and she brought a portion of this powder w T ith her. 
 But this was not what Mazarin expected ; therefore he 
 would not even look at it, declaring that life was not 
 worth the pains that were taken to preserve it. But 
 while professing this philosophical axiom, his long-con- 
 fined secret escaped him at last. 
 
 “ That, Madame,” said he, — “ that is not the interesting 
 part of my situation. I made the king, now two days 
 ago, a little donation ; up to this time, from delicacy no 
 doubt, his Majesty has not condescended to say anything 
 about it ; but the time for explanation has come, and I im- 
 plore your Majesty to tell me if the king has any ideas on 
 the subject.” 
 
 Anne of Austria was about to reply, when Mazarin 
 stopped her. 
 
 “The truth, Madame,” said he, — “in the name of 
 Heaven, the truth ! Do not flatter a dying man with 
 
448 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 a hope that may prove vain ! ” There he stopped, 
 a look from Colbert telling him that he was on a wrong 
 tack. 
 
 “ I know,” said Anne of Austria, taking the cardinal’s 
 hand, — “I know that you have generously made, not a 
 little donation, as you with so much modesty call it, but 
 a magnificent gift. I know how painful it would be to 
 you if the king — ” 
 
 Mazarin listened, dying as he was, as ten living men 
 could not have listened. 
 
 “ If the king — ” replied he. 
 
 “ If the king,” continued Anne of Austria, “ should not 
 freely accept what you offer so nobly.” 
 
 Mazarin allowed himself to sink back upon his pillow 
 like Pantaloon, — that is to sa} 7 , with all the despair of a 
 man who yields to the tempest ; but he still preserved 
 sufficient strength and presence of mind to cast upon Col- 
 bert one of those looks which are well worth ten sonnets, 
 — that is to say, ten long poems. 
 
 “ Should you not,” added the queen, “ have considered 
 the refusal of the king as a sort of insult 'i ” 
 
 Mazarin rolled his head about upon his pillow, with- 
 out articulating a syllable. The queen was deceived, or 
 feigned to be deceived, by this demonstration. 
 
 “ Therefore,” resumed she, “ I have surrounded him 
 with good counsels ; and as certain minds, jealous, no 
 doubt, of the glory you are about to acquire by this gen- 
 erosity, have endeavored to prove to the king that he 
 ought not to accept this donation, I have struggled in 
 your favor ; and so well have I struggled, that you will 
 not have, I hope, that annoyance to undergo.” 
 
 “Ah !” murmured Mazarin, with languishing eyes, — 
 “ ah ! that is a service I shall never forget for a single 
 minute during the few hours I have to live.” 
 
AGONY. 
 
 449 
 
 “I must admit,” continued the queen, “ that it was 
 not without trouble I rendered it to your Eminence.” 
 
 “ Ah, peste ! I believe that. Oh ! oh ! ” 
 
 “ Good God ! what is the matter ? ” 
 
 “ I am burning ! ” 
 
 “ Do you suffer much ? ” 
 
 “ As much as one of the damned.” 
 
 Colbert wished that he might sink through the flooring. 
 “So, then,” resumed Mazarin, “your Majesty thinks 
 that the king ” — he stopped several seconds — “ that the 
 king is coming here to offer me a little turn of thanks 
 “ I think so,” said the queen. 
 
 Mazarin annihilated Colbert with his last look. 
 
 At that moment the ushers announced that the king 
 was in the antechambers, which were filled with people. 
 This announcement produced a stir, of which Colbert took 
 advantage to escape by the door of the recess. Anne of 
 Austria rose, and awaited her son, standing. Louis XIV. 
 appeared at the threshold of the door, with his eyes fixed 
 upon the dying man, who did not even think it worth 
 while to notice his Majesty, from whom he thought he 
 had nothing more to expect. An usher placed a chair 
 close to the bed. Louis bowed to his mother, then to the 
 cardinal, and sat down. The queen took a seat in her 
 turn. Then, as the king had looked behind him, the 
 usher understood him, and made a sign to the courtiers 
 who filled up the doorway to be gone, which they in- 
 stantly obeyed. Silence fell upon the chamber with the 
 velvet curtains. The king, still very young, and very 
 timid in the presence of him who had been his master 
 from his birth, still felt respect for Mazarin, particularly 
 now, when touched with the supreme majesty of death. 
 He did not dare, therefore, to begin the conversation, feel- 
 ing that every word must have its bearing upon things not 
 vol. i. — 29 
 
450 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 only of this world, but of the next. As to the cardinal, 
 at that moment he had but one thought, — his donation. 
 It was not physical pain which gave him that air of de- 
 spondency and that lugubrious look ; it was the expecta- 
 tion of the thanks that were about to issue from the 
 king’s mouth, and cut off all hope of restitution. 
 
 Mazarin w r as the first, to break the silence. “ Has 
 your Majesty come to make any stay at Vincennes 1 ” 
 said he. 
 
 Louis made an affirmative sign with his head. 
 
 “ That is a gracious favor granted to a dying man,” 
 continued Mazarin, “ and will render death milder to 
 him.” 
 
 “ I hope,” replied the king, “ I have come to visit, not 
 a dying man, but a sick man susceptible of cure.” 
 
 Mazarin replied by a movement of the head which 
 signified, (i Your Majesty is very kind ; but I know more 
 than you on that subject.” — “ The last visit, Sire,” said 
 he ; “ the last visit.” 
 
 “ If it were so, Monsieur the Cardinal,” said Louis, “ I 
 would come a last time to ask the counsels of a guide to 
 whom I owe everything.” 
 
 Anne of Austria was a woman ; she could not restrain 
 her tears. Louis showed himself much affected ; and Ma- 
 zarin still more than his two guests, but from very differ- 
 ent motives. Here the silence returned. The queen 
 wiped her eyes, and the king regained his firmness. 
 
 “ I was saying,” continued the king, “ that 1 owed 
 much to your Eminence.” The eyes of the cardinal de- 
 voured the king, for he felt that the great moment had 
 come. “ And,” continued Louis, “ the principal object 
 of my visit was to offer you very sincere thanks for the 
 last evidence of friendship you have kindly sent me.” 
 
 The cheeks of the cardinal sank in, his lips partially 
 
AGONY. 
 
 451 
 
 opened, and the most lamentable sigh he had ever uttered 
 was about to issue from his chest. “ Sire,” said he, “ I 
 may have despoiled my poor family, I may have ruined 
 all that belong to me, — which may be imputed to me as 
 an error ; but at least it shall not be said of me that I 
 have refused to sacrifice everything to my king.” 
 
 Anne of Austria’s tears flowed afresh. 
 
 “ My dear M. de Mazarin,” said the king, in a more 
 serious tone than might have been expected from his 
 youth, “you have misunderstood me, apparently.” Ma- 
 zarin raised himself upon his elbow. “ I have no purpose 
 to despoil your dear family, nor to ruin your servants. 
 Oh, no, that shall never be ! ” 
 
 “ Humph ! ” thought Mazarin, u he is going to restore 
 me some bribe ; let us get the largest piece out of the 
 trap we can.” 
 
 “ The king is going to be foolishly affected, and play 
 the generous,” thought the queen. “ He must not be 
 allowed to impoverish himself ; such an opportunity for 
 gaining a fortune will never occur again.” 
 
 “ Sire,” said the cardinal, aloud, “ my family is very 
 numerous, and my nieces will be destitute when I am 
 gone.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” interrupted the queen, eagerly, “ have no un- 
 easiness with respect to your family, dear M. de Mazarin ! 
 We have no friends dearer than your friends. Your 
 nieces shall be my children, the sisters of his Majesty ; 
 and if a favor be distributed in France, it shall be to those 
 you love.” 
 
 “ Smoke ! ” thought Mazarin, who knew better than 
 any one the faith that can be put in the promises of kings. 
 Louis read the dying man’s thought in his face. 
 
 “ Be comforted, my dear M. de Mazarin ! ” said he, 
 with a half smile, sad under its irony. “ The Mesde- 
 
452 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 moiselles de Mancini will lose, when losing yon, their 
 most precious good ; but they shall none the less be the 
 richest heiresses of France. And since you have been 
 kind enough to give me their dowry,” — the cardinal 
 was panting, — “ I restore it to them,” continued Louis, 
 drawing from his breast and holding towards the cardi- 
 nal’s bed the parchment which contained the donation that 
 during two days had occasioned such tempests in the 
 mind of Mazarin. 
 
 “ What did I tell you, Monseigneur ? ” murmured in 
 the recess a voice which passed away like a breath. 
 
 “ Your Majesty returns me my donation ! ” cried Ma- 
 zarin, so disturbed by joy as to forget his character of 
 a benefactor. 
 
 “ Your Majesty rejects the forty millions ! ” cried Anne 
 of Austria, so stupefied as to forget her character of one 
 in affliction. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur the Cardinal; yes, Madame,” replied 
 Louis XIV., tearing the parchment which Mazarin had 
 not yet ventured to clutch ; “ yes, I annihilate this deed 
 which despoiled a whole family. The wealth acquired by 
 his Eminence in my service is his own wealth, and not 
 mine.” 
 
 “But, Sire, does your Majesty reflect,” said Anne of 
 Austria, “ that you have not ten thousand crowns in your 
 coffers ? ” 
 
 “ Madame, I have just performed my first royal action, 
 and I hope it will worthily inaugurate my reign.” 
 
 “ Ah, Sire, you are right ! ” cried Mazarin ; “ that is 
 truly great, that is truly generous, which you have 
 just done;” and he looked scrutinizingly at the various 
 pieces of parchment spread over his bed, to assure him- 
 self that it was the original and not a copy that had 
 been torn. At length his eyes fell upon the fragment 
 
AGONY. 
 
 453 
 
 which bore his signature, and recognizing it, he sank 
 back swooning on his bolster. Anne of Austria, without 
 strength to conceal her regret, raised her hands and eyes 
 towards heaven. 
 
 “ Ah, Sire,” cried Mazarin, “ ah, Sire, be you blessed ! 
 My God ! may you be beloved by all my family ! Per 
 Baccho ! if ever any discontent comes to you from those 
 belonging to me, Sire, only frown, and I will rise from 
 my tomb ! 99 
 
 This bombast did not produce all the effect Mazarin 
 had reckoned upon. Louis had already passed to consid- 
 erations of a more elevated nature ; and as to Anne of 
 Austria, unable to support, without abandoning herself to 
 the anger she felt burning within her, the magnanimity 
 of her son and the hypocrisy of the cardinal, she arose 
 and left the chamber, heedless of thus betraying the ex- 
 tent of her grief. Mazarin saw all this, and fearing that 
 Louis XIV. might repent of his decision, began, in order 
 to draw attention another way, to cry out, — as at a 
 later period Scapin was to cry out, in that sublime piece 
 of pleasantry for which the morose and grumbling Boileau 
 dared to reproach Moliere. His cries, however, by de- 
 grees became fainter ; and when Anne of Austria left the 
 apartment, they ceased altogether. 
 
 “ Monsieur the Cardinal,” said the king, “ have you 
 any recommendations to make to me h 99 
 
 “ Sire,” replied Mazarin, “ you are already wisdom it- 
 self, prudence personified. Of your generosity I will not 
 venture to speak ; that which you have just done exceeds 
 all that the most generous men of antiquity or of modern 
 times have ever done.” 
 
 The king received this praise coldly. “ So you confine 
 yourself, Monsieur,” said he, “ to your thanks ; and your 
 experience, much more extensive than my wisdom, my 
 
454 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 prudence, or my generosity, does not furnish me with a 
 single piece of friendly advice to guide my future.” 
 
 Mazarin reflected for a moment- “ You have just done 
 much for me, Sire,” said he, — “ that is, for mine.” 
 
 “ Say no more about that,” said the king. 
 
 “Well ! ” continued Mazarin, “I will return you some- 
 thing in exchange for these forty millions you have given 
 up so royally.” Louis XIV., by a movement, indicated 
 that these flatteries were unpleasing to him. “I will 
 give you a piece of advice,” continued Mazarin; “yes, 
 a piece of advice, — advice more precious than the forty 
 millions.” 
 
 “ Monsieur the Cardinal ! ” interrupted Louis. 
 
 “ Sire, listen to this advice ” 
 
 “I am listening.” 
 
 “ Come nearer, Sire, for I am weak ! — nearer, Sire, 
 nearer ! ” 
 
 The king bent over the dying man. “Sire,” said 
 Mazarin, in so low a tone that the breath of his words 
 came only like a recommendation from the tomb to the 
 attentive ears of the king, — “ Sire, never have a prime 
 minister.” 
 
 Louis drew back astonished. The advice was a con- 
 fession ; a treasure, in fact, was that sincere confession 
 of Mazarin. The legacy of the cardinal to the young 
 king was composed of six words only ; but those six 
 words, as Mazarin had said, were worth forty millions. 
 Louis remained for an instant confounded. As for 
 Mazarin, he appeared only to have said something quite 
 natural. “And now, on the part of your family,” asked 
 the young king, “ have you any one to commend to me, 
 M. de Mazarin 'i ” 
 
 A little scratching was heard along the curtains of 
 the recess. Mazarin understood. “ Yes, yes ! ” cried he, 
 
AGONY. 
 
 455 
 
 warmly; “yes, Sire, I recommend to you a wise man, an 
 honest man, and a clever man.” 
 
 “ Tell me his name, Monsieur the Cardinal.” 
 
 “ His name is yet almost unknown, Sire ; it is M. 
 Colbert, my intendant. Oh, try him ! ” added Mazarin, 
 in an earnest voice ; “ all that he has predicted has come 
 to pass. He has a safe glance ; he is never mistaken 
 either in things or in men, — which is more surprising 
 still. Sire, I owe you much, but I think I acquit myself 
 of all towards you in giving you M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ So be it,” said Louis, faintly ; for as Mazarin had 
 said, the name of Colbert was quite unknown to him, and 
 he thought the enthusiasm of the cardinal partook of the 
 delirium of a dying man. The cardinal sank back on his 
 pillow. 
 
 “ For the present, adieu, Sire, adieu ! ” murmured 
 Mazarin. “ I am tired, and I have yet a rough journey 
 to perform before I present myself to my new master. 
 Adieu, Sire ! ” 
 
 The young king felt the tears rise to his eyes ; he 
 bent over the dying man, already half dead, and then 
 precipitately retired. 
 
 END OF YOL. I. 
 
intmcp iLtfarar^ lEittion 
 
 THE ROMANCES 
 
 OF 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS 
 
 Volume VIII. 
 
 VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE 
 
 PART SECOND 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE D. SPROUL 
 Publisher 
 1896 
 
Copyright , 1888 , 2555, 
 
 By Little, Brown, and Company, 
 
 Copyright , 2555, 
 
 By George D. Sproul. 
 
 Mittbersttg 19 cess : 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S. A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. The First Appearance of Colbert ... 1 
 
 II. The First Day of the Royalty of Louis XIY. 11 
 
 III. A Passion 17 
 
 IY. D’Artagnan’s Lesson 26 
 
 Y. The King 35 
 
 YI. M. Fouquet’s Houses 58 
 
 YII. The Abbe Fouquet 72 
 
 YIII. M. de la Fontaine’s Wine 81 
 
 IX. The Gallery of St. Mande 86 
 
 X. The Epicureans 93 
 
 XI. A Quarter of an Hour’s Delay .... 99 
 
 XII. Plan of Battle 107 
 
 XIII. The Pot-House of the Image de Notre- 
 
 Dame 113 
 
 XIY. Yive Colbert! 123 
 
 XY. How the Diamond of M. d’Eymeris passed 
 
 into the Hands of M. d’Artagnan . . 131 
 
 XYI. Of the Notable Difference D’Artagnan 
 
 FINDS 'BETWEEN MONSIEUR THE INTEND- 
 
 ant and Monsieur the Superintendent 142 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Page 
 
 Philosophy of the Heart and Mind . 151 
 
 The Journey 156 
 
 How D’Artagnan became acquainted with 
 a Poet who had turned Printer for 
 THE SAKE OF PRINTING HIS OWN VERSES 163 
 D’Artagnan continues his Investiga- 
 tions 174 
 
 In which the Reader, no doubt, will 
 
 BE AS ASTONISHED AS D’ARTAGNAN WAS 
 TO MEET WITH AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE . 184 
 
 Wherein the Ideas of D’Artagnan, at 
 
 FIRST VERY CONFUSED, BEGIN TO CLEAR 
 
 UP A LITTLE 192 
 
 A Procession at Vannes 203 
 
 The Grandeur of the Bishop of Vannes 212 
 In which Porthos begins to be sorry 
 FOR HAVING COME WITH D’ARTAGNAN . 225 
 
 In which D’Artagnan makes all Speed, 
 Porthos Snores, and Aramis Counsels . 240 
 
 In which M. Bouquet Acts 249 
 
 In which D’Artagnan at last places his 
 Hand upon his Captain’s Commission . 260 
 
 A Lover and a Mistress 270 
 
 In which at length the True Heroine 
 
 of this History appears 278 
 
 Malicorne and Manicamp 288 
 
 Manicamp and Malicorne 295 
 
 The Courtyard of the Hotel Grammont 305 
 
 The Portrait of Madame 316 
 
 At Havre . . 326 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 vii 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XXXVI. At Sea 333 
 
 XXXVII. The Tents 342 
 
 XXXVIII. Night 356 
 
 XXXIX. From Havre to Paris 363 
 
 XL. What the Chevalier de Lorraine 
 
 thought of the Princess . . . * . 375 
 
 XLI. The Surprise of Mademoiselle de Mon- 
 
 TALAIS 387 
 
 XLII. The Consent of Athos 400 
 
 XLIII. Monsieur becomes Jealous of the Duke 
 
 of Buckingham 407 
 
 XLIV. Forever ! 419 
 
 XLV. King Louis XIV. does not think Made- 
 moiselle DE LA VaLLIERE EITHER RlCH 
 enough or Pretty enough for a 
 Gentleman of the Bank of the Vi- 
 comte de Bragelonne 428 
 
1 
 
 ! 
 
 ) 
 
 a 
 
 r 
 
 J 
 
 \ 
 
 l 
 
 ; 
 
 ( 
 
THE 
 
 VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF COLBERT. 
 
 Tpie whole night was passed in anguish, common to the 
 dying man and the king : the dying man expected his 
 deliverance ; the king expected his liberty. Louis did 
 not go to bed. An hour after leaving the chamber of 
 the cardinal, he learned that the dying man, recovering 
 a little strength, had insisted upon being dressed and 
 painted, and seeing the ambassadors. Like Augustus, 
 he no doubt considered the world to be a great theatre, 
 and was desirous of playing out properly the last act of 
 the comedy. Anne of Austria reappeared no more in the 
 cardinal’s apartments ; she had nothing more to do there. 
 Propriety was the pretext for her absence. On his part, 
 the cardinal did not ask for her ; the advice the queen 
 had given her son rankled in his heart. Towards mid- 
 night, while he was still painted, Mazarin’s mortal agony 
 came on. He had revised his will ; and as this will was 
 the exact expression of his wishes, and as he feared that 
 some interested influence might take advantage of his 
 weakness to make him change something in that testa- 
 ment, he had given the watchword to Colbert, who 
 walked up and down the corridor which led to the 
 
 VOL. II. — 1 
 
5 > 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 cardinaFs bed-chamber, like the most vigilant of senti- 
 nels. The king, shut up in his own apartment, de- 
 spatched his nurse every hour to Mazarin’s chamber, 
 with orders to bring him exact intelligence of the car- 
 dinal’s state. After having heard that Mazarin was 
 dressed, painted, and had seen the ambassadors, Louis 
 heard that prayers for the dying were begun for 
 the cardinal. At one o’clock in the morning, Guenaud 
 had administered the last remedy, called the heroic 
 remedy. It was a survival of the old customs of that 
 fencing-time, which was about to disappear to give place 
 to another time, to believe that death could be kept off 
 by some good secret thrust. Mazarin, after having taken 
 the remedy, respired freely for nearly ten minutes. He 
 immediately gave orders that the news should be spread 
 everywhere of a fortunate crisis. The king, on learn- 
 ing this, felt a cold sweat passing over his brow. He 
 had had a glimpse of the light of liberty ; slavery ap- 
 peared to him darker and less acceptable than ever. 
 But the bulletin which followed entirely changed the face 
 of things. Mazarin could no longer breathe at all, and 
 could scarcely follow the prayers which the cure of St. 
 Nicholas-des-Champs recited near him. The king re- 
 sumed his agitated walk about his chamber, and con- 
 sulted, as he walked, several papers drawn from a casket 
 of which he alone had the key. A third time the nurse 
 returned. M. de Mazarin had just uttered a joke, and 
 had ordered his “ Flora,” by Titian, to be revarnished. 
 At length, towards two o’clock in the morning, the king 
 could no longer resist his weariness ; he had not slept for 
 twenty-four hours. Sleep, so powerful at his age, over- 
 came him for about an hour. But he did not go to bed 
 for that hour ; he slept in a chair. About four o’clock 
 his nurse awoke him by entering the room. 
 
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF COLBERT. 
 
 3 
 
 “ Well ] ” asked the king. 
 
 “Well, my dear Sire,” said the nurse, clasping her 
 hands with an air of commiseration ; ‘‘well, he is 
 dead ! ” 
 
 The king arose at a bound, as if a steel spring had been 
 applied to his legs. " Dead ! ” cried he. 
 
 “ Alas ! yes.” 
 
 “ Is it quite certain ] ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “Official]” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Has the news of it been made public ] ” 
 
 “Not yet.” 
 
 “ Who told you, then, that the cardinal was dead] ” 
 
 “ M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ M. Colbert]” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And was he sure of what he said ] ” 
 
 “ He came out of the chamber, and had held a glass 
 for some minutes before the cardinal’s lips.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the king. “ And what has become of 
 M. Colbert]” 
 
 “ He has just left the chamber of his Eminence.” 
 
 “ To go whither ] ” 
 
 “ To follow me.” 
 
 “ So that he is — ” 
 
 “ There, my dear Sire, waiting at your door till it shall 
 be your good pleasure to receive him.” 
 
 Louis ran to the door, opened it himself, and perceived 
 in the passage Colbert standing waiting. The king 
 started at the sight of this statue, all clothed in black. 
 Colbert, bowing with profound respect, advanced two 
 steps towards his Majesty. Louis re-entered his cham- 
 ber, making Colbert a sign to follow him. Colbert en- 
 
4 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 tered. Louis dismissed the nurse, who closed the door as 
 she went out. Colbert remained modestly standing near 
 the door. 
 
 “ What do you come to announce to me, Monsieur ? 99 
 said Louis, very much troubled at being thus surprised 
 in his private thoughts, which he could not completely 
 conceal. 
 
 ‘‘That the cardinal has just expired, Sire; and that I 
 bring your Majesty his last adieu.” 
 
 The king remained pensive for a minute ; and during 
 that minute he looked attentively at Colbert. It was 
 evident that the cardinal’s last words were in his mind. 
 “Are you, then, M. Colbert'?” asked he. 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ The faithful servant of his Eminence, as his Eminence 
 himself told me?” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ The depositary of part of his secrets ] ” 
 
 “ Of all of them.” 
 
 “ The friends and servants of his deceased Eminence 
 will be dear to me, Monsieur, and I shall take care that 
 you are placed in my offices.” 
 
 Colbert bowed. 
 
 “You are a financier, Monsieur, I believe]” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire ” 
 
 “And did Monsieur the Cardinal employ you in his 
 stewardship ] ” 
 
 “He did me that honor, Sire.” 
 
 “ You never did anything personally for my household, 
 I believe ] ” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Sire ; it was I who had the honor of giv- 
 ing Monsieur the Cardinal the idea of an economy which 
 puts three hundred thousand francs a year into your 
 Majesty’s coffers.” 
 
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF COLBERT. 
 
 5 
 
 “ What economy was that, Monsieur ? ” asked Louis XIV. 
 “ Your Majesty knows that the hundred Swiss have 
 silver lace on each side of their ribbons ? ” 
 
 “ Doubtless.” 
 
 ‘‘Well, Sire, it was I who proposed that false silver 
 lace should be placed upon these ribbons ; it could not be 
 seen ; and a hundred thousand crowns serve to feed a regi- 
 ment for six months, or is the price of ten thousand good 
 muskets, or is the value of a vessel of ten guns, ready for 
 sea.” 
 
 “ That is true,” said Louis XIV., considering the per- 
 sonage more attentively, “ and really there is an economy 
 well placed ; besides, it was ridiculous for soldiers to wear 
 the same lace as noblemen wear.” 
 
 “ I am happy to be approved by your Majesty.” 
 
 “ Is that the only appointment you held about the car- 
 dinal ? ” asked the king. 
 
 “ It was I whom his Eminence appointed to examine 
 the accounts of the superintendent, Sire.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said Louis, who was about to dismiss Colbert, 
 but was arrested by that word, — “ ah ! it was you whom 
 his Eminence had charged to audit the accounts of M. 
 Fouquet, was it? And the result of the examination? ” 
 
 “ Is that there is a deficit, Sire ; but if your Majesty 
 will permit me — ” 
 
 “Speak, M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ I ought to give your Majesty some explanations.” 
 
 “ Not at all, Monsieur ; it is you who have audited these 
 accounts. Give me the result.” 
 
 “ That is very easily done, Sire : empty everywhere, 
 money nowhere.” 
 
 “ Take care, Monsieur ! You are rudely attacking the 
 administration of M. Fouquet, who nevertheless, I have 
 heard say, is an able man.” 
 
6 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Colbert colored, and then became pale ; for he felt from 
 that minute he entered upon a struggle with a man whose 
 power almost equalled the power of him who had just 
 died. “ Yes, Sire, a very able man,” repeated Colbert, 
 bowing. 
 
 “But if M. Fouquet is an able man, and, in spite of 
 that ability, if money be wanting, whose fault is it ? ” 
 
 “ I do not accuse, Sire ; I verify.” 
 
 “ That is well ; make out your accounts, and present 
 them to me. There is a deficit, do you say? A deficit 
 may be temporary ; credit returns, and funds are restored.” 
 “No, Sire.” 
 
 “Not this year, perhaps, I understand that; but next 
 year?” 
 
 “ Next year is eaten as bare as the current year.” 
 
 “ But the year after, then ? ” 
 
 “ Like next year.” 
 
 “ What is this you tell me, M. Colbert ? ” 
 
 “ I say there are four years pledged in advance.” 
 
 “We must have a loan, then.” 
 
 “We must have three, Sire.” 
 
 “I will create offices to make them resign, and the 
 money of the posts shall be paid into the treasury.” 
 
 “ Impossible, Sire ; for there have already been creations 
 upon creations of offices, the provisions of which are given 
 in blank, so that the purchasers enjoy them without fill- 
 ing them. That is why your Majesty cannot make them 
 resign. Further, upon each agreement the superintend- 
 ent has made an abatement of a third, so that the peo- 
 ple have been oppressed without your Majesty profiting 
 by it.” 
 
 The king started. “ Explain that to me, M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ Let your Majesty state clearly your thought, and tell 
 me what you wish me to explain.” 
 
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF COLBERT. 
 
 7 
 
 “ You are right ; clearness is what you wish, is it not V 1 
 “Yes, Sire, clearness. God is God, above all things 
 because He made light.” 
 
 “Well, for example,” resumed Louis XIV., “if to-day, 
 the cardinal being dead and I being king, I wanted 
 money *i ” 
 
 “Your Majesty would not have any.” 
 
 “ Oh, that is strange, Monsieur ! How ! my superin- 
 tendent could not find me any money *? ” 
 
 Colbert shook his great head. 
 
 “ How is that *? ” said the king ; “ are the revenues of 
 the State so much in debt that there are no longer any 
 revenues'?” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire, to that extent.” 
 
 The king frowned. “ If it be so,” said he, “ I will get 
 together the orders and obtain from the holders a dis- 
 charge, a liquidation, at a cheap rate.” 
 
 “ Impossible ; for the orders have been converted into 
 bills, which bills, for the convenience of return and facility 
 of transaction, are divided into so many parts that the 
 originals can no longer be recognized.” 
 
 Louis, very much agitated, walked about, still frown- 
 ing. “ But if this were as you say, M. Colbert,” said he, 
 stopping all at once, “ I should be ruined before I began 
 to reign.” 
 
 “You are, in fact, Sire,” said the impassive accountant. 
 “ Well, but yet, Monsieur, the money is somewhere'?” 
 “ Yes, Sire ; and even as a beginning, I bring your 
 Majesty a note of funds which M. le Cardinal Mazarin 
 was not willing to set down in his will, or in any act 
 whatever, but which he confided to me.” 
 
 “ To you ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire, with an injunction to remit it to your 
 Majesty.” 
 
8 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ What ! besides the forty millions of the will ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ M. de Mazarin had still other funds ? ” 
 
 Colbert bowed. 
 
 “ Why, that man was a gulf ! ” murmured the king. 
 “ M. de Mazarin on one side, M. Fouquet on the other, 
 
 ' — more than a hundred millions, perhaps, between them ! 
 No wonder my coffers are empty ! ” 
 
 Colbert waited without stirring. 
 
 “And is the sum you bring me worth the trouble'?” 
 asked the king. 
 
 “Yes, Sire, it is a round sum.” 
 
 “ Amounting to how much ? ” 
 
 “To thirteen million livres, Sire.” 
 
 “ Thirteen millions ! ” cried Louis, trembling with joy, 
 “ do you say thirteen millions, M. Colbert ? ” 
 
 “ I said thirteen millions ; yes, your Majesty.” 
 
 “ Of which everybody is ignorant ? ” 
 
 “Of which everybody is ignorant.” 
 
 “ Which are in your hands 1 99 
 “ In my hands ; yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ And which I can have ? ” 
 
 “ Within two hours.” 
 
 “ But where are they, then ? ” 
 
 “ In the cellar of a house which the cardinal possessed 
 in the city, and which he was so kind as to leave to me 
 by a particular clause of his will.” 
 
 “You are acquainted with the cardinal’s will, then 1 ?” 
 
 “ I have a duplicate of it, signed by his hand.” 
 
 “ A duplicate S ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire ; and here it is.” Colbert quietly drew 
 the deed from his pocket, and showed it to the king 
 The king read the article relative to the donation of the 
 house. 
 
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF COLBERT. 
 
 9 
 
 “ But,” said he, “ there is no mention here but of the 
 house; there is nothing said of the money.” 
 
 “ Your pardon, Sire ; it is in my conscience.” 
 
 “ And M. de Mazarin has intrusted it to you ? ” 
 
 “ Why not, Sire t ” 
 
 “ He ! a man mistrustful of everybody ! ” 
 
 “ He was not so of me, Sire, as your Majesty may 
 perceive.” 
 
 Louis fixed his eyes with admiration upon that vul- 
 gar but expressive face. “You are an honest man, 
 M. Colbert,” said the king. 
 
 “ That is not a virtue, Sire ; it is a duty,” replied 
 Colbert, coolly. 
 
 “ But,” added Louis, “ does not the money belong to 
 the family ? ” 
 
 “ If this money belonged to the family, it would be 
 disposed of in the cardinal’s will, as the rest of his for- 
 tune is. If this money belonged to the family, I, who 
 drew up the deed of gift in favor of your Majesty, should 
 have added the sum of thirteen millions to that of forty 
 millions which was offered to you.” 
 
 “ How ! ” exclaimed Louis XIV., “ was it you who 
 drew up the deed of gift, M. Colbert ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” • 
 
 “ And yet the cardinal loved you 1 ” added the king, 
 artlessly. 
 
 “ I had assured his Eminence that your Majesty would 
 by no means accept the gift,” said Colbert, in that same 
 quiet manner we have described, and which, even in the 
 common habits of life, had something solemn in it. 
 
 Louis passed his hand over his brow. “ Oh, how 
 young I am,” murmured he, “ to have the command of 
 men ! ” 
 
 Colbert awaited the end of this soliloquy. He saw 
 
10 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Louis raise his head. “ At what hour shall I send the 
 money to your Majesty'?” asked he. 
 
 “ To-night, at eleven o’clock ; I desire that no one may 
 know that I possess this money.” 
 
 Colbert made no more reply than if the thing had not 
 been said to him. 
 
 “ Is the amount in ingots or coined gold I ” 
 
 “In coined gold, Sire.” 
 
 “ That is well.” 
 
 “ Whither shall I send it ] ” 
 
 “ To the Louvre. Thank you, M. Colbert.” 
 
 Colbert bowed and retired. “ Thirteen millions ! ” ex- 
 claimed Louis, as soon as he was alone. “ This must be 
 a dream ! ” Then he let his head sink between his hands, 
 as if he were really asleep. But in a moment he raised 
 his head, shook out his beautiful locks, rose, and opening 
 the window violently, bathed his burning brow in the 
 keen morning air, which brought to his senses the fresh 
 scent of the trees and the perfume of flowers. A splendid 
 dawn was rising in the horizon, and the first rays of the 
 sun inundated with flame the brow of the young king. 
 “ This dawn is that of my reign,” murmured Louis XIV. 
 “ Is it a presage that you send me, all-powerful God ? ” 
 
FIRST DAY OF THE ROYALTY OF LOUIS XIV. 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST DAY OF THE ROYALTY OF LOUIS XIV. 
 
 In the morning the news of the death of the cardinal was 
 spread through the castle, and thence speedily reached 
 the city. The ministers Fouquet, Lyonne, and Letellier 
 entered the deliberative chamber to hold a council. The 
 king summoned them immediately. “ Messieurs,” said 
 he, “ as long as Monsieur the Cardinal lived, I allowed 
 him to govern my affairs ; but now I mean to govern 
 them myself. You will give me your advice when I shall 
 ask it. You may go.” 
 
 The ministers looked at one another with surprise. If 
 they concealed a smile, it was with a great effort ; for they 
 knew that the prince, brought up in absolute ignorance 
 of business, by this act of pride took upon himself a 
 burden much too heavy for his strength. Fouquet took 
 leave of his colleagues upon the stairs, saying, “ Mes- 
 sieurs ! there will be so much the less labor for us ; ” 
 and he gayly mounted into his carriage. The others, 
 a little uneasy at the turn events had taken, w T ent back 
 to Paris together. 
 
 About ten o’clock the king repaired to the apartment 
 of his mother, with whom he had a strictly private con- 
 versation. Then, after dinner, he got into his carriage 
 and went straight to the Louvre. There he received 
 much company, and took a degree of pleasure in noticing 
 the general hesitation and curiosity. Towards evening 
 he ordered the doors of the Louvre to be closed, with the 
 
12 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 exception of one only, — that which opened upon the 
 quay. He placed on duty at this point two hundred 
 Swiss, who did not speak a word of French, with orders 
 to admit all who aimed packages, but no others ; and 
 by no means to allow any one to go out. At eleven 
 o’clock precisely, he heard the rolling of a heavy car- 
 riage under the arch, then of another, then of a third; 
 after which the door grated upon its hinges in closing. 
 Soon after, somebody scratched at the door of the cabi- 
 net. The king opened it himself, and beheld Colbert, 
 whose first word w T as this : “ The money is in your 
 Majesty’s cellar.” 
 
 The king then descended and went himself to see the 
 barrels of specie, in gold and silver, which, under the 
 direction of Colbert, four men had just rolled into a cellar 
 of which the king had given Colbert the key the same 
 morning. This review completed, Louis returned to his 
 apartments, followed by Colbert, who had not warmed 
 his immovable coldness with the slightest exhibition of 
 personal gratification. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king, “ what do you wish me to 
 give you as a recompense for this devotion and integrity'?” 
 “ Absolutely nothing, Sire.” 
 
 “ How ! nothing ? Not even an opportunity of serving 
 me ] ” 
 
 “ If your Majesty were not to furnish me with that 
 opportunity, I should not the less serve you. It is impos- 
 sible for me not to be the best servant of the king.” 
 
 “ You shall be intendant of the finances, M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ But there is already a superintendent, Sire.” 
 
 “ I know that.” 
 
 “ Sire, the superintendent of the finances is the most 
 powerful man in the kingdom.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” cried Louis, coloring, “ do you think so 1 ” 
 
FIRST DAY OF THE ROYALTY OF LOUIS XIV. 13 
 
 “ He will crush me in a week, Sire. Your Majesty 
 offers me a comptrollership for which strength is indis- 
 pensable. An intendant under a superintendent, — that 
 is inferiority.” 
 
 “ You want support, — you do not reckon upon me 1 ” 
 “ I had the honor of telling your Majesty that during 
 the lifetime of M. de Mazarin, M. Fouquet was the second 
 man in the kingdom ; now that M. de Mazarin is dead, 
 M. Fouquet is become the first.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I permit you to tell me everything to-day, 
 but to-morrow please to remember I shall no longer 
 suffer it.” 
 
 “ Then I shall be useless to your Majesty % ” 
 
 “ You are already, since you fear to compromise your- 
 self in serving me.” 
 
 “ I only fear to be placed so that I cannot serve 
 you.” 
 
 “ What do you wish, then 'l ” 
 
 “I wish your Majesty to grant me assistance in the 
 labors of the office of intendant.” 
 
 “ The post would lose in value 1 ” 
 
 “ It would gain in security.” 
 
 “ Choose your colleagues.” 
 
 “ Messieurs Breteuil, Marin, Hervard.” 
 
 “ To-morrow the order shall appear.” 
 
 “ Sire, I thank you.” 
 
 “ Is that all you ask ] ” 
 
 “ Ho, Sire ; one thing more.” 
 
 “ What is that % ” 
 
 “ Allow me to form a chamber of justice.” 
 
 “ What would this chamber of justice do ? ” 
 
 “ Try the farmers-general and contractors who during 
 ten years have peculated.” 
 
 “ Well, but what^would you do with them ? ” 
 
14 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Hang two or three, and that would make the rest 
 disgorge.” 
 
 “ I cannot begin my reign with executions, M. Colbert.” 
 “ Change your policy, Sire, in order not to end with 
 persecution.” The king made no reply. “ Does your 
 Majesty consent?” said Colbert. 
 
 “ I will reflect upon it, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ It will be too late, when reflection may be made.” 
 
 “ Why ? ” 
 
 “ Because we have to deal with people stronger than 
 ourselves, if they are warned.” 
 
 “ Form that chamber of justice, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I will, Sire.” 
 
 “ Is that all 1 ” 
 
 “ No, Sire ; there is still an important affair. What 
 rights does your Majesty attach to this office of intendant V 9 
 “ Well — I do not know — the customary ones.” 
 
 “ Sire, I require that to this office be devolved the 
 right of reading the correspondence with England.” 
 
 “ Impossible, Monsieur ; for that correspondence is kept 
 from the council. The cardinal himself carried it on.” 
 
 “ I thought your Majesty had this morning declared 
 that there should no longer be a council ? ” 
 
 61 Yes, I said so.” 
 
 “ Let your Majesty then have the goodness to read all 
 the letters yourself, particularly those from England ; I 
 hold strongly to this point.” 
 
 u Monsieur, you shall have that correspondence, and 
 render me an account of it.” 
 
 “Now, Sire, what shall I do with respect to the 
 finances ? ” 
 
 “ All w r hich M. Fouquet does not do.” 
 
 “ That is all I ask of your Majesty. Thanks, Sire, I 
 depart at ease ; ” and with these words he did depart. 
 
FIRST DAY OF THE ROYALTY OF LOUIS XIV. 15 
 
 Louis watched him as he went. Colbert was not yet a 
 hundred paces from the Louvre, when the king received 
 a courier from England. After having looked at and 
 examined the envelope, the king broke the seal hastily, 
 and found a letter from Charles II. The following is 
 what the English prince wrote to his royal brother : — 
 
 tc Your Majesty must be rendered very uneasy by the illness 
 of Cardinal Mazarin ; but the excess of danger can only prove 
 of service to you. The cardinal is given over by his physician. 
 I thank you for the gracious reply you have made to my com- 
 munication touching Lady Henrietta Stuart, my sister ; and in 
 a week the Princess and her court will set out for Paris. It is 
 gratifying to me to acknowledge the fraternal friendship you 
 have evinced towards me, and to call you, more justly than 
 ever, my brother. It is gratifying to me, above everything, to 
 prove to your Majesty how much I am interested in all that 
 may please you. You are having Belle-Isle-en-Mer secretly 
 fortified. That is wrong. We shall never be at war against 
 each other. That measure does not make me uneasy ; it 
 makes me sad. You are spending useless millions there. Tell 
 your ministers so ; and be assured that I am well informed. 
 Render me the same service, my brother, if occasion offers.” 
 
 The king rang his bell violently, and his valet de 
 chambre appeared. “ M. Colbert has just gone ; he can- 
 not be far off. Let him be called back ! ” exclaimed he. 
 The valet was about to execute the order, when the king 
 stopped him. “ No,” said he, “ no ; I see the whole 
 scheme of that man. Belle-Isle belongs to M. Fouquet ; 
 Belle-Isle is being fortified ; that is a conspiracy of M. 
 Fouquet’s. The discovery of that conspiracy is the ruin 
 of the superintendent, and that discovery is the result of 
 the correspondence with England. That is why Colbert 
 wished to have that correspondence. Oh ! but I cannot 
 place all my dependence upon that man. He is but the 
 
16 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE, 
 
 head ; I must have an arm.” Louis all at once uttered 
 a joyful cry. “ I had,” said he to the valet de chambre, 
 “a lieutenant of Musketeers.” 
 
 “Yes, Sire; M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “He left the service for a time.” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ Let him be found, and let him be here to-morrow at 
 my levee.” 
 
 The valet de chambre bowed and went out. 
 
 “ Thirteen millions in my cellar,” said the king, “ Col- 
 bert bearing my purse, and D’Artagnan carrying my 
 sword, — I am king ! ” 
 
A PASSION. 
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A PASSION. 
 
 The day of his arrival, on returning from the Palais- 
 Royal, Athos, as we have seen, went straight to his hotel 
 in the Rue St. Honore. He there found the Vicomte de 
 Bragelonne waiting for him in his chamber, chatting with 
 Grimaud. It was not an easy thing to talk with this old 
 servant. Two men only possessed the secret, Athos and 
 D’Artagnan. The first succeeded, because Grimaud 
 sought to make him do the talking ; D’Artagnan, on the 
 contrary, because he knew how to make Grimaud talk. 
 Raoul was occupied in making him describe the voyage 
 to England ; and Grimaud had related it in all its details, 
 with a certain number of gestures, and eight words, 
 neither more nor less. He had at first indicated, by an 
 undulating movement of his hand, that his master and 
 he had crossed the sea. 
 
 “ Upon some expedition'?” Raoul had asked. 
 
 Grimaud, by bending down his head, had answered, 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ When Monsieur the Count incurred much danger?” 
 asked Raoul. 
 
 “ Neither too much nor too little,” Grimaud replied by 
 a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 “But, still, what sort of danger ? 99 insisted Raoul. 
 
 Grimaud pointed to the sword ; he pointed to the 
 fire, and to a musket hung up over the wall. 
 
 VOL. it. — 2 
 
18 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE RKAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Monsieur the Count had an enemy over there, then 1 ” 
 cried Raoul. 
 
 “ Monk,” replied Grimaud. 
 
 “ It is strange,” continued Raoul, “ that Monsieur the 
 Count persists in regarding me as a novice, and not allow- 
 ing me to share the honor and danger of his adventures.” 
 
 Grimaud smiled. It was at this moment Athos came 
 in. The landlord was lighting him up the stairs ; and 
 Grimaud, recognizing the step of his master, hastened to 
 meet him, which cut short the conversation. 
 
 But Raoul was launched upon the sea of interroga- 
 tories, and did not stop. Taking both hands of the count, 
 with warm but respectful tenderness, “ How is it, Mom 
 sieur,” said he, “ that you started out upon a dangerous 
 journey without bidding me adieu, without commanding 
 the aid of my sword, — of myself, who ought to be your 
 support, now that I have the strength, — of myself, whom 
 you have brought up to be a man ? Ah, Monsieur, why 
 would you expose me to the cruel hazard of never seeing 
 you again ? ” 
 
 “ Who told you, Raoul, that my journey was a danger- 
 ous one ? ” replied the count, placing his cloak and hat in 
 the hands of Grimaud, who had unbuckled his sword. 
 
 “I,” said Grimaud. 
 
 “ And why did you do so V 9 said Athos, sternly. 
 
 Grimaud was embarrassed. Raoul came to his assist- 
 ance by answering for him : “ It is natural, Monsieur, 
 that our good Grimaud should tell me the truth in what 
 concerns you. By whom should you be loved and sup- 
 ported, if not by me 1 99 
 
 Athos did not reply. He made a friendly motion to 
 Grimaud, which sent him out of the room ; he then seated 
 himself in an armchair, while Raoul remained standing 
 before him. 
 
A PASSION. 
 
 19 
 
 “ But is it true/’ continued Raoul, “ that your voyage 
 was an expedition, and that fire and steel threatened you '! ” 
 “ Say no more about that, Viscount,” said Athos, mildly. 
 “ I set out hastily, it is true, but the service of King 
 Charles II. required a prompt departure. As to your 
 solicitude, I thank you for it, and I know that I can de- 
 pend upon you. You have not wanted for anything, 
 Viscount, in my absence, have you r l ” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur, thank you.” 
 
 “ I left orders with Blaisois to pay you a hundred pis- 
 toles, if you should stand in need of money.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I have not seen Blaisois.” 
 
 “ You have been without money, then 1 ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I had thirty pistoles left from the sale of 
 the horses I took in my last campaign, and Monsieur 
 the Prince had the kindness to let me win two hundred 
 pistoles at play with him three months ago.” 
 
 “ Do you play 1 I don’t like that, Raoul.” 
 
 “ I never play, Monsieur ; it was Monsieur the Prince 
 who ordered me to hold his cards at Chantilly, — one 
 night when a courier came to him from the king. I won 
 the stakes, and Monsieur the Prince commanded me to 
 keep them.” 
 
 “Is that a practice in the household, Raoul 1 ?” asked 
 Athos, with a frown. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur ; every week Monsieur the Prince af- 
 fords, upon one occasion or another, a similar advantage 
 to one of his gentlemen. There are fifty gentlemen in 
 his Highness’s household ; it was my turn that time.” 
 
 “ Very well ! You went into Spain, then*?” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur, I made a very delightful and inter 
 esting journey.” 
 
 “ You have been back a month, have you notl* 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
20 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “And in the course of that month what have you 
 done ? ” 
 
 “ My duties, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Have you not been home to La Fere V 9 
 Raoul colored. Athos looked at him calmly and fixedly. 
 “ You would be wrong not to believe me,” said Raoul. 
 “ I feel that I colored, and in spite of myself. The ques- 
 tion you did me the honor to ask is of a nature to cause 
 me much emotion. I color, then, because I am agitated, 
 not because I meditate a falsehood.” 
 
 “ I know, Raoul, that you never lie.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Besides, my young friend, you would be wrong; 
 what I wanted to say — ” 
 
 “I know quite well, Monsieur. You would ask me if 
 I have not been to Bloisl ” 
 
 “ Exactly so.” 
 
 “ I have not been there ; I have not even seen the 
 person of whom you would speak to me.” 
 
 The voice of Raoul trembled as he pronounced these 
 words. Athos, a sovereign judge in all matters of deli- 
 cacy, immediately added, “ Raoul, you answer as if dis- 
 tressed ; you are unhappy.” 
 
 “Very, Monsieur; you have forbidden me to go to 
 Blois, or to see Mademoiselle de la Valliere again.’’ 
 Here the young man stopped. That dear name, so 
 delightful to pronounce, made his heart bleed, although 
 so sweet upon his lips. 
 
 “ And I have acted rightly, Raoul,” Athos hastened to 
 reply. “ I am neither an unjust nor a barbarous father. 
 I respect true love ; but I look forward for you to a 
 future, — an immense future. A new reign is about to 
 dawn brightly upon us ; war calls upon a young king full 
 of chivalric spirit. What is wanting to assist this heroic 
 
A PASSION. 
 
 21 
 
 ardor is a battalion of young and free lieutenants who 
 would rush to the fight with enthusiasm, and fall crying, 
 ‘ Vive le Roi ! 9 instead of ‘ Adieu, my dear wife ! ’ You 
 know what I mean, Raoul. However brutal my reason- 
 ing may appear to be, I conjure you, then, to believe me, 
 and to turn away your thoughts from those early days of 
 youth in which you took up this habit of love, — days 
 of effeminate carelessness, which soften the heart and 
 render it incapable of containing those strong, bitter 
 draughts called glory and adversity. Therefore, Raoul, 
 I repeat to you, you should see in my counsel only the 
 desire of being useful to you, only the ambition of seeing 
 you prosper. I believe you capable of becoming a re- 
 markable man. March alone, and you will march better 
 and more quickly.” 
 
 “ You have commanded, Monsieur,” replied Raoul, “ and 
 I obey.” 
 
 “ Commanded ! ” cried Athos. “ Is it thus you reply 
 to me 1 I have commanded you ! Oh ! you distort my 
 words as you misconceive my intentions. I did not 
 command you ; I entreated you.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur, you have commanded,” said Raoul, 
 persistently. “ But had you only entreated me, your 
 entreaty is still more effective than your order. I have 
 not seen Mademoiselle de la Valliere again.” 
 
 “But you are unhappy, you are unhappy!” insisted 
 Athos. 
 
 Raoul made no reply. 
 
 “ I find you pale ; I find you sad. The sentiment is 
 strong, then'?” 
 
 “ It is a passion,” replied Raoul. 
 
 “ No ; a habit.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, you know that I have travelled much, that 
 I have passed two years far from her. Any habit would 
 
22 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 be broken up by an absence of two years, I believe ; 
 whereas on my return I loved, not more, — that was im- 
 possible, — but as much. Mademoiselle de la Valliere 
 is for me the mate above all others ; but you are for me 
 a god upon earth, — to you I sacrifice everything.” 
 
 “ You are wrong,” said Athos ; “ I have no longer any 
 right over you. Age has emancipated you ; you no lon- 
 ger even stand in need of my consent. Besides, I will 
 not refuse my consent after what you have told me. 
 Marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere, if you like.” 
 
 Baoul started; but suddenly, “You are too good, 
 Monsieur,” said he, “and your concession excites my 
 warmest gratitude ; but T will not accept it.” 
 
 “ Then you now refuse % ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I will not oppose you in anything, Raoul.” 
 
 “ But you have at the bottom of your heart an opinion 
 against this marriage ; you have not chosen it for me.” 
 
 “ That is true.” 
 
 “ That is sufficient to make me cease to persist ; I will 
 wait.” 
 
 “ Take care, Raoul ! what you are now saying is serious.” 
 “ I know it is, Monsieur. As I said, I will wait.” 
 
 “ Until I die ? ” said Athos, much agitated. 
 
 “Oh, Monsieur,” cried Raoul, with tears in his eyes, 
 “ is it possible that you should wound my heart thus 1 
 I have never given you cause of complaint ! ” 
 
 “Dear boy, that is true,” murmured Athos, pressing 
 his lips violently together to suppress the emotion of 
 which he was no longer master. “ No, I will no longer 
 afflict you ; only I do not comprehend what you mean by 
 waiting. Will you wait till you love no longer ? ” 
 
 “Ah! for that! No, Monsieur; I will wait till you 
 change your opinion.” 
 
A PASSION. 
 
 23 
 
 “ I should like to put the matter to a test, Raoul ; I 
 should like to see if Mademoiselle de la Valliere will 
 wait as you do.” 
 
 “ I hope so, Monsieur / 7 
 
 “ But take care, Raoul! if she did not wait? Ah! 
 you are so young, so confiding, so loyal ! Women are 
 changeable . 7 7 
 
 “You have never spoken ill to me of women, Mon- 
 sieur; you have never had to complain of them. Why 
 should you doubt Mademoiselle de la Valliere ? 77 
 
 “ That is true , 77 said Athos, lowering his eyes. “ I have 
 never spoken ill to you of women; I have never had to 
 complain of them. Mademoiselle de la Valliere never 
 caused me a suspicion ; but when we are looking forward, 
 we consider exceptions, even improbabilities ! If, I say, 
 Mademoiselle de la Valliere should not wait for you ? 77 
 
 “ How could that be, Monsieur ? 77 
 
 “ If she turned her eyes another way ? 77 
 
 “ If she looked favorably upon another man, — do you 
 mean that, Monsieur ? 77 said Raoul, pale with agony. 
 
 “ Exactly . 77 
 
 “Well, Monsieur, I would kill that man , 77 said Raoul, 
 simply, “ and all the men whom Mademoiselle de la 
 Valliere should choose, until one of them had killed me, 
 or Mademoiselle de la Valliere had restored me her 
 heart . 77 
 
 Athos started. “ I thought , 77 resumed he, in a hollow 
 voice, “that you called me just now your god, your law, 
 in this world . 77 
 
 “Oh!” said Raoul, trembling, “you would forbid me 
 the duel ? 77 
 
 “ If I forbade it, Raoul ? 77 
 
 “You would forbid me to hope, Monsieur; consequently 
 you would not forbid me to die . 77 
 
24 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Athos raised his eyes towards the viscount. He had 
 pronounced these words with the most melancholy in- 
 flection, accompanied by the most melancholy look. 
 “Enough,” said Athos, after a long silence, “enough of 
 this subject, upon which we both go too far. Live from 
 day to day, Kaoul ; perform your duties, love Mademoiselle 
 de la Valliere; in a word, act like a man, since you have 
 attained the age of a man ; only do not forget that I love 
 you tenderly, and that you profess to love me.” 
 
 “ Ah, Monsieur the Count ! ” cried Raoul, pressing the 
 hand of Athos to his heart. 
 
 “ Enough, dear boy ! leave me ; I want rest. By the 
 way, M. d’Artagnan has returned from England with me ; 
 you owe him a visit.” 
 
 “ I will go and pay it, Monsieur, with great pleasure ; I 
 love M. d’Artagnan exceedingly.” 
 
 “You are right in doing so ; he is a worthy man and a 
 brave cavalier.” 
 
 “ Who loves you dearly,” said Raoul. 
 
 “ I am sure of that. Do you know his address ” 
 
 “ At the Louvre, I suppose, at the Palais-Royal, or wher- 
 ever the king is. Does he not command the Musketeers 1 ” 
 “ No ; at present M. d’Artagnan is absent on leave ; 
 he is resting a little. Do not, therefore, seek him at the 
 posts of his service. You will hear of him at the house 
 of a certain Planchet.” 
 
 “ His former lackey 1 ” 
 
 “ Exactly ; turned grocer.” 
 
 “ I know ; Rue des Lombards 'l ” 
 
 “ Something like that, or Rue des Arcis.” 
 
 “ I will find it, Monsieur, — I will find it.” 
 
 “ You will say a thousand kind things to him for me, 
 and invite him to dine with me before I set out for La 
 Eere.” 
 
A PASSION. 
 
 25 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur. ” 
 
 “ Good-night, Eaoul ! ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I see you wear an order I never saw you 
 wear before ; accept my compliments.” 
 
 “ The Fleece ! — that is true. A plaything, my boy, 
 which no longer amuses even an old child like myself 
 Good-night, Raoul/’ 
 
26 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 d’artagnan’s lesson. 
 
 Raoul did not find D’Artagnan the next day, as he had 
 hoped. He only met with Planchet, whose joy was great 
 at seeing the young man again, and who contrived to pay 
 him two or three little soldierly compliments, savoring 
 very little of the grocer’s shop. But as Raoul was return- 
 ing from Vincennes the next day, at the head of fifty 
 dragoons confided to him by the prince, he perceived, in 
 the Place Baudoyer, a man with his nose in the air, exam- 
 ining a house, as we examine a horse we have a fancy to 
 buy. This man, dressed in citizen costume buttoned up 
 like a military doublet, a very small hat on his head, and 
 a long shagreen-mounted sword by his side, turned his 
 head as soon us he heard the step of the horses, and left 
 off looking at the house to look at the dragoons. This 
 was plainly M. d’Artagnan, — D’Artagnan on foot, D’Ar- 
 tagnan with his hands behind him, passing a little review 
 upon the dragoons, after having reviewed the buildings. 
 Not a man, not a tag, not a horse’s hoof escaped his 
 inspection. 
 
 Raoul rode at the side of his troop. D’Artagnan per- 
 ceived him the last. “ Eh ! ” said he, “ eh ! mordioux ! ” 
 
 “ I was not mistaken ! ” cried Raoul, urging his horse 
 towards him. 
 
 “ Mistaken ] No ! Good-day to you,” replied the ex- 
 musketeer ; while Raoul eagerly shook the hand of his 
 old friend. “ Take care, Raoul ! ” said D’Artagnan. “ The 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S LESSON. 
 
 27 
 
 second horse of the fifth rank will lose a shoe before he 
 gets to the Pont Marie ; he has only two nails left in his 
 off fore-foot. ” 
 
 “ Wait a minute ; I will come back/’ said Eaoul. 
 
 “ Can you leave your detachment h ” 
 
 “ The cornet is there to take my place.” 
 
 “ Then you will come and dine with me ? 99 
 “Most willingly, M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Be quick, then ; leave your horse, or make them give 
 me one.” 
 
 “ I prefer going back on foot with you.” 
 
 Raoul hastened to give notice to the cornet, who took 
 his place ; he then dismounted, gave his horse to one of 
 the dragoons, and with great delight seized the arm of 
 M. d’Artagnan, who had watched him, during all these 
 evolutions, with the satisfaction of a connoisseur. 
 
 “ What ! do you come from Vincennes 1 ” said he, first 
 of all. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur the Chevalier.” 
 
 “ And the cardinal % ” 
 
 “ Is very ill ; it is even reported he is dead.” 
 
 “ Are you on good terms with M. Fouquet ] ” asked 
 D’Artagnan, w T ith a disdainful movement of the shoulders, 
 proving that the death of Mazarin did not affect him 
 beyond measure. 
 
 “ With M. Fouquet ? ” said Raoul ; “ I do not know 
 him.” 
 
 “ So much the worse ! so much the worse ! for a new 
 king always seeks to find tools.” 
 
 “ Oh ! the king means no harm,” replied the young man. 
 “ I am not speaking about the crown,” cried D’Artagnan, 
 “ but about the king. The king, — that is M. Fouquet, 
 now that the cardinal is dead. You must contrive to stand 
 well with M. Fouquet, if you do not wish to moulder away 
 
28 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 all your life as I have mouldered. It is true you have, 
 fortunately, other protectors.” 
 
 u Monsieur the Prince, for instance.” 
 
 “ Worn out ! worn out, my friend ! ” 
 
 “ M. le Comte de la Fere.” 
 
 “ Athos ! Oh! that’s different; yes, Athos — and if 
 you have any wish to make your way in England, you 
 cannot apply to a better person. I can even say, without 
 too much vanity, that I myself have some credit at the 
 court of Charles II. There is a king, — God speed 
 him ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” cried Raoul, with the artless curiosity of well- 
 born young people while listening to experience and worth. 
 
 “ Yes ; a king who amuses himself, it is true, but who 
 has had a sword in his hand, and can appreciate useful 
 men. Athos is on good terms with Charles II. Take 
 service there, and leave these scoundrels of contractors 
 and farmers-general, who steal as well with French hands 
 as others have stolen with Italian hands ; leave the little 
 snivelling king, who is going to give us another reign of 
 Francis II. Do you know anything of history, Raoul % ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur the Chevalier.” 
 
 “ Do you know, then, that Francis II. always had the 
 earache ] ” 
 
 “ No, I did not know that.” 
 
 “ That Charles IV. always had the headache V } 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” 
 
 “ And Henry III. always the stomach-ache ? ” 
 
 Raoul began to laugh. 
 
 “ Well, my dear friend, Louis XIV. always has the 
 heart-ache. It is deplorable to see a king sighing from 
 morning till night, without saying once in the course of 
 the day, ‘ Ventre-saint-gris ! } ‘ Corboeuf ! 9 or anything to 
 rouse one.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S LESSON. 
 
 29 
 
 “ Was that the reason why you left the service, 
 Monsieur the Chevalier 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ But you yourself, M. d’Artagnan, are throwing the 
 handle after the hatchet ; you will never make your 
 fortune.” 
 
 “ Who h I ? ” replied D’Artagnan, in a careless tone. 
 “I am settled; I had some family property.” 
 
 Raoul looked at him. The poverty of D’Artagnan 
 was proverbial. A Gascon, he exceeded in ill-luck all 
 the gasconnades of France and Navarre; Raoul had a 
 hundred times heard Job and D’Artagnan mentioned 
 together, like the twins Romulus and Remus. D’Ar- 
 tagnan caught Raoul’s look of astonishment. 
 
 “ And has not your father told you I have been in 
 England 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur the Chevalier.” 
 
 “ And that I had there met with a very lucky chance ? ” 
 “No, Monsieur, I did not know that.” 
 
 “Yes; a very worthy friend of mine, a great noble- 
 man, the Viceroy of Scotland and Ireland, has endowed 
 me with an inheritance.” 
 
 “ An inheritance ? ” 
 
 “ And a good one too.” 
 
 “ Then you are rich ! Receive my sincere congratulation ” 
 “ Thank you ! Look ! that is my house.” 
 
 “ Place de Greve 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes ; you don’t like this quarter ] ” 
 
 “Quite the contrary; the look-out on the water is 
 pleasant. Oh, what a pretty old house ! ” 
 
 “ The sign of Notre Dame ; it is an old pot-house which 
 I have transformed into a private house in two days.” 
 
 “ But the pot-house is still open h ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
30 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ And where do you lodge, then ? ” 
 
 “ I ? I lodge with Planchet.” 
 
 “ You said just now, ‘ There is my house.’ ” 
 
 “ I said so, because, in fact, it is my house. I have 
 bought it.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said Raoul. 
 
 “ At ten years’ purchase, my dear Raoul ; a superb 
 affair. I bought the house for thirty thousand livres. 
 It has a garden which opens to the Rue de la Mortillerie ; 
 the pot-house lets for a thousand livres, together with 
 the first story ; the garret, or second floor, for five 
 hundred livres.” 
 
 “ Five hundred livres for a garret h Why, that is not 
 habitable.” 
 
 “ Therefore no one does inhabit it ; only, you see this 
 garret has two windows which look out upon the Place.” 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Well, then, every time anybody is broken on the 
 wheel, or hung, quartered, or burnt, those two windows 
 are let for as high as twenty pistoles.” 
 
 “Oh ! ” said Raoul, with horror. 
 
 “It is disgusting, is it not'? ’’said D’Artagnan. “It 
 is disgusting, but so it is. These Parisian loungers are 
 sometimes real anthropophagi. I cannot conceive how 
 men, Christians, can enjoy such spectacles. 
 
 “ That is true.” 
 
 “ As for myself,” continued D’Artagnan, “ if I inhabited 
 that house, I would shut it up to the very keyholes on 
 days of execution; but I do not inhabit it.” 
 
 “And you let the garret for five hundred livres ] ” 
 
 “ To the ferocious innkeeper, who sub-lets it. I said, 
 then, fifteen hundred livres.” 
 
 “The natural interest of money,” said Raoul, “at five 
 per cent.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S LESSON. 
 
 3i 
 
 “ Exactly so. I then have left the body of the house 
 at the back, — shops, lodgings, and cellars, inundated every 
 winter, — two hundred livres ; and the garden, which is 
 very fine, well planted, well shaded under the walls and 
 the portal of St. Gervais and St. Protais, thirteen hundred 
 livres.” 
 
 “ Thirteen hundred livres ! why, that is royal ! ” 
 
 “ This is the history of it. I strongly suspect some 
 canon of the parish, — these canons are all as rich as 
 Croesus, — I suspect some canon of having hired the 
 garden to take his pleasure in. The tenant has given 
 the name of M. Godard. That is either a false name or 
 a real name : if true, he is a canon ; if false, he is some 
 unknown. But of what consequence is it to me] He 
 always pays in advance. I had also an idea just now, 
 when I met you, of buying a house in the Place Baudoyer, 
 the back premises of which join my garden, and would 
 make a magnificent property. Your dragoons interrupted 
 my calculations. But come, let us take the Rue de la 
 Vannerie; that will lead us straight to Master Planchet’s.” 
 D’Artagnan mended his pace, and conducted Raoul to 
 Planchet’s dwelling, a chamber of which the grocer had 
 given up to his old master. Planchet was out, but the 
 dinner was ready. There was a remnant of military regu- 
 larity and punctuality preserved in the grocer’s house- 
 hold. D’Artagnan returned to the subject of Raoul’s 
 future. 
 
 “ Your father keeps you rather strictly ! ” said he. 
 
 “ Justly, Monsieur the Chevalier.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, I know Athos is just; but close, perhaps!” 
 
 “ A royal hand, M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Well, never want, my boy ! If ever you stand in 
 need of a few pistoles, the old musketeer is at hand.” 
 
 “ My dear M. d’Artagnan ! ” 
 
32 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Do you play a little ? ” 
 
 “ Never.” 
 
 “ Successful with the ladies, then ? You blush. Oh, 
 my little Aramis ! That, my dear friend, costs still 
 more than play. It is true we fight when we lose ; that 
 is a compensation. Bah ! the little sniveller of a king 
 makes men who win pay the penalty for it. What a 
 reign ! my poor Raoul, what a reign ! When I think 
 that in my time the Musketeers were besieged in their 
 houses, like Hector and Priam in the city of Troy ; and 
 then the women wept, and then the walls laughed, and 
 then five hundred beggarly fellows clapped their hands, 
 and cried, ‘ Kill ! kill ! ’ when not one musketeer was 
 hurt ! Mordioux ! you will never see anything like that.” 
 “ You are very hard upon the king, my dear M. 
 d’Artagnan ; and yet you scarcely know him.*’ 
 
 “ I ! Listen, Raoul. Day by day, hour by hour, — 
 take note of my words, — I will predict what he will do. 
 The cardinal being dead, he will weep : very well, that is 
 the least silly thing he will do, particularly if he does not 
 shed a tear.” 
 
 “ And then ? ” 
 
 “ Why, then he will get M. Fouquet to allow him a 
 pension, and will go and compose verses at Fontainebleau 
 upon some Mancini or other, whose eyes the queen will 
 scratch out. She is a Spaniard, you see, this queen of 
 ours ; and she has, as a mother-in-law, Madame Anne of 
 Austria. I know something of the Spaniards of the house 
 of Austria.” 
 
 “ And next 1 ” 
 
 “ Well, after having torn off the silver tags from the 
 uniforms of his Swiss, because embroidery is too expen- 
 sive, he will dismount the Musketeers, because the oats 
 and hay of a horse cost five sols a day.” 
 
D’ARTAGAN’S LESSON. 
 
 33 
 
 “ Oh ! do not say that.” 
 
 “ Of what consequence is it to me 1 I am no longer a 
 musketeer, am I ] Let them be on horseback ; let them 
 be on foot ; let them carry a larding-needie, a spit, a 
 sword, or nothing, — what is it to me ? ” 
 
 “ My dear M. d’Artagnan, I beseech you, say no more 
 ill to me of the king. I am almost in his service, and my 
 father would be very angry with me for having heard 
 even from your mouth words offensive to his Majesty.” 
 
 “ Your father, eh ! He is a knight in every bad cause. 
 Yes, your father is a brave man, — is a Caesar, in fact, — 
 but a man without perception.” 
 
 “Now, my dear Chevalier,” exclaimed Raoul, laugh- 
 ing, “you are going to speak ill of my father, of him 
 you call the great Athos. You are in a wicked vein 
 to-day ; riches make you as sour as poverty makes other 
 people.” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! you are right. I am a rascal and in my 
 dotage ; I am an unhappy wretch grown old, — a forage- 
 cord untwisted, a pierced cuirass, a boot without a sole, a 
 spur without a rowel ; but do me the pleasure to say one 
 thing for me.” 
 
 “ What is that, my dear M. d’Artagnan 1 ” 
 
 “ Say this to me : ‘ Mazarin was a pitiful wretch/ ” 
 “Perhaps he is dead.” 
 
 “ More the reason, — I say was ; if I did not hope that 
 he was dead, I would entreat you to say, 4 Mazarin is 
 a pitiful wretch.’ Come say so, say so, for the love of 
 me.” 
 
 “Well, I will.” 
 
 “ Say it ! ” 
 
 “ Mazarin was a pitiful wretch,” said Raoul, smiling at 
 the musketeer, who roared with laughter as in his best 
 days. 
 
 VOL. II. — 3 
 
34 
 
 * THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ A moment ! ” said the latter. “You have spoken my 
 first proposition ; here is the conclusion. Repeat, Raoul, 
 repeat : ‘ But I should feel regret for Mazarin.’ ” 
 
 “ Chevalier ! ” 
 
 “You will not say it ] Well, then, I will say it twice 
 for you : c But you would feel regret for Mazarin ” 
 
 And they were still laughing and discussing this draft- 
 ing a profession of principles, when one of the grocer’s 
 boys entered. “ A letter, Monsieur, said he, “ for M. 
 d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Thank you ; give it me,” cried the musketeer. 
 
 “ The handwriting of Monsieur the Count,” said Raoul. 
 
 “Yes, yes and D’Artagnan broke the seal. It was 
 from Athos. 
 
 “ Dear Friend, — A person has just been here to beg me to 
 seek for you by the wish of the king.” 
 
 “ Seek me ! ” said D’Artagnan, letting the paper fall 
 upon the table. Raoul picked it up, and continued to 
 read aloud. 
 
 “ Make haste. His Majesty is very anxious to speak to you, 
 and expects you at the Louvre.” 
 
 “ Expects me ! ” again repeated the musketeer. 
 
 “ He ! he ! ” laughed Raoul. 
 
 “ Oh, oh ! ” replied D’Artagnan. “ What the devil can 
 this mean]” 
 
THE KING. 
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 The first feeling of surprise over, D’Artagnan re-perused 
 Athos’ note. “ It is strange/’ said he, “ that the king 
 should send for me.” 
 
 “ Why soV 9 said Raoul; “ do you not think, Monsieur, 
 that the king must wish such a servant as you back 
 again 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” exclaimed the officer, laughing with all his 
 might; “you are flattering me, Master Raoul. If the 
 king had wanted me he would not have let me leave 
 him. No, no ; I see in it something better, or worse, if 
 you like.’** 
 
 “ Worse ! What can that be, Monsieur the Chevalier V 9 
 
 “ You are young, you are sanguine, you are admirable. 
 Oh, how I should like to be as you are ! To be but 
 twenty-four, with an unfurrowed brow, under which the 
 brain is void of everything but woman, love, and good in- 
 tentions ! Oh, Raoul, as long as you have not received 
 the smile of kings and the confidence of queens ; as long 
 as you have not had two cardinals killed under you, the 
 one a tiger, the other a fox ; as long as you have not — 
 But what is the good of all this trifling 1 We must part, 
 Raoul.” 
 
 “ With what a serious face you say that ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! but the occasion is worthy of it. Listen to me ! 
 I have a very good recommendation to make you.” 
 
 “ I am all attention, M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
36 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ You will go and inform your father of my departure.” 
 “ Your departure ? ” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! You will tell him that I have gone to 
 England, and that I am living in my little country- 
 house.” 
 
 “ To England, you ! — And the king’s orders 1 ” 
 
 “ You get more and more silly ; do you imagine that I 
 am going in that way to the Louvre, to place myself at 
 the disposal of that little crowned wolf-cub V 9 
 
 “The king a wolf-cub? Why, Monsieur the Chevalier, 
 you are mad ! ” 
 
 “ On the contrary, I was never so much otherwise. 
 You do not know what he wants to do with me, this 
 worthy son of Louis the Just. But, mordioux ! that is 
 policy. He wishes to ensconce me snugly in the Bastille, 
 purely and simply ; don’t you see ? ” 
 
 “ What for ? ” cried Raoul, terrified at what he heard. 
 
 “ On account of what I told him one day at Blois. I 
 was heated ; he remembers it.” 
 
 “ You told him what ? ” 
 
 “ That he was mean, cowardly, and silly.” 
 
 “ Good God ! ” cried Raoul, “ is it possible that such 
 words should have issued from your mouth ? ” 
 
 “ Perhaps I don’t give the letter of my discourse, but I 
 give the sense of it.” 
 
 “ But did not the king have you arrested immediately V* 
 “ By whom ? It was I who commanded the Muske- 
 teers; he must have commanded me to convey myself to 
 prison. I would never have consented ; I would have re- 
 sisted myself. And then I went into England — no more 
 D’Artagnan. Now, the cardinal is dead, or nearly so ; 
 they learn that I am in Paris, and they lay their hands 
 on me.” 
 
 “ The cardinal was, then, your protector ? ” 
 
THE KING. 
 
 37 
 
 “ The cardinal knew me ; he knew certain peculiari- 
 ties of mine. I also knew certain of his : we entertained 
 for each other a mutual appreciation. And then, on sur- 
 rendering his soul to the devil, he would recommend Anne 
 of Austria to put me in a safe place. Go, then, and find 
 your father; relate the fact to him, — and adieu ! ” 
 
 “ My dear M. d’Artagnan,” said Raoul, very much agi- 
 tated, after having looked out of the window, “ you cannot 
 escape ! ” 
 
 “ Why not ? ” 
 
 “ Because there is below an officer of the Swiss Guards 
 waiting for you.” 
 
 “ Well ! ” 
 
 “ Well, he will arrest you.” 
 
 D’Artagnan broke into an Homeric laugh. 
 
 “ Oh ! I know very well that you will resist, that you 
 will fight even; I know very well that you will come off 
 victor. But that amounts to rebellion ; and you are an 
 officer yourself, knowing what discipline is.” 
 
 “ Devil of a boy! how noble, how logical, that is!” 
 grumbled D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ You agree with me, don’t you ? ” 
 
 “ Yes. Instead of passing into the street, where that oaf 
 is waiting for me, I will slip quietly out at the back. I 
 have a horse in the stable, and a good one. I will ride 
 him to death, — my means permit me to do so, — and by 
 killing one horse after another, I shall arrive at Boulogne 
 in eleven hours ; I know the road. Tell your father 
 only one thing.” 
 
 “ What is that 1 ” 
 
 “ This, — • that what he knows about is at Planchet’s 
 house, except a fifth ; and that — ” 
 
 “ But, my dear M. d’Artagnan, take care ! If you run 
 away, two things will be said of you.” 
 
38 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 ‘ 1 What are they, my dear friend?” 
 
 “ The first, that you were afraid.” 
 
 “ Ah ! and who will dare to say that ? ” 
 
 “ The king, first of all.” 
 
 “Well ! but — he will tell the truth. I am afraid.” 
 
 “ The second, that you felt yourself guilty.” 
 
 “ Guilty of what?” 
 
 “ Why, of the crimes they wish to impute to you.” 
 
 “ That is true again. So, then, you advise me to go 
 and get myself put in the Bastille ? ” 
 
 “ M. le Comte de la Fere would advise you just as I do.” 
 “ Pardieu ! I know he would,” said D’Artagnan, thought- 
 fully. “ You are right. I shall not escape. But if they 
 cast me into the Bastille ? ” 
 
 “ We will get you out again,” said Raoul, with a calm 
 and quiet air. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! You said that after a brave fashion, 
 Raoul,” said D’Artagnan, seizing his hand ; “ that savors 
 of Athos, truly. Well, I will go, then. Do not forget my 
 last word.” 
 
 “ Except a fifth,” said Raoul. 
 
 “ Yes ; you are a fine boy, and I want you to add one 
 thing to that last word.” 
 
 “Speak, Chevalier!” 
 
 “ It is that if you cannot get me out of the Bastille, 
 and I die there, — oh ! that is a matter of course, and I 
 shall be a detestable prisoner; I, who have been a passa- 
 ble man, — in that case, I give three fifths to you, and 
 the fourth to your father.” 
 
 “ Chevalier ! ” 
 
 “ If you want to have some masses said for me, you are 
 welcome.” 
 
 When he had done speaking, D’Artagnan took down 
 his belt from the hook, girded on his sword, took a hat 
 
THE KING. 
 
 39 
 
 with a fresh feather, and held his hand out to Raoul, who 
 threw himself into his arms. When in the shop, he cast 
 a quick glance at the shop-lads, who looked upon the 
 scene with a pride mingled with some uneasiness ; then 
 plunging his hand into a box of dried currants, he went 
 straight to the officer who was philosophically waiting 
 for him at the door of the shop. 
 
 “ Those features! Can it be you, M. de Friedisch'?” 
 cried the musketeer, gayly. “ Eh ! eh ! what ! do we 
 arrest our friends '?” 
 
 “ Arrest ! ” whispered the lads among themselves. 
 
 “ Yes, it be I, M. d’Artagnan ! Goot-tay to you ! ” said 
 the Swiss. 
 
 “ Must I give you up my sword ? I warn you that it is 
 long and heavy ; you had better let me wear it to the 
 Louvre. I feel quite lost in the streets without a sword, 
 and you would be more at a loss than I should, with two.” 
 
 “ The king has gifen no orders apout it,” replied the 
 Swiss; “so keep your sword.” 
 
 “ Well, that is very polite on the part of the king. Let 
 us go, at once.” 
 
 M. de Friedisch was not a talker, and D’Artagnan had 
 too much to think of to talk. From Planchet’s shop to 
 the Louvre was not far, — they arrived in ten minutes. 
 It was night. M. de Friedisch wanted to enter by the 
 wicket. “ Xo/’ said D’Artagnan, “you would lose time 
 by that ; take the little staircase.” 
 
 The Swiss did as D’Artagnan advised, and conducted 
 him to the vestibule of the king’s cabinet. When arrived 
 there, he bowed to his prisoner, and without saying any- 
 thing, returned to his post. 
 
 D’Artagnan had not had time to ask why his sword 
 was not taken from him, when the door of the cabinet 
 opened, and a valet de chambre called, “ M. d’Artagnan!” 
 
40 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 The musketeer assumed his parade carriage, and en- 
 tered, with his eyes wide open, his brow calm, his mus- 
 tache stiff. The king was seated at a table writing. He 
 did not disturb himself when the step of the musketeer 
 resounded on the floor ; he did not even turn his head. 
 D’Artagnan advanced as far as the middle of the room, 
 and seeing that the king paid no attention to him, and 
 suspecting, besides, that that was nothing but affecta- 
 tion, a sort of tormenting preamble to what was coming, 
 he turned his back on the king, and began to examine 
 minutely the frescos on the cornices, and the cracks in 
 the ceiling. This manoeuvre was accompanied by this 
 silent little monologue : “ Ah ! you want to humble me, 
 do you 1 — you, whom I have seen so young, — you, 
 whom I have saved as I would my own child, — you, 
 whom I have served as I would my God, — that is to say, 
 for nothing. Wait awhile ! wait awhile ! you shall see 
 what a man can do who has snuffed the fire of the Hu- 
 guenots, under the beard of the cardinal, — the true 
 cardinal ! ” 
 
 At this moment Louis turned round. “ Ah ! are you 
 there, M. d’Artagnan 1 ” said he. 
 
 D’Artagnan saw the movement, and imitated it. “ Yes, 
 Sire,” said he. 
 
 “Very well; have the goodness to wait till I have 
 added this up.” 
 
 D’Artagnan made no reply ; he only bowed. “ That 
 is polite enough,” thought he ; “I have nothing to say.” 
 
 Louis made a violent dash with his pen, and threw it 
 angrily away. 
 
 “ Go on, — work yourself up l 1 thought the musketeer ; 
 “ you will put me at my ease. You shall find I did not 
 empty the bag the other day at Blois ! ” 
 
 Louis rose from his seat, passed his hand over his 
 
THE KING. 
 
 41 
 
 brow ; then, stopping opposite D’Artagnan, he looked at 
 him with an air at once imperious and kind. 
 
 “ What does he want with me ? I wish he would get 
 through with it,” thought the musketeer. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king, “you know, without doubt, 
 that the cardinal is dead ? ” 
 
 “ I suspected so, Sire.” 
 
 “You know that, consequently, I am master in my 
 own kingdom ? ” 
 
 “ That is not a thing that dates from the death of the 
 cardinal, Sire ; a man is always master in his own house, 
 when he wishes to be so.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but do you remember all you said to me at 
 Blois 1 ” 
 
 “ Now we are coming to it,” thought D’Artagnan ; “ I 
 was not deceived. Well, so much the better; it is a sign 
 that my scent is tolerably keen yet.” 
 
 “ You do not answer me,” said Louis. 
 
 “Sire, I think I recollect.” 
 
 “You only think ? ” 
 
 “ It is so long ago.” 
 
 “ If you do not remember, I do. This is what you said 
 to me; listen with attention.” 
 
 “ Oh, I shall listen with all my ears, Sire ; for it is 
 very likely the conversation will turn in a fashion very 
 interesting to me.” 
 
 Louis once more looked at the musketeer. The latter 
 smoothed the feather of his hat, then his mustache, and 
 waited intrepidly. Louis XIY. continued : “ You quitted 
 my service, Monsieur, after having told me the whole 
 truth ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ That is, after having declared to me all you thought 
 was true with regard to my mode of thinking and acting. 
 
42 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 That is always a merit. You began by telling me that 
 you had served my family thirty-four yearn, and were 
 tired.” 
 
 “ I said so ; yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ And you afterwards admitted that that fatigue was 
 a pretext, and that discontent was the real cause.” 
 
 “ I was discontented, it is true, but that discontent has 
 never betrayed itself that I know of ; and if, like a man 
 of heart, I have spoken out before your Majesty, I have 
 not even thought of the matter in the presence of any- 
 body else.” 
 
 “ Do not excuse yourself, D’Artagnan, but continue to 
 listen to me. When reproaching me with the fact that 
 you were discontented, you received in reply a promise. 
 I said, 4 Wait ; ’ is not that true?” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire, as true as what I told you.” 
 
 ‘‘You answered me, ‘Hereafter? No; now, immedi- 
 ately.’ Do not excuse yourself, I tell you. It was 
 natural ; but you had no charity for your poor prince, 
 M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Sire, charity for a king on the part of a poor soldier ! ” 
 
 “ You understand me very well. You know that I 
 stood in need of it ; you know very well that I was not 
 master; you know very well that my hope was in the 
 future. Now, you replied to me when I spoke of that 
 future, ‘ My discharge, and that directly ! ’ ” 
 
 “ That is true,” murmured D’Artagnan, biting his 
 mustache. 
 
 “ You did not flatter me when I was in distress,” added 
 Louis. 
 
 “ But,” said D’Artagnan, raising his head nobly, “ if 
 I did not flatter your Majesty when poor, neither did I 
 betray you. I have shed my blood for nothing ; I have 
 watched like a dog at a door, knowing full well that 
 
THE KING. 
 
 43 
 
 neither bread nor bone would be thrown to me. I, 
 although poor likewise, asked nothing of your Majesty 
 but the discharge you speak of.” 
 
 “ I know you are a brave man ; but I was a young man, 
 and you ought to have treated me with some considera- 
 tion. What had you to reproach the king with, — that 
 he left King Charles II. without succor ! Let us speak 
 further, — that he did not marry Mademoiselle de Man- 
 cini!” As he said these words, the king fixed upon 
 the musketeer a searching look. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” thought the latter, “ he is doing more than 
 remembering ; he is interpreting. The devil ! ” 
 
 “ Your judgment,” continued Louis, “ fell upon the 
 king and fell upon the man. But, M. d’Artagnan, that 
 weakness, — for you considered it a weakness!” D’Ar- 
 tagnan made no reply. “ You reproached me also with 
 regard to the now deceased cardinal. Now, did not 
 the cardinal bring me up, did he not support me ! — 
 elevating himself and supporting himself at the same 
 time, I admit ; but the benefit was discharged. Had 
 I been an ingrate, an egotist, would you, then, have bet- 
 ter loved me or served me ! ” 
 
 “ Sire ! ” 
 
 “ We will say no more about it, Monsieur ; it would 
 only cause you too many regrets, and me too much pain.” 
 D’Artagnan was not convinced. The young king, in 
 adopting a tone of hauteur with him, did not advance his 
 purpose. 
 
 “ You have since reflected ! ” resumed Louis. 
 
 “ Upon what, Sire!” asked D’Artagnan, politely. 
 
 “ Why, upon all that I have said to you, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire, no doubt — ” 
 
 “And you have only waited for an opportunity of 
 retracting your words ! ” 
 
44 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Sire!” 
 
 “ You hesitate, it seems.” 
 
 “ I do not understand what your Majesty did me the 
 honor to say to meT’ Louis’s brow became cloudy. 
 “ Have the goodness to excuse me, Sire. My under- 
 standing is particularly thick ; things do not penetrate it 
 without difficulty ; but it is true that when once they get 
 in, they remain there.” 
 
 ‘‘Yes, you appear to have a memory.” 
 
 “ Almost as good as your Majesty’s.” 
 
 “ Then give me quickly an explanation. My time is 
 valuable. What have you been doing since your dis- 
 charge ] ” 
 
 “ Making my fortune, Sire.” 
 
 “ The expression is rude, M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty takes it in bad part, certainly. I 
 entertain nothing but the profoundest respect for the 
 king; and if I have been impolite, which might be ex- 
 cused by my long sojourn in camps and barracks, your 
 Majesty is too much above me to be offended at a word 
 innocently spoken b} T a soldier.” 
 
 “ In fact, I know that you have done a brilliant deed 
 in England, Monsieur. I only regret that you have 
 broken your promise.” 
 
 “I!” cried D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Certainly. You pledged your word not to serve any 
 other prince on quitting my service. Now, it was for 
 King Charles II. that you undertook the marvellous 
 carrying off of M. Monk.” 
 
 “ Pardon me-, Sire ; it was for myself.” 
 
 “ And was it a success for you % ” 
 
 “ As exploits and adventures were to the captains of 
 the fifteenth century.” 
 
 “ What do you call succeeding ? — a fortune 'l ” 
 
THE KING. 
 
 45 
 
 “ A hundred thousand crowns, Sire, which I possess, — 
 that is, in one week, three times as much money as I 
 ever had in fifty years. 5 ’ 
 
 “It is a handsome sum. But you are ambitious, I 
 believe 1 ” 
 
 “ I, Sire ? The quarter of it would be a treasure, and 
 I swear to you I have no thought of augmenting it.” 
 
 “ What ! do you contemplate remaining idle ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ To relinquish the sword ] ” 
 
 “I have already done that.” 
 
 “Impossible, M. d’Artagnan ! ” said Louis, firmly. 
 
 “ But, Sire — ” 
 
 “ Well % ” 
 
 “ Why not % ” 
 
 “ Because I will that you shall not ! ” said the young 
 prince, in a voice so stern and imperious that D’Artagnan 
 evinced surprise and even uneasiness. 
 
 “ Will your Majesty allow me one word of reply 1 ” he 
 asked. 
 
 “ Speak.” 
 
 “ I formed that resolution when I was poor and 
 destitute.” 
 
 “ So be it ! Go on.” 
 
 “ Now, when by my industry I have acquired a com- 
 fortable means of subsistence, would your Majesty despoil 
 me of my liberty ? Your Majesty would condemn me to 
 the least, when I have gained the most.” 
 
 “ Who gave you permission, Monsieur, to fathom my 
 designs, or to reckon with me ? ” replied Louis, in a voice 
 almost angry. “ Who told you what I shall do, or what 
 you will yourself do ? ” 
 
 “ Sire,” said the musketeer, quietly, “ so far as I see, 
 freedom is not in order in this conversation, as I believe 
 
46 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 it was on the day that we came to an explanation at 
 Blois.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur ; everything is changed.” 
 
 “ I render your Majesty my sincere congratulations, 
 but — ” 
 
 “ But you don’t believe it ^ ” 
 
 “ I am not a great statesman, and yet I have my eye 
 upon affairs ; it seldom fails. Now, I do not see exactly 
 as your Majesty does, Sire. The reign of Mazarin is 
 over, but that of the financiers has begun. They have 
 the money ; your Majesty will not often see much of it. 
 To live under the paw of those hungry wolves is hard for 
 a man who reckoned upon independence.” 
 
 At this moment some one scratched at the door of the 
 cabinet. The king raised his head proudly. “ Your 
 pardon, M. d’Artagnan,” said he ; “ it is M. Colbert, who 
 comes to make me a report. Come in, M. Colbert ! ” 
 
 D’Artagnan drew back. Colbert entered, his papers in 
 his hand, and went up to the king. You may believe 
 that the Gascon did not lose the opportunity of applying 
 his keen, quick glance to the new figure which presented 
 itself. 
 
 “ Is the inquiry finished, then 1 ” asked the king of 
 Colbert. 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ And the opinion of the inquisitors ? ” 
 
 “ Is that the accused merit confiscation and death.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the king, without changing countenance, 
 and casting a glance at D’Artagnan. “ And your own 
 opinion, M. Colbert ? ” said he. 
 
 Colbert looked at D’Artagnan in his turn. That impos- 
 ing countenance checked the words upon his lips. Louis 
 perceived this. “ Do not be disturbed,” said he ; “ it is 
 M. d’Artagnan. Do you not recognize M. d’Artagnan ? ” 
 
THE KING. 
 
 47 
 
 These two men looked at each other, — D’Artagnan 
 with his eyes open and bright, Colbert with his eyes half- 
 closed and dim. The frank intrepidity of the one dis- 
 pleased the other ; the cautious circumspection of the 
 financier displeased the soldier. 
 
 “ Ah ! this is the gentleman who made that brilliant 
 stroke in England,” said Colbert ; and he bowed slightly 
 to D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Ah ! ” said the Gascon, “this is the gentleman who 
 clipped off the silver lace from the uniform of the Swiss. A 
 praiseworthy piece of economy ! ” and he bowed profoundly. 
 
 The financier thought to embarrass the musketeer; 
 but the musketeer ran the financier right through. 
 
 “ M. d’Artagnan,” resumed the king, who had not re- 
 marked all these shades of meaning, of which Mazarin 
 would not have missed one, “ this concerns the farmers 
 of the revenue who have robbed me, whom I am hanging, 
 and whose death-warrants I am about to sign.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said D’Artagnan, starting. 
 
 “ What did you say 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, nothing, Sire ! this is no business of mine.” 
 
 The king had already taken up the pen, and was apply- 
 ing it to the paper. 
 
 “ Sire,” said Colbert, in a low voice, “ I beg to warn 
 your Majesty that if an example be necessary, that ex- 
 ample may present some difficulty in its execution.” 
 
 “ You are saying — ” said Louis. 
 
 “You must not conceal from yourself,” continued 
 Colbert, quietly, “that attacking the farmers-general is 
 attacking the superintendence. The two unfortunate 
 guilty men in question are the particular friends of a 
 powerful personage ; and on the day of the punishment, 
 which otherwise might be hushed up in the ch&telet, 
 disturbances will arise without doubt.” 
 
48 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Louis colored and turned towards D’Artagnan, who 
 was calmly gnawing his mustache, not without a smile of 
 pity for the financier, as likewise for the king, who had 
 to listen to him so long. But Louis seized the pen, and 
 with a movement so rapid that his hand shook, affixed 
 his signature at the bottom of the two papers presented 
 by Colbert ; then, looking the latter in the face, “ M. 
 Colbert,” said he, “ when you speak to me of affairs, 
 exclude, in general, the word ‘ difficulty ’ from your rea- 
 sonings and opinions ; as to the word ‘ impossibility,’ 
 never pronounce it.” 
 
 Colbert bowed, much humiliated at having undergone 
 such a lesson before the musketeer. He was about to go 
 out ; but, anxious to make up for his rebuff, “ I forgot 
 to announce to your Majesty,” said he, “ that the confis- 
 cations amount to the sum of five million livres.” 
 
 “ That ’s pretty,” thought D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Which makes in my coffers — ” said the king. 
 
 “ Eighteen million livres, Sire,” replied Colbert, bowing. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” grumbled D’Artagnan, “ that ’s fine ! ” 
 
 “ M. Colbert,” added the king, “you will, if you please, 
 go through the gallery where M. de Lyonne is waiting, 
 and will tell him to bring hither what he has drawn up 
 — by my order.” 
 
 “ Directly, Sire ; if your Majesty wants me no more 
 this evening ” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur ; adieu ! ” and Colbert went out. 
 
 “Now let us return to our affair, M. d’Artagnan,” 
 resumed the king, as if nothing had happened. “You 
 see that with respect to money there is already a notable 
 change.” 
 
 “ Something like from zero to eighteen millions,” re- 
 plied the musketeer, gayly. “Ah ! that was what your 
 Majesty wanted the day King Charles II. came to Blois. 
 
THE KING. 
 
 49 
 
 The two States would not have been embroiled to-day ; 
 for I must say that there also I see a stumbling-block.” 
 “Well, in the first place,” retorted Louis, “you are 
 unjust, Monsieur ; for if Providence had permitted me 
 to give my brother the million that day, you would not 
 have quitted my service, and consequently you would not 
 have made your fortune, as you told me just now you 
 have done. But in addition to this, I have had another 
 piece of good fortune ; and my difference with Great 
 Britain need not alarm you.” 
 
 A valet de chambre interrupted the king by announcing 
 M. de Lyonne. “ Come in, Monsieur,” said the king; 
 “you are punctual; that is like a good servant. Let us 
 see your letter to my brother Charles II.” 
 
 DArtagnan pricked up his ears. “ A moment, Mon- 
 sieur ! ” said Louis, carelessly, to the Gascon ; “I must 
 despatch to London my consent to the marriage of my 
 brother, M. le Due d Anjou, with the Princess Henrietta 
 Stuart.” 
 
 “ He is drubbing me, it seems,” murmured DArtagnan, 
 while the king signed the letter, and dismissed M. de 
 Lyonne ; “ but, faith ! I confess the more he drubs me 
 in this manner, the better I shall be pleased.” 
 
 The king followed M. de Lyonne with his eyes, till the 
 door was closed behind him. He even took three steps, 
 as if he would follow the minister ; but after these three 
 steps, he stopped, turned, and came back to the muske- 
 teer. “ Now, Monsieur, said he, “let us hasten to con- 
 clude. You told me the other day, at Blois, that you 
 were not rich?” 
 
 “ But I am now, Sire.” 
 
 “Yes, but that does not concern me. You have your 
 own money, not mine ; that does not enter into my 
 account.” 
 
 VOL. II. — 4 
 
50 
 
 THE VI COMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I do not well understand w T hat your Majesty means.” 
 “Well, instead of stopping to choose your words, speak 
 up like a man ! Would you be satisfied with twenty 
 thousand livres a year, as a fixed income'?” 
 
 “ But, Sire,” said D’Artagnan, opening his eyes to the 
 utmost. 
 
 “ Would you be satisfied with four horses furnished 
 and kept, and with a contingent fund for what you 
 would require, according to occasion and need ; or would 
 you prefer a fixed sum which might he, for instance, 
 forty thousand livres ? Answer ! ” 
 
 “ Sire, your Majesty — ” 
 
 “Yes, you are surprised ; that is natural, and I ex- 
 pected it. Answer me, come ! or I shall think you have 
 no longer that rapidity of judgment I have so much 
 valued in you.” 
 
 “It is certain, Sire, that twenty thousand livres a year 
 make a handsome sum ; but — ” 
 
 “No buts ! Yes or no, is it a suitable indemnity ? ” 
 
 “ Oh ! certainly — ” 
 
 “You will be satisfied with it? That is well. It will 
 be better, too, to reckon the extra expenses separately ; 
 you can arrange that with Colbert. Now let us pass to 
 something more important.” 
 
 “But, Sire, I told your Majesty — ” 
 
 “ That you wanted rest. I know you did ; only, I replied 
 that I would not allow it. I am master, I suppose 1 ” 
 “Yes, Sire/’ 
 
 “ Very well. You were formerly in the mood to become 
 captain of the Musketeers ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ Well, here is your commission signed. I will place 
 it in this drawer. The day on which you shall return 
 from a certain expedition which I am about to confide to 
 
THE KING. 
 
 51 
 
 you, on that day you may yourself take the commission 
 from the drawer.’’ D’Artagnan still hesitated, and hung 
 down his head. “ Come, Monsieur,” said the king, “ one 
 would believe, to look at you, that you did not know 
 that at the court of the most Christian king the cap- 
 tain-general of the Musketeers takes precedence of the 
 marshals of France.” 
 
 “ Sire, I know he does.” 
 
 “ Then I must fancy you do not put faith in my word ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, Sire, never, never dream of such a thing ! ” 
 
 “ I have wished to prove to you that you, so good a 
 servant, had lost a good master ; am I anything like the 
 master that will suit you ? ” 
 
 “ I begin to think you are, Sire.” 
 
 “ Then, Monsieur, you will resume your functions. 
 Your company is quite disorganized since your depar- 
 ture, and the men go strolling about and rioting in the 
 pot-houses, where they fight, in spite of my edicts or 
 those of my father. You will reorganize the service as 
 quickly as possible.” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “You will not again quit my person.” 
 
 “Very well, Sire.” 
 
 “You will march with me to the army ; you will encamp 
 round my tent.” 
 
 “ Then, Sire,” said D’Artagnan, “ if it is only for im- 
 posing upon me a service like that, your Majesty need 
 not give me twenty thousand livres. I shall not earn 
 them.” 
 
 “ I desire that you shall keep open house, an open 
 table ; I desire that my captain of Musketeers shall be 
 a person of importance.” 
 
 “ And I,” said D’Artagnan, bluntly, — “ I do not like 
 easily gotten money. I like money won ! Your Majesty 
 
52 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 gives rne an idle trade, which the first comer would per- 
 form for four thousand livres.” 
 
 Louis XIV. began to laugh. “ You are a true Gascon, 
 M. d’Artagnan ; you will draw my heart’s secret from 
 me.” 
 
 “ Has your Majesty a secret, then?” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Well ! then I accept the twenty thousand livres ; for 
 I will keep that secret, and discretion is above all price 
 in these times. Will your Majesty speak now ? ” 
 
 “You will get booted, M. d’Artagnan, and mount on 
 horseback.” 
 
 “Directly, Sire.” 
 
 • “ Within two days.” 
 
 “ That is well, Sire ; for I have my affairs to settle 
 before I set out, particularly if it is likely there should 
 be any blows to receive.” 
 
 “ That may happen.” 
 
 “ Let them come. But, Sire, you have addressed your- 
 self to the avarice, to the ambition, — you have addressed 
 yourself to the heart of M. d’Artagnan, but you have 
 forgotten one thing.” 
 
 “What is that?” 
 
 “ You have said nothing to his vanity ; when shall I 
 be a knight of the king’s orders ? ” 
 
 “ Does that interest you ? ” 
 
 “ Why, yes. My friend Athos is quite bestarred, and 
 that dazzles me.” 
 
 “ You shall be a knight of my order a month after you 
 have taken your commission of captain.” 
 
 “Ah ! ” said the officer, thoughtfully, “ after the expe- 
 dition.” 
 
 “ Precisely.” 
 
 “ Where is your Majesty going to send me ?” 
 
THE KING. 
 
 53 
 
 “ Are you acquainted with Bretagne ] ” 
 
 “No, Sire.” 
 
 “ Have you any friends there ] ” 
 
 “ In Bretagne ] No, faith ! ” 
 
 “ So much the better. Do you know anything about 
 fortifications ? ” 
 
 “ I believe I do, Sire,” said D’Artagnan, smiling. 
 
 “ That is to say, you can readily distinguish a fortress 
 from a simple fortification, such as is allowed to our vas- 
 sal ckdtelams ? ” 
 
 “ I distinguish a fort from a rampart as I distinguish a 
 cuirass from a pie-crust, Sire. Is that sufficient ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur. You will set out, then ] ” 
 
 “ For Bretagne] ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Alone ] ” 
 
 “ Absolutely alone ; that is to say, you must not even 
 take a lackey with you.” 
 
 “ May I ask your Majesty for what reason] 99 
 “ Because, Monsieur, it will be necessary to disguise 
 yourself sometimes as the servant of a good family. Your 
 face is very well known in France, M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ And then, Sire ] ” 
 
 “ And then you will travel slowly through Bretagne, 
 and will examine carefully the fortifications of that 
 country.” 
 
 “ The coasts ].” 
 
 “Yes, and the isles; beginning with Belle- Isle-en- 
 Mer.” 
 
 “ Which belongs to M. Fouquet,” said D’Artagnan, 
 in a serious tone, raising his intelligent eyes to Louis 
 
 XIY. 
 
 “ I fancy you are right, Monsieur, and that Belle-Isle 
 does belong to M. Fouquet, in fact.” 
 
54 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Then your Majesty wishes me to ascertain if Belle- 
 Isle is a good place 1 ?” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ And if its fortifications are new or old 1 ” 
 
 “ Precisely.” 
 
 “And if, perhaps, the vassals of the superintendent are 
 sufficiently numerous to form a garrison ? ” 
 
 “ That is what I want to know ; you have hit it exactly.” 
 “ And if they are not fortifying, Sire ? ” 
 
 “ You will travel about Bretagne, listening and judging.” 
 “ Then I am a king’s spy ? ” said D’Artagnan, bluntly, 
 twisting his mustache. 
 
 “ No, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Your pardon, Sire ; I spy on your Majesty’s account.” 
 “You go on a discovery, Monsieur. Would you march 
 at the head of your Musketeers, sword in hand, to recon- 
 noitre any spot whatever, or an enemy’s position 1 ” 
 
 At these words D’Artagnan started imperceptibly. 
 
 “ Would you,” continued the king, “ imagine yourself 
 to be a spy ? ” 
 
 “ No, no,” said D’Artagnan, but pensively. “ The thing 
 changes its character when one watches an enemy ; one 
 is but a soldier. And if they are fortifying Belle-Isle ? ” 
 added he, quickly. 
 
 “ You will make an exact plan of the fortifications.” 
 
 “ Will they permit me to enter 
 
 “ That does not concern me ; that is your affair. Did 
 you not understand that I reserved for you a contingent 
 of twenty thousand livres per annum, if you wished 
 for it ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire ; but if they are not fortifying'? ” 
 
 “ You will return quietly, without fatiguingyour horse.” 
 “Sire, I am ready.” 
 
 “You will begin to-morrow by going to Monsieur the 
 
THE KING. 
 
 55 
 
 Superintendent’s to draw the first quarter of the pension 
 I allow you. Do you know M. Fouquet % ” 
 
 « Very little, Sire ; but I beg your Majesty to observe 
 that it is not urgent that I should know him.” 
 
 “ I ask your pardon, Monsieur ; but he will refuse you 
 the money I wish you to take, and it is that refusal I 
 look for.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said D’Artagnan. “ And then, Sire ” 
 
 “ The money being refused, you will go and seek it at 
 M. Colbert’s. By the way, have you a good horse % ” 
 
 “ An excellent one, Sire. ” 
 
 “ How much did it cost you ? ” 
 
 “A hundred and fifty pistoles.” 
 
 “ I will buy it of you. Here is a note for two hundred 
 pistoles.” 
 
 “ But I want my horse for my journey, Sire.” 
 
 “ Well ! ” 
 
 “ Well, and you take mine from me.” 
 
 “ Not at all. On the contrary, I give it to you. Only, 
 as it is now mine and not yours, I am sure you will not 
 spare it.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty is in a hurry, then % ” 
 
 “ A great hurry.” 
 
 “ Then what compels me to wait two days 1 ” 
 
 “ Two reasons known to myself.” 
 
 “ That is different. The horse may make up the two 
 days in the eight he has for the journey ; and then there 
 is the post.” 
 
 “ No, no ; the post compromises, M. d’Artagnan. Go, 
 and do not forget you are mine.” 
 
 “ Sire, it was not I who ever forgot it. At what hour 
 shall I take my leave of your Majesty day after to- 
 morrow % ” 
 
 “ Where do you lodge ” 
 
56 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I must henceforward lodge at the Louvre.” 
 
 “ That must not be now. Keep your lodgings in the 
 city ; I will pay for them. As for your departure, it must 
 take place at night, because you must set out without 
 being seen by any one, or, if you are seen, it must not be 
 known that you belong to me. A close mouth, Monsieur ! ” 
 “ Your Majesty spoils all you have said by that single 
 word.” 
 
 “ I asked you where you lodged, for I cannot always 
 send to M. le Comte de la Fere to seek you.” 
 
 “ I lodge with M. Planchet, a grocer, Rue des Lom- 
 bards, at the sign of the Pilon d’Or.” 
 
 “ Go out but little ; show yourself still less, and await 
 my orders.” 
 
 , “ And yet, Sire, I must go for the money.” 
 
 “ That is true ; but when going to the superinten- 
 dent’s, where so many people are constantly going, you 
 must mingle with the crowd.” 
 
 “ I want the drafts, Sire, for the money.” 
 
 “ Here they are.” 
 
 The king signed them, and D’Artagnan looked on to 
 assure himself of their correctness. “That is money,” 
 said he ; “ and money is either read or counted.” 
 
 “ Adieu, M. d’Artagnan ! ” added the king ; “ I think 
 you have perfectly understood me.” 
 
 “II I understood that your Majesty sends me to 
 Belle-Isle-en-Mer ; that is all.” 
 
 “ To learn — ” 
 
 “ To learn how M. Fouquet’s works are going on ; that 
 is all.” 
 
 “Very well ; I admit you may be captured.” 
 
 “ And I do not admit it,” replied the Gascon, boldly. 
 
 “ I admit that you may be killed,” continued the king. 
 “ That is not probable, Sire.” 
 
THE KING. 
 
 5 ? 
 
 “ In the first case, you must not speak ; in the second, 
 there must be no paper found upon you to speak.” 
 
 D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders without ceremony, 
 and took leave of the king, saying to himself, " The Eng- 
 lish shower continues ; let us remain under the spout 1 ” 
 
58 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 M. fouquet’s houses. 
 
 While D’Artagnan was returning to Planchet’s house, 
 his head aching and bewildered with all that had just 
 happened to him, there was passing a scene of quite a 
 different character, which nevertheless is not foreign to 
 the conversation our musketeer had just had with the 
 king; only, this scene took place outside of Paris, in a 
 house owned by the superintendent Fouquet in the village 
 of St. Mande. 
 
 The minister had just arrived at this country-house, 
 followed by his chief clerk, who carried an enormous port' 
 folio full of papers to be examined and others requiring 
 signature. As it was about five o’clock in the afternoon, 
 the masters had dined ; supper was preparing for twenty 
 inferior guests. The superintendent did not stop ; on 
 alighting from his carriage, with the same bound he 
 sprang through the doorway, rushed through the apart- 
 ments and gained his office, where he declared he would 
 shut himself up to work, commanding that he should not 
 be disturbed for anything but an order from the king. 
 As soon as this direction had been given, Fouquet shut 
 himself up, and two footmen were placed as sentinels at 
 his door. Then Fouquet pushed a bolt which moved a 
 panel that walled up the entrance, and prevented every- 
 thing that passed in this office from being either seen or 
 heard. But, improbable as it may seem, it was indeed to 
 be alone that Fouquet shut himself up thus ; for he went 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 59 
 
 straight to his desk, seated himself at it, opened the port- 
 folio, and began to sort the enormous mass of papers it 
 contained. 
 
 It was not more than ten minutes after he had entered 
 and taken all the precautions we have described, that the 
 repeated noise of several regular taps struck his ear, and 
 appeared to engross his attention. Fouquet raised his 
 head, turned his ear, and listened. The taps continued. 
 Then the worker rose w T ith a slight movement of im- 
 patience, and walked straight up to a glass behind which 
 the blow^s were struck by a hand or by some invisible 
 mechanism. It was a large glass let into a panel. Three 
 other glasses, exactly similar to it, completed the sym- 
 metry of the apartment. Nothing distinguished that 
 from the others. Without doubt, these repeated taps 
 were a signal; for at the moment w 7 hen Fouquet ap- 
 proached the glass listening, the same noise was renewed, 
 and in the same measure. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” murmured the superintendent, w T ith surprise, 
 “who is yonder? I did not expect any one to-day ; ” 
 and, probably to answer the signal that had been made, 
 he pulled a gilded nail in that same glass, and shook it 
 thrice. Then returning to his place, and seating himself 
 again, “ Faith ! let them wait,” said he ; and plunging 
 again into the ocean of papers unrolled before him, he 
 appeared to think of nothing but work. In fact, with 
 incredible rapidity and marvellous clearness, Fouquet 
 deciphered the largest papers and most complicated 
 writings, correcting them, annotating them with a pen 
 moved as if by a fever ; and the work dissolving under 
 his hands, signatures, figures, references, multiplied them- 
 selves as if ten clerks — that is to say, a hundred fingers 
 and ten brains -had performed the duties, instead of the 
 ten fingers and single brain of this man. From time to 
 
60 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 time only, Fouquet, absorbed in his work, raised his head 
 to cast a furtive glance upon a clock placed before him. 
 The reason for this was that Fouquet had set himself a 
 task : and when this task was once set, in one hour’s work 
 he, by himself, did what another would not have accom- 
 plished in a day, — always certain, provided he was not 
 disturbed, to arrive at the end in the time his devouring 
 activity had fixed. But in the midst of his ardent labor 
 the quick strokes upon the little bell, placed behind the 
 glass, sounded once more, hasty, and consequently more 
 urgent. 
 
 “ The lady appears to be getting impatient,” said 
 Fouquet. “ Humph ! a calm ! That must be the coun- 
 tess ; but no, the countess has gone to Rambouillet for 
 three days. The president’s wife, then ? Oh, no ! the 
 president’s wife would not assume such grand airs ; she 
 would ring very humbly, and then await my good pleas- 
 ure. It is very certain that while I may not know who 
 it can be, I do know who it cannot be. And since it is 
 not you, Marchioness, since it cannot be you, a fig for the 
 rest ! ” and he went on with his work in spite of the 
 repeated appeals of the bell. 
 
 At the end of a quarter of an hour, however, impatience 
 seized Fouquet in his turn. He consumed rather than 
 finished the remainder of his task ; he thrust his papers 
 into the portfolio, and giving a glance at the mirror, while 
 the taps continued faster than ever, “Now,” said he, 
 “whence comes all this racket? What has happened, 
 and who can the Ariadne be who expects me so impa- 
 tiently ? Let us see ! ” 
 
 He then applied the tip of his finger to the nail parallel 
 to the one he had drawn. Immediately the glass moved 
 like the fold of a door, and discovered a secret closet, 
 rather deep, in which the superintendent disappeared as 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 61 
 
 if going into a vast box. When there, he touched another 
 spring, which opened, not a board, but a block of the 
 wall ; and he went out by that opening, leaving the door 
 to shut of itself. Then Fouquet descended a score or 
 more of steps which sank, winding, underground, and 
 came to a long, paved, subterranean passage, lighted by 
 invisible loop-holes. The walls of this vault were covered 
 with slabs, or tiles, and the floor with carpeting. This 
 passage was under the street itself which separated 
 Fouquet’s house from the Park of Vincennes. At the 
 end of the passage ascended a winding staircase parallel 
 with that by which Fouquet had descended. He mounted 
 these other stairs, entered by means of a spring placed 
 in a closet similar to that in his office, and from this 
 closet passed into a chamber entirely unoccupied, al- 
 though furnished with the utmost elegance. As soon 
 as he entered, he examined carefully whether the glass 
 closed without leaving any trace, and, doubtless satisfied 
 with his observation, he opened, by means of a small 
 gilded key, the triple fastenings of a door in front of him. 
 This time the door opened upon a handsome boudoir, 
 sumptuously furnished, in which was seated upon cushions 
 a lady of surpassing beauty, who at the sound of the lock 
 sprang towards Fouquet. 
 
 “ Good heavens ! ” cried the latter, starting back with as- 
 tonishment. “ Madame la Marquise de Belliere ! you here 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes,” murmured the Marchioness, — “ yes ; it is I, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Marchioness ! dear marchioness ! ” added Fouquet, 
 ready to prostrate himself before her. “ My God ! how 
 did you come here ? and T, to keep you waiting ! ” 
 
 “ A long time, Monsieur ; yes, a very long time I ” 
 
 “I am happy in thinking this waiting has appeared 
 long to you, Marchioness ! ” 
 
62 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Oh, an eternity, Monsieur ! I rang more than twenty 
 times. Did you not hear me ? ” 
 
 “ Marchioness, you are pale, you are trembling.” 
 
 “ Did you not hear, then, that you were summoned ? ” 
 “ Oh, yes, I heard plainly enough, Madame ; but I 
 could not come. After your severity and your refusal, 
 how could I dream it was you % If I could have had any 
 suspicion of the happiness that awaited me, believe me, 
 Madame, I would have left everything to fall at your feet 
 as I do at this moment.” 
 
 “ Are we quite alone, Monsieur ? ” asked the Marchion- 
 ess, looking round the room. 
 
 “Oh, yes, Madame ; I can assure you of that.” 
 
 “ Really'?” said the Marchioness, in a melancholy tone. 
 “ You sigh,” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ What mysteries ! what precautions ! ” said the mar- 
 chioness, with a slight bitterness of expression; “ and how 
 evident it is that you fear the least suspicion of your 
 amours ! ” 
 
 “ Would you prefer their being made public V } 
 
 “Oh, no! you act like a considerate man,” said the 
 marchioness, smiling. 
 
 “Come, dear marchioness, punish me not with re- 
 proaches, I implore you.” 
 
 “ Reproaches ! Have I a right to make you any *? ” 
 
 “ No, unfortunately, no ; but tell me, you whom for a 
 year I have loved without return and without hope — ” 
 “You are mistaken, — without hope it is true, but not 
 without return.” 
 
 “ Oh ! for me, there is but one proof of love ; and that 
 proof I still want.” 
 
 “ I have come to bring it to you, Monsieur.” 
 
 Fouquet wished to clasp her in his arms, but she dis- 
 engaged herself with a slight movement. 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 63 
 
 “ You persist in deceiving yourself, Monsieur, and 
 never will accept from me the only thing I am willing to 
 give you, — devotion.” 
 
 “ Ah, then, you do not love me ? Devotion is but a 
 virtue ; love is a passion.” 
 
 “ Listen to me, I implore you ! I should not have come 
 hither without a serious motive ; you are well assured of 
 that, are you not h v 
 
 “ The motive is of very little consequence, so that you 
 are but here, — so that I see you, so that I speak to you ! ” 
 “ You are right ; the principal thing is that I am here 
 without any one having seen me, and that I can speak to 
 you.” 
 
 Fouquet sank on his knees before her. “ Speak ! speak, 
 Madame ! ” said he, “ I am listening.” 
 
 The marchioness looked at Fouquet, on his knees at her 
 feet ; and there was in the gaze of the woman a strange 
 mixture of love and melancholy. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” at length murmured she, “ would that I were 
 she who has the right of seeing you every minute, of 
 speaking to you every instant ! would that I were she 
 who watches over you, she who has no need of mysterious 
 springs to summon and cause to appear, like a sylph, the 
 man she loves, to gaze at him for an hour, and then see 
 him disappear in the darkness of a mystery still more 
 strange at his going out than at his coming in ! Oh, I 
 should be a happy woman ! ” 
 
 “ Do you happen, Marchioness,” said Fouquet, smiling, 
 “ to be speaking of my wife ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, certainly ; of her I spoke.” 
 
 “ Well, you need not envy her lot, Marchioness ; of all 
 the women with whom I have relations, Madame Fou- 
 quet is the one I see the least of, and who has the least 
 intercourse with me.” 
 
64 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ At least, Monsieur, she is not reduced to place, as I 
 have done, her hand upon the ornament of a mirror to 
 call you to her ; at least you do not reply to her by the 
 mysterious, frightful sound of a bell, the spring of which 
 comes from I don’t know where ; at least you have not 
 forbidden her to endeavor to discover the secret of these 
 communications under pain of breaking off forever your 
 connections with her, as you have forbidden all who have 
 come here before me, and all who shall come after me.” 
 
 “Dear Marchioness, how unjust you are, and how little 
 do you know what you are doing in thus exclaiming against 
 mystery ! It is with mystery alone we can love without 
 trouble, and it is with love without trouble alone that we 
 can be happy. But let us return to ourselves, to that devo- 
 tion of which you were speaking; or rather, Marchioness, 
 let me labor under a pleasing delusion, and believe that 
 this devotion is love.” 
 
 “ Just now,” repeated the Marchioness, passing over her 
 eyes a hand modelled upon most graceful classic lines, — 
 “just now I was prepared to speak ; my ideas were clear, 
 bold ; now I am quite confused, quite troubled. I fear I 
 bring you bad news.” 
 
 “ If it is to that bad news I owe your presence, Mar- 
 chioness, welcome be that bad news ! or rather, Marchion- 
 ess, since you allow that I am not quite indifferent to 
 you, let me hear nothing of the bad news, but speak of 
 yourself.” 
 
 “No, no! on the contrary, demand it of me; require 
 me to tell it to you instantly, and not to allow myself to 
 be turned aside by any feeling whatever. Bouquet, my 
 friend ! it is of immense importance.” 
 
 “You astonish me, Marchioness ; I will even say you al- 
 most frighten me. You, so serious, so collected ; you who 
 know the world we live in so well ! Is it then serious ? ” 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 65 
 
 “ Oh, very serious ! ” 
 
 “In the first place, how did you come here?” 
 
 “ You shall know that presently ; but first to some- 
 thing of more consequence.” 
 
 “ Speak, Marchioness, speak ! I implore you, have pity 
 on my impatience.” 
 
 “ Do you know that Colbert is made intendant of the 
 finances ? ” 
 
 “ Bah ! Colbert, little Colbert ! ” 
 
 “ Yes ; Colbert, little Colbert ! ” 
 
 “ Mazarin’s factotum ? ” 
 
 “ The same.” 
 
 “ Well ! what do you see so terrific in that, dear mar 
 chi on ess ? Little Colbert is intendant, — that is astonish- 
 ing, I confess, but it is not terrific.” 
 
 “Do you think the king has given, without a pressing 
 motive, such a place to one you call a little scullion ? ” 
 
 “ In the first place, is it positively true that the king 
 has given it to him ? ” 
 
 “ It is so said.” 
 
 “ Ay, but who says so ? ” 
 
 “ Everybody.” 
 
 “ Everybody, that ’s nobody ; mention some one likely 
 to be well informed who says so.” 
 
 “Madame Yanel.” 
 
 “Ah! now you begin to frighten me in earnest,” said 
 Fouquet, laughing. “ The fact is, that if any one is well 
 informed, or ought to be well informed, it is the person 
 you name.” 
 
 “ Do not speak ill of poor Marguerite, M. Fouquet ; for 
 she still loves you.” 
 
 “Bah ! indeed? That is scarcely credible. I thought 
 little Colbert, as you said just now, had passed over that 
 love, and left upon it a spot of ink or a stain of grease.” 
 VOL. it. — 5 
 
66 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Fouquet ! Fouquet ! is this the way you always act 
 towards the poor women you desert 'l ” 
 
 “Why, you surely are not going to undertake the 
 defence of Madame Yanel ? ” 
 
 “Yes, I will undertake it; for, I repeat, she loves you 
 still, and the proof is that she saves you.” 
 
 “ By your interposition, Marchioness ; that is cunning 
 on her part. No angel could be more agreeable to me, 
 or could lead me more certainly to salvation. But let 
 me ask you, do you know Marguerite 1 ” 
 
 “She was my friend at the convent.” 
 
 “And you say that she has informed you that M. 
 Colbert was appointed intendant'?” 
 
 “ Yes, she did.” 
 
 “ Well, enlighten me, Marchioness ; granted M. Colbert 
 is intendant, so be it. In what can an intendant — that 
 is to say, my subordinate, my clerk — give me umbrage 
 or injure me, even were he M. Colbert 1 ? ” 
 
 “You do not reflect, Monsieur, apparently,” replied the 
 marchioness. 
 
 “ Upon what ? ” 
 
 “ This, — that M. Colbert hates you.” 
 
 “ Hates me ! ” cried Fouquet. “ Good heavens ! Mar- 
 chioness, whence do you come, where can you live ? 
 Hates me ! why, all the world hates me, — he as others 
 do.” 
 
 “ He more than others.” 
 
 “ More than others *? let him.” 
 
 “ He is ambitious.” 
 
 “ Who is not, Marchioness *? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; but with him ambition has no bounds.” 
 
 “ I am quite aware of that, since he made it a point to 
 succeed me with Madame Yanel.” 
 
 “ And obtained his end ; look to that ! ” 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 67 
 
 “ Do you mean to say he has the presumption to hope 
 to pass from intendant to superintendent ? ” 
 
 “ Have you not yourself already had the same fear?” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Fouquet, “ to succeed me with Madame 
 Vanel is one thing, to succeed me with the king is an- 
 other. France is not to be purchased as easily as the wife 
 of an accountant.” 
 
 “Eh ! Monsieur, everything is to be bought; if not by 
 gold, by intrigue.” 
 
 “Nobody knows to the contrary better than you, 
 Madame, — you to whom I have offered millions.” 
 
 “ Instead of millions, Fouquet, you should have offered 
 me a true, single, and boundless love ; I might have ac- 
 cepted that. So, you see still, everything is to be bought, 
 
 — if not in one way, in another.” 
 
 “ So Colbert, in your opinion, is in a fair way to secure 
 my place of superintendent. Make yourself easy on that 
 head, my dear marchioness ; he is not yet rich enough to 
 purchase it.” 
 
 “ But if he should rob you of it ? ” 
 
 “Ah! that is another thing. Unfortunately, before 
 he can reach me, — that is to say, the body of the place, 
 
 — he must destroy, must make a breach in the outer 
 works ; and I am devilishly well fortified, Marchioness.” 
 
 “What you call your outworks are your creatures, are 
 they not, — your friends ? ” 
 
 “ Exactly so.” 
 
 “ And is M. d’Eymeris one of your creatures ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, he is.” 
 
 “ Is M. Lyodot one of your friends? ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ M. de Yanin ? ” 
 
 “ M. de Yanin ! Ah ! they may do what they like with 
 him, but — ” 
 
68 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BfcAGELONNE. 
 
 “ But — ” 
 
 “ But they must not touch the others.” 
 
 “Well, if you are anxious they should not touch 
 Messieurs d’Eymeris and Lyodot, it is time to look 
 about you.” 
 
 “ Who threatens them 1 ” 
 
 “ Will you listen to me now 1 ” 
 
 “ Forever, Marchioness.” 
 
 “ Without interrupting me 'l ” 
 
 “ Speak ! ” 
 
 “Well, this morning Marguerite sent for me.” 
 
 “ And what did she want with you h ” 
 
 “ ‘ I dare not see M. Eouquet myself/ said she.” 
 
 “ Bah ! why should she think I would reproach her 1 
 Poor woman ! she vastly deceives herself.” 
 
 “ ( See him yourself/ said she, ‘ and tell him to beware 
 of M. Colbert.’ ” 
 
 “ What ! she warned me to beware of her lover ? ” 
 
 “I have told you she still loves you.” 
 
 “ Go on, Marchioness ! ” 
 
 “ ‘ M. Colbert/ she added, ‘ came to me two hours ago, 
 to inform me he was appointed intendant.’ ” 
 
 “ I have already told you, Marchioness, that M. Colbert 
 would only be the more in my power for that.” 
 
 “ Yes, but that is not all ; Marguerite is intimate, 
 as you know, with Madame d’Eymeris and Madame 
 Lyodot.” 
 
 “ I know she is.” 
 
 “Well, M. Colbert put many questions to her relative 
 to the fortunes of those two gentlemen, and as to the 
 degree of devotion they bear you.” 
 
 “ Oh, as for those two, I can answer for them ; they 
 must be killed before they can cease to be mine.” 
 “Then, as Madame Vanel was obliged to leave M. 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 69 
 
 Colbert for an instant to receive a visitor, and as M. 
 Colbert is industrious, scarcely was the new intendant 
 left alone, before he took a pencil from his pocket, and, 
 as there was paper on the table, began to make pencil- 
 notes.” 
 
 “ Notes concerning D’Eymeris and Lyodot? ” 
 
 “ Exactly.” 
 
 “ I am curious to know what those notes were about.” 
 “ And that is just what I have brought you.” 
 
 “ Madame Yanel has taken Colbert’s notes and sent 
 them to me ? ” 
 
 “ No ; but by a chance which resembles a miracle, she 
 has a duplicate of those notes.” 
 
 “ How could she get that h ” 
 
 “ Listen ! I told you that Colbert found some paper on 
 the table.” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ That he had taken a pencil from his pocket.” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And had written upon that paper.” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Well, this pencil was a lead-pencil, consequently 
 hard ; so it marked in black upon the first sheet, and 
 left its impression upon the second.” 
 
 “ Go on ! ” 
 
 “Colbert, when tearing off the first sheet, took no 
 notice of the second.” 
 
 “ Well?” 
 
 “ Well, on the second could be read what had been writ- 
 ten on the first ; Madame Yanel read it, and sent for me.” 
 “ Ah ! ” 
 
 “ Then, when she was assured that I was your devoted 
 friend, she gave me the paper and told me the secret of 
 this house.” 
 
70 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ And this paper?” said Fouquet, with some degree 
 of agitation. 
 
 “ Here it is, Monsieur ; read it ! ” said the Marchioness. 
 
 Fouquet read : — 
 
 “ Names of the farmers of the revenue to he condemned by 
 the Chamber of Justice: JJ’Eymeris, friend of M. F.; Lyodot, 
 friend of M. F.; De Vanin, indif.” 
 
 “ D’Eymeris and Lyodot ! ” cried Fouquet, re-reading. 
 
 “ ‘Friends of M. F.,’” said the marchioness, pointing 
 at the same time to the paper. 
 
 “ But what is the meaning of these words, 6 To be con- 
 demned by the Chamber of J ustice ’ ? ” 
 
 “ That is clear enough, I think,” said the marchioness. 
 “ Besides, that is not all. Read on, read on ! ” 
 
 Fouquet continued : — 
 
 “The first two to death; the third to be dismissed, with 
 Messieurs d’Hautemont and de la Valette, whose property will 
 be confiscated.” 
 
 “Great God!” cried Fouquet, “to death, to death! 
 Lyodot and D’Eymeris ! But even if the Chamber of 
 Justice should condemn them to death, the king will 
 never ratify their condemnation, and they cannot be exe- 
 cuted without the king’s signature.” 
 
 “ The king has made M. Colbert intendant.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried Fouquet, as if he caught a glimpse of a 
 yawning abyss beneath his feet, “impossible! impossi- 
 ble ! But who passed a pencil over the marks made by 
 Colbert ? ” 
 
 “ I did. I was afraid the first would be effaced.” 
 
 “ Oh ! I will know all.” 
 
 “You will know nothing, Monsieur; you despise your 
 enemy too much for that.” 
 
M. FOUQUET’S HOUSES. 
 
 71 
 
 “ Pardon me, my dear marchioness, excuse me ; yes, 
 M. Colbert is my enemy, I believe it ; yes, M. Colbert 
 is a man to be dreaded, I admit. But I — I have time ; 
 and as you are here, as you have assured me of your 
 devotion, as you have allowed me to hope for your love, 
 as we are alone — ” 
 
 “ I came here to save you, M. Fouquet, and not to ruin 
 myself/’ said the marchioness, rising; “ therefore be- 
 ware ! — ” 
 
 “ Marchioness, in truth you alarm yourself too much ; 
 at least, unless this alarm is but a pretext — ” 
 
 “ He has a deep heart, that M. Colbert ; beware ! ” 
 
 Fouquet, in his turn, drew himself up. “ And I ? ” 
 asked he. 
 
 “ Oh ! you, — you have only a noble heart. Beware ! ” 
 
 “ So?” 
 
 “ I have done what I ought, my friend, at the risk of 
 losing my reputation. Adieu ! ” 
 
 “ Not adieu ; au revoir ! ” 
 
 “Perhaps,” said the marchioness, giving her hand to 
 Fouquet to kiss, and walking towards the door with so 
 firm a step that he did not dare to bar her passage. 
 
 As for Fouquet, he retraced, with head hanging down 
 and a cloud over his brow, the path of the subterranean 
 passage along which ran the metal wires that communi- 
 cated from one house to the other, transmitting, through 
 two mirrors, the wishes and signals of two correspondents. 
 
72 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE ABBE FOUQUET. 
 
 Fouquet hastened back to his apartment by the subter- 
 ranean passage, and immediately closed the mirror with 
 the spring. He was scarcely in his office, when he heard 
 some one knocking violently at the door, and a well-known 
 voice crying, — 
 
 “ Open the door, Monseigneur ! I entreat you open 
 the door ! ” 
 
 Fouquet quickly restored a little order to everything 
 which might reveal either his absence or his agitation ; 
 he spread his papers over the desk, took up a pen, and, to 
 gain time, said, through the closed door, “ Who are you ? ” 
 
 “What! Monseigneur, do you not know me?” replied 
 the voice. 
 
 “Yes,” said Fouquet to himself, — “yes, my friend, 
 I know you well enough.” And then aloud: “Is it not 
 Gourville ? ” 
 
 “ Why, yes, Monseigneur.” 
 
 Fouquet rose, darted a last look at one of his mirrors, 
 went to the door, pushed the bolt ; and Gourville entered. 
 
 “ Ah, Monseigneur ! Monseigneur ! ” said he, “ what 
 cruelty ! ” 
 
 “ In what ? ” 
 
 “ I have been a quarter of an hour imploring you to 
 open the door, and you would not even answer me.” 
 
 “ Once for all, you know well that I will not be dis- 
 
THE ABBE FOUQUET. 
 
 73 
 
 turbed when I am busy. Now, although I might make 
 you an exception, Gourville, I insist upon my orders be- 
 ing respected by others.* 7 
 
 “ Monseigneur, at this moment, orders, doors, bolts, 
 and walls, — I could have broken, overthrown, and split 
 them all ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! it relates to some great event, then *? ” asked 
 Fouquet. 
 
 “ Oh, I assure you it does, Monseigneur ! ” replied 
 Gourville. 
 
 “ And what is this event'?” said Fouquet, a little 
 troubled by the agitation of his most intimate confidant. 
 
 “ There is a secret Chamber of Justice instituted, 
 Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ I know there is ; but do the members meet, Gourville ] ” 
 
 “ They not only meet, but they have passed a sentence, 
 Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ A sentence ! ” said the superintendent, with a shud- 
 der and pallor which he could not conceal. “ A sen- 
 tence ! — and against whom 1 ” 
 
 “ Against two of your friends.” 
 
 “ Lyodot and D’Eymeris, do you mean 1 But what sort 
 of a sentence % ” 
 
 “ Sentence of death.” 
 
 “ Passed ] Oh, you must be mistaken, Gourville ! that 
 is impossible.” 
 
 “ Here is a copy of the sentence which the king is to 
 sign to-day, if he has not already signed it.” 
 
 Fouquet seized the paper eagerly, read it, and returned 
 it to Gourville. “ The king will never sign that,” said he. 
 
 Gourville shook his head. “ Monseigneur, M. Colbert 
 is a bold councillor; do not trust to that.” 
 
 “ M. Colbert again ! ” cried Fouquet. “ How is it that 
 that name comes upon all occasions to torment my ears, 
 
74 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 during the last two or three days ] You make so trifling 
 a subject of too much importance, Gourville. Let M. 
 Colbert appear, I will face him ; let him raise his head, 
 I will crush him ; but you understand, there must be 
 an outline upon which my look may fall, there must be 
 a surface upon which my feet may be placed.” 
 
 “ Patience, Monseigneur! for you do not know what 
 Colbert is. Study him quickly ; it is with this dark 
 financier as it is with meteors, which the eye never sees 
 completely before their disastrous rush ; when we feel 
 them we are dead.” 
 
 “ That is going too far, Gourville,” replied Fouquet, 
 smiling; “allow me, my friend, not to be so easily 
 frightened. M. Colbert a meteor! Corbleu , we confront 
 the meteor. Let us see acts, and not words. What has 
 he done h ” 
 
 “ He has ordered two gibbets of the executioner of 
 Paris,” answered Gourville, quietly. 
 
 Fouquet raised his head, and a flash seemed to strike 
 his eyes. “ Are you sure of what you say h ” cried he. 
 
 “ Here is the proof, Monseigneur ; ” and Gourville held 
 out to the superintendent a note communicated by one 
 of the secretaries of the Hotel de Ville, who was one of 
 Fouquet’s creatures. 
 
 “ Yes, that is true,” murmured the minister ; “ the 
 scaffold may be prepared, but the king has not signed. 
 Gourville, the king will not sign.” 
 
 “ I will soon know,” said Gourville. 
 
 “ How 1 ” 
 
 “ If the king has signed, the gibbets will be sent this 
 evening to the H6tel de Ville, in order to be put up and 
 ready by to-morrow morning.” 
 
 “Oh, no, no !” exclaimed Fouquet, once again; “you 
 are all deceived, and deceive me in turn. Lyodot came to 
 
THE ABBE FOUQUET. 75 
 
 see me only the day before yesterday ; only three days 
 ago I received a present of some Syracuse wine from 
 poor D’Eymeris.” 
 
 “What does that prove'?” replied Gourville, “except 
 that the Chamber of Justice has been secretly assembled, 
 has deliberated in the absence of the accused, and that 
 the whole proceeding was finished when they were 
 arrested.” 
 
 “But are they, then, arrested'?’ 7 
 
 “No doubt they are.” 
 
 “But where, when, how have they been arrested ? ” 
 
 . “ Lyodot, yesterday, at daybreak ; D’Eymeris, the day 
 before yesterday, in the evening, as he was returning 
 from the house of his mistress. Their disappearance had 
 disturbed nobody ; but M. Colbert all at once raised the 
 mask and caused the affair to be published. It is being 
 cried by sound of trumpet, at this moment, in the streets 
 of Paris ; and, in truth, Monseigneur, there is scarcely 
 anybody but yourself ignorant of the event.” 
 
 Fouquet began to walk about his chamber with an un 
 easiness that became more and more painful. 
 
 “ What do you decide upon, Monseigneur ] ” said 
 Gourville. 
 
 “ If it really were as you say, I would go to the king,” 
 exclaimed Fouquet. “But as I go to the Louvre, I will 
 pass by the Hotel de Ville. We shall see if the sentence 
 is signed.” 
 
 “ Incredulity ! thou art the pest of all great minds,” 
 said Gourville, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 “ Gourville ! ” 
 
 “ Yes,” continued he ; “ and thou ruinest them, as con- 
 tagion destroys the most robust health, — that is to say, 
 in an instant.” 
 
 “Let us go,” cried Fouquet; “open the door, Gourville!” 
 
76 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Be cautious ! ” said the latter; “ the Abbe Fouquet is 
 there.” 
 
 “ Ah, my brother ! ” replied Fouquet, in a tone of an- 
 noyance ; “he is there, is he ? He knows all the ill news, 
 then, and is delighted to bring it to me, as is his custom. 
 The devil ! if my brother is there, my affairs are bad, 
 Gourville ; why did you not tell me that sooner? I should 
 have been the more readily convinced.” 
 
 “ Monseigneur calumniates him,” said Gourville, laugh- 
 ing ; “ if he has come, it is not with a bad intention.” 
 “What! do you excuse him?” exclaimed Fouquet; 
 “ a fellow without a heart, without ideas, a devourer of 
 wealth ! ” 
 
 “ He knows you are rich.” 
 
 “ And would ruin me.” 
 
 “ No, but he would like to have your purse ; that is 
 all.” 
 
 “ Enough ! enough ! A hundred thousand crowns per 
 month, during two years. Corbleu ! it is I that pay, 
 Gourville, and I know my figures.” Gourville began to 
 laugh in a silent, sly manner. “ Yes, you mean to say 
 it is the king who pays,” said the superintendent. 
 “ Ah, Gourville, that is a vile joke ; this is not the 
 place.” 
 
 “ Monseigneur, do not be angry.” 
 
 “ Well, then, send away the Abbe Fouquet ; I have not 
 a sou.” Gourville made a step towards the door. “He 
 has been a month without seeing me,” continued Fouquet ; 
 “ why could he not be two months?” 
 
 “ Because he repents of living in bad company,” said 
 Gourville, “and prefers you to all his bandits.” 
 
 “Thanks for the preference! You make a strange 
 advocate, Gourville, to-day, — the advocate of the Abbe 
 Fouquet ! ” 
 
THE ABBE FOUQUET. 
 
 77 
 
 “ Eh ! but everything and every man has his good 
 side, — his useful side, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ The bandits whom the abbe keeps in pay and drink 
 have their useful side, have they! Prove me that, if you 
 please.” 
 
 “ Let the circumstance arise, Monseigneur, and you 
 will be very glad to have these bandits at hand.” 
 
 “ You advise me, then, to be reconciled to the abbe'?” 
 said Fouquet, ironically. 
 
 “ I advise you, Monseigneur, not to quarrel with a 
 hundred or a hundred and twenty scapegraces, who by 
 putting their rapiers end to end would form a cordon of 
 steel capable of surrounding three thousand men.” 
 
 Fouquet darted a searching glance at Gourville, and 
 passing before him, — “ That is all very well. — Let M. 
 TAbbe Fouquet be introduced,” said he to the footman. 
 “You are right, Gourville.” 
 
 Two minutes after, the abbe appeared in the doorway, 
 with profound reverences. He was a man of from forty 
 to forty -five years of age, half churchman, half soldier, — 
 a brawler grafted upon an abbe ; upon seeing that he had 
 not a sword by his side, you might be sure he had pistols. 
 Fouquet saluted him as an elder brother rather than as a 
 minister. 
 
 “What can I do to serve you, Monsieur the Abbe]” 
 said he. 
 
 “ How you speak that to me, Brother ! ” 
 
 “ I speak it like a man who is in a hurry, Monsieur.” 
 The abbe looked maliciously at Gourville, and anxiously 
 at Fouquet, and said, “ I have three hundred pistoles to pay 
 to M. de Bregi this evening, — a play debt, a sacred debt.” 
 “ And what else ] ” said Fouquet, bravely ; for he knew 
 that the Abbe Fouquet would not have disturbed him for 
 such a trifle. 
 
78 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ A thousand to my butcher, who will supply no more.” 
 
 “ What more ? ” 
 
 “ Twelve hundred to my tailor / 7 continued the abbe ; 
 “ the fellow has made me take back seven suits of my 
 peopled, which compromises my livery. And my mistress 
 talks of replacing me with a farmer of the revenue, which 
 would be a humiliation for the Church.” 
 
 “ What else is there? ” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ You will please to remark / 7 said the abbe, humbly, 
 “ that I have asked nothing for myself . 77 
 
 “ That is considerate, Monsieur / 7 replied Fouquet ; “ so, 
 as you see, I am waiting . 77 
 
 “ And I ask nothing, oh, no ! but it is not because I 
 need nothing, I assure you . 77 
 
 The minister reflected a minute. “ Twelve hundred 
 pistoles to the tailor ; that seems a great deal for clothes / 7 
 said he. 
 
 “ I maintain a hundred men / 7 said the abbe, proudly ; 
 “ that is a burden, I believe . 77 
 
 “Why a hundred men ? 77 said Fouquet. “Are you a 
 Richelieu or a Mazarin, to require a hundred men as a 
 guard? What use do you make of these hundred men? 
 Speak ! say ! 77 
 
 “ And do you ask me that ? 77 cried the Abbe Fouquet. 
 “ Ah ! how can you put such a question, — why I main- 
 tain a hundred men ? Ah ! 77 
 
 “ Why, yes, I do put that question to you. What have 
 you to do with a hundred men ? Answer ! 77 
 
 “ Ingrate ! 77 continued the abbe, more and more affected. 
 
 “ Explain yourself . 77 
 
 “ Why, Monsieur the Superintendent, I only want one 
 valet de chambre , for my part, and even if I were alone, 
 could help myself very well ; but you, — you who have so 
 many enemies, — a hundred men are not enough for me 
 
THE ABBE FOUQUET. 
 
 79 
 
 to defend you with. A hundred men ! — you ought to 
 have ten thousand. I maintain, then, all these men in 
 order that in public places, in assemblies, no voice may 
 be raised against you ; and without them, Monsieur, you 
 would be loaded with imprecations, you would be torn to 
 pieces, you would not last a week, — no, not a week ; do 
 you hear 1 ” 
 
 “ Ah ! I did not know you were my champion to such 
 an extent, Monsieur the Abbe.” 
 
 “ You doubt it ! ” cried the abbe. “ Listen, then, to 
 what happened not longer ago than yesterday in the Rue 
 de la Huchette. A man was cheapening a fowl.” 
 
 “ Well, how could that injure me, Abbe 1 ” 
 
 “ In this way. The fowl was not fat. The purchaser 
 refused to give eighteen sous for it, saying that he could 
 not afford eighteen sous for the skin of a fowl of which 
 M. Fouquet had had all the fat.” 
 
 “ Go on ! ” 
 
 “ The joke caused a deal of laughter,” continued the 
 abbe, — “ laughter at your expense, death to all the devils 1 
 and the rabble crowded around. The joker added, ‘ Give 
 me a fowl fed by M. Colbert, if you like, and I will pay 
 all you ask ; 7 and immediately there was a clapping of 
 hands. A frightful scandal, you understand, — a scandal 
 which forces a brother to hide his face.” 
 
 Fouquet colored. “ And you hid it ? ” said the super- 
 intendent. 
 
 “ No ; for it so happened I had one of my men in the 
 crowd, — a new recruit from the provinces, one M. de 
 Menneville, whom I like very much. He made his way 
 through the press, saying to the joker : ‘ By the thousand 
 beards ! Monsieur false joker, here ’s a thrust for Col- 
 bert ! ’ ‘ And one for Fouquet/ replied the joker. Upon 
 
 which they drew, in front of the cook’s shop, with a hedge 
 
80 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 of the curious round them, and five hundred as curious 
 at the windows.” 
 
 “ Well ? ” said Fouquet. 
 
 “Well, Monsieur, my Menneville spitted the joker, to 
 the great amazement of the spectators, and said to the 
 cook, ‘ Take this goose, my friend ; it is fatter than your 
 fowl/ That is the way, Monsieur,” ended the abbe, 
 triumphantly, “in which I spend my revenues; I main- 
 tain the honor of the family, Monsieur.” Fouquet hung 
 his head. “ And I have a hundred as good as he,” pur- 
 sued the abbe. 
 
 “Very well,” said Fouquet; “give your account to 
 Gourville, and remain here this evening.” 
 
 “ Shall we have supper?” 
 
 “Yes, there will be supper.” 
 
 “ But the chest is closed.” 
 
 “ Gourville will open it for you. Leave us, Monsieur 
 the Abbe, leave us.” 
 
 “ Then we are friends,” said the abbe, with a bow. 
 
 “ Oh, yes ! friends. — Come, Gourville I ” 
 
 “ Are you going out ? You will not sup, then ? ” 
 
 “ I shall be back in an hour ; never fear, Abbe.” Then, 
 aside to Gourville, “ Let them harness my English horses,” 
 said he, “ and direct the coachman to stop at the Hotel 
 de Ville de Paris.” 
 
M. DE LA FONTAINE’S WINE. 
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 m. de la fontaine’s wine. 
 
 Carriages were already bringing Fouquet’s guests to St. 
 Mande, already the whole household were animated with 
 the preparations for supper, when the superintendent 
 launched his fleet horses upon the road to Paris ; and 
 going by the quays in order to meet with fewer people 
 on his route, he reached the Hotel de Ville. It wanted 
 a quarter to eight. Fouquet alighted at the corner of 
 the Rue de Long-pont, and on foot directed his course 
 towards the Place de Greve, accompanied by Gourville. 
 At the turning into the Place, they saw a man dressed 
 in black and violet, of good mien, who was preparing to 
 get into a hired carriage, and was telling the coachman 
 to stop at Vincennes. He had before him a large hamper 
 filled with bottles, which he had just purchased at the 
 pot-house with the sign of “ L’lmage de Notre-Dame.” 
 
 “ Eh ! but that is Vatel, my steward ! ” said Fouquet 
 to Gourville. 
 
 “ Yes, Monseigneur,” replied the latter. 
 
 “ What can he have been doing at the sign of L’lmage 
 de Notre-Dame 1 ” 
 
 ‘‘Buying wine, no doubt.” 
 
 “ What ! buy wine for me at a pot-house ! ” said Fou- 
 quet. “ My cellar, then, must be in a miserable condi- 
 tion ! ” and he advanced towards the steward, who was ar- 
 ranging his bottles in the carriage with the minutest care. 
 
 “ Holloa, Vatel ! ” said he, in the voice of a master. 
 
 VOL. II. — 6 
 
82 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Take care, Monseigneur ! ” said Gourville ; “you will 
 be recognized.” 
 
 “ Well ! Of what consequence ] — Vatel ! ” 
 
 The man dressed in black and violet turned round. 
 He had a mild and good countenance, without expression, 
 — that of a mathematician, less the pride. A certain fire 
 sparkled in the eyes of this personage, a rather sly smile 
 played round his lips; but the observer might soon have 
 noticed that this fire and this smile applied to nothing, 
 enlightened nothing. Vatel laughed like an absent man, 
 and amused himself like a child. At the sound of his 
 master’s voice, he turned round, exclaiming, “ Oh ! 
 Monseigneur ! ” 
 
 “Yes, it is I. What the devil are you doing here, 
 Vatel ] Wine ! You are buying wine at a pot-house in 
 the Place de Greve ! ” 
 
 “ But, Monseigneur,” said Vatel, quietly, after having 
 darted a hostile glance at Gourville, “ why am I inter- 
 fered with here*? Is my cellar kept in bad order]” 
 
 “ No, Vatel, certainly not; but — ” 
 
 “ But what] ” replied Vatel. 
 
 Gourville touched the elbow of Fouquet. 
 
 “ Don’t be angry, Vatel; I thought my cellar — your 
 cellar — sufficiently well stocked for us to be able to dis- 
 pense with having recourse to the Image de Notre-Dame.” 
 “Eh, Monsieur,” said Vatel, sinking from Monseigneur 
 to Monsieur with a degree of disdain ; “your cellar is so 
 well stocked that when certain of your guests dine with 
 you they have nothing to drink.” 
 
 Fouquet, in great surprise, looked at Gourville, then 
 at Vatel. “ What do you mean by that ] ” 
 
 “ I mean that your butler had not wines for all tastes, 
 Monsieur; and that M. de la Fontaine, M. Pellisson, and 
 M. Conrart do not drink when they come to the house, — 
 
M. DE LA FONTAINE’S WINE. 
 
 83 
 
 those Messieurs do not like strong wine. What is to be 
 done, then h ” 
 
 “ Well, and so 1 ” 
 
 “ Well, then, I have found here a vin de Joigny , which 
 they like. I know they come once a week to drink at the 
 Image de Notre-Dame. That is the reason why I get this 
 supply.” 
 
 Fouquet had no more to say ; he was almost convinced. 
 Yatel, on his part, had much more to say, without 
 doubt ; and it was plain he w^as getting warm. “ It is 
 just as if you would reproach me, Monseigneur, for going 
 myself to the Rue Planche-Mibray to fetch the cider M. 
 Loret drinks when he comes to dine at your house.” 
 
 “ Loret drinks cider at my house ! ” exclaimed Fouquet, 
 laughing. 
 
 “ Certainly he does, Monsieur ; and that is the reason 
 why he likes to dine there.” 
 
 “ Yatel,” cried Fouquet, grasping the hand of his stew- 
 ard, “you are a man ! I thank you, Yatel, for having 
 understood that at my house M. de la Fontaine, M. Con- 
 rart, and M. Loret are as great as dukes and peers, as 
 great as princes, greater than myself. Yatel, you are a 
 good servant, and I double your salary.” 
 
 Yatel did not even thank his master ; he merely shrugged 
 his shoulders a little, murmuring this superb sentiment : 
 “ To be thanked for having done one’s duty is humiliating.” 
 “He is right,” said Gourville, as he drew Fouquet’s 
 attention, by a gesture, to another point. He showed 
 him a low-built cart, drawn by two horses, upon which 
 rocked two strong gibbets, bound together back to back 
 by chains, while an archer, seated upon the thickness of 
 the post, underwent, as well as he could, with his head 
 bent down, the comments of a hundred vagabonds, who 
 guessed the destination of the gibbets, and w r ere escorting 
 
84 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 them to the Hotel de Ville. Fouquet started. “ It is 
 decided, you see,” said Gourville. 
 
 “ But it is not done,” replied Fouquet. 
 
 “ Oh, do not delude yourself, Monseigneur ; if they 
 have thus lulled your friendship and your suspicions, — if 
 things have gone so far, you will undo nothing.” 
 
 “ But I have not ratified.” 
 
 “M. de Lyonne has ratified for you.” 
 
 “ I will go to the Louvre.” 
 
 “ Oh, no, you will not ! ” 
 
 “Would you advise such baseness?” cried Fouquet. 
 “ Would you advise me to abandon my friends ? Would 
 you advise me, while able to fight, to throw the arms I 
 have in my hand to the ground ? ’ ’ 
 
 “I do not advise you to do anything of the kind, Mon- 
 seigneur. Are you in a position to give up the post of 
 superintendent at this moment ? ” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “Well, if the king wishes to displace you — ” 
 u He will displace me absent as well as present.” 
 
 “ Yes, but you will never have insulted him.” 
 
 “ Yes, but I shall have been base. Now, I am not will- 
 ing that my friends should die ; and they shall not die ! ” 
 “ For that is it necessary you should go to the Louvre ? ” 
 “ Gourville ! ” 
 
 “ Beware ! once at the Louvre, you will be forced to 
 defend your friends openly, — that is to say, to make a pro- 
 fession of faith ; or you will be forced to abandon them 
 irrevocably.” 
 
 “ Never ! ” 
 
 “Pardon me, — the king will propose the alternative 
 to you imperatively, or else you will propose it to him 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ That is true.” 
 
M. DE LA FONTAINE’S WINE. 
 
 85 
 
 “ That is the reason why conflict must he avoided. Let 
 us Teturn to St. Mande, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ Gourville, I will not stir from this place, where the 
 crime is to be carried out, where my disgrace is to be ac- 
 complished ; I will not stir, I say, till I have found some 
 means of combating my enemies.” 
 
 “ Monseigneur,” replied Gourville, “ you would excite 
 my pity, if I did not know you to be one of the great 
 spirits of this world. You possess a hundred and fifty 
 millions ; you are equal to the king in position, and a hun- 
 dred and fifty millions his superior in money. M. Colbert 
 has not even had the wit to have the will of Mazarin ac- 
 cepted. Now, when a man is the richest person in a 
 kingdom, and will take the trouble to spend money, if 
 that be done which he does not like, it is because he is a 
 poor man. Let us return to St. Mande, I tell you.” 
 
 “To consult with Pellisson'? We will.” 
 
 “No, Monseigneur; to count your money.” 
 
 “ So be it ! ” said Fouquet, with his eyes inflamed. 
 “Yes, yes, to St. Mande!” 
 
 He got into his carriage again, and Gourville with him. 
 Upon their road, at the end of the Faubourg St. Antoine, 
 they overtook the humble equipage of Yatel, who was 
 quietly conveying his vin de Joigny. The black horses, 
 going at a swift pace, alarmed, as they passed, the timid 
 hack of the steward, who, putting his head out at the 
 window, cried, in a fright, “ Look out for my bottles ! ” 
 
86 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE GALLERY OF ST. MAND^. 
 
 Fifty persons were waiting for the superintendent. He 
 did not even take the time to place himself in the hands 
 of his valet dechambre for a minute, but from the vestibule 
 went straight into the first drawing-room. There his 
 friends were assembled in full chat. The steward was 
 waiting to order supper to be served ; but, above all, the 
 Abbe Fouquet was watching for his brother’s return, and 
 was endeavoring to do the honors of the house in his 
 absence. Upon the arrival of the superintendent, a mur- 
 mur of joy and affection was heard : Fouquet, full of 
 affability, good humor, and munificence, was beloved by 
 his poets, his artists, and his men of business. His brow, 
 upon which his little court read, as upon that of a god, 
 all the movements of his soul, and thence drew rules of 
 conduct, — his brow, upon which affairs of State never 
 impressed a wrinkle, was this evening paler than usual, 
 and more than one friendly eye remarked that paleness. 
 Fouquet placed himself at the centre of the table, and 
 presided gayly during supper. He told about Vatel’s 
 expedition to La Fontaine; he related the history of 
 Menneville and the thin fowl to Pellisson, in such a man- 
 ner that all the table heard it. A tempest of laughter 
 and jokes ensued, which was only checked by a serious 
 and even sad gesture from Pellisson. 
 
 The Abbe Fouquet, not being able to comprehend why 
 his brother should have led the conversation in that 
 
THE GALLERY OF ST. MANDE. 
 
 87 
 
 direction, listened with all his ears, and sought in the 
 countenance of Gourville, or in that of his brother, an 
 explanation which neither afforded him. 
 
 Pellisson took up the matter. “Did they mention M. 
 Colbert, then ? ” said he. 
 
 “Why not,” replied Fouquet, “if it be true, as it is 
 said to be, that the king has made him his intendant v 
 
 Scarcely had Fouquet uttered these words, pronounced 
 with a marked intention, when an explosion broke forth 
 among the guests. 
 
 “ The miser ! ” said one. 
 
 “ The mean, pitiful fellow !” said another. 
 
 “ The hypocrite ! ” said a third. 
 
 Pellisson exchanged a meaning look with Fouquet. 
 “ Messieurs,” said he, “ in truth we are abusing a man 
 whom no one knows, — that is neither charitable nor 
 reasonable ; and here is Monsieur the Superintendent, 
 who, T am sure, agrees with me.” 
 
 “Entirely,” replied Fouquet. “Let M. Colbert’s fat 
 fowls alone; our business to-day is with M. Yatel’s 
 truffled pheasants. ” 
 
 This speech dispelled the dark cloud which was be- 
 ginning to throw its shade over the guests. Gourville 
 succeeded so well in animating the poets with the vin 
 de Joigny , and the abbe, intelligent as a man who 
 stands in need of another’s gold-pieces, so enlivened the 
 financiers and men of the sword, that, amid the vapors of 
 this joy and the noise of conversation the subject of un- 
 easiness disappeared completely. The will of Cardinal 
 Mazarin was the text of the conversation at the second 
 course and dessert ; then Fouquet ordered dishes of pre- 
 served fruit and fountains of liqueurs to be carried into 
 the hall adjoining the gallery. He led the way thither, 
 conducting by the hand a lady, — the queen, by his 
 
88 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 preference, of the evening. The musicians then took 
 their supper ; and promenading in the gallery and in the 
 garden began, beneath a spring sky, amid mild and per- 
 fumed breezes. 
 
 Pellisson then approached the superintendent, and 
 said, “ Something troubles Monseigneur ? ” 
 
 “ Greatly,” replied the minister ; “ ask Gourville to tell 
 you what it is.” 
 
 Pellisson, on turning round, found La Fontaine tread- 
 ing upon his heels. He was obliged to listen to a Latin 
 verse which the poet had composed upon Yatel. La 
 Fontaine had for an hour been scanning this verse in 
 every corner, seeking some one to pour it out upon 
 advantageously. He thought he had caught Pellisson, 
 but the latter escaped him ; he turned towards Loret, 
 who had himself just composed a quatrain in honor 
 of the supper and the host. La Fontaine in vain en- 
 deavored to dispose of his verses ; Loret wanted to 
 obtain a hearing for his quatrain. He was obliged to 
 retire before M. le Comte de Chanost, whose arm Fouquet 
 had just taken. The Abbe Fouquet perceived that the 
 poet, as absent as usual, was about to follow the two 
 talkers ; and he interposed. La Fontaine seized upon 
 him, and recited his verses. The abbc, who did not know 
 Latin, nodded his head, in cadence, at every roll which 
 La Fontaine imparted to his body, according to the undu- 
 lations of the dactyls and spondees. While this was 
 going on behind the fruit-dishes, Fouquet related the 
 event of the day to his son-in-law, M. de Chanost. 
 
 “ We must send the idle and useless to look at the 
 fireworks,” said Pellisson to Gourville, “ while we converse 
 here.” 
 
 “ So be it,” said Gourville, addressing four words to 
 Yatel. 
 
THE GALLERY OF ST. MANDE. 
 
 89 
 
 The latter then led towards the gardens the greater 
 part of the beaux, the ladies, and the chatterers ; while 
 the men walked in the gallery, lighted by three hun- 
 dred wax-lights, in the sight of all the admirers of 
 fireworks, who- were running off to the garden. Gourville 
 approached Fouquet, and said, “ Monsieur, we are all 
 here.” 
 
 “AH'?” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ Yes ; count ! ” 
 
 The superintendent turned and counted ; there were 
 eight persons. Pellisson and Gourville walked arm in 
 arm, as if conversing upon indifferent subjects. Loret 
 and two officers imitated them, going in an opposite direc- 
 tion. The Abbe Fouquet walked alone. Fouquet, with 
 M. de Chanost, walked as if entirely absorbed by the con- 
 versation of his son-in-law. “ Messieurs,” said he, “let 
 no one of you raise his head as he walks, or appear to 
 pay attention to me; continue walking. We are alone; 
 listen to me ! ” 
 
 A complete silence ensued, disturbed only by the dis- 
 tant cries of the happy guests, from the groves whence 
 they beheld the fireworks. It was an odd spectacle this, 
 that of these men walking in groups, as if each one were 
 occupied about something, while lending attention really 
 to only one among them, who himself seemed to be speak- 
 ing only to his companion. 
 
 “ Messieurs,” said Fouquet, “ you have, without doubt, 
 noticed the absence of two of my friends this evening, who 
 were with us on Wednesday. For God’s sake, Abbe, do 
 not stop, — it is not necessary, to enable you to listen ; 
 walk on, carrying your head in a natural way; and as 
 you have an excellent sight, place yourself at the .open 
 window, and if any one returns towards the gallery, give 
 us notice by coughing.” The abbe obeyed. 
 
90 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I have not remarked the absent,” said Peliisson, who 
 at this moment was turning his back to Fouquet, and 
 walking the other way. 
 
 “ I do not see M. Lyodot,” said Loret, “ who pays me 
 my pension. ” 
 
 “And I,” said the abbe, at the window, “do not see 
 M. d’Eymeris, who owes me eleven hundred livres from 
 our last game at brelan.” 
 
 “ Loret,” continued Fouquet, walking bent and gloom- 
 ily, “you will never receive your pension any more from 
 Lyodot ; and you, Abbe, will never be paid your eleven 
 hundred livres by D’Eymeris : for both are about to 
 die.” 
 
 “ To die ! ” exclaimed the whole assembly, stopped, in 
 spite of themselves, in the scene they were playing, by 
 that terrible word. 
 
 “Recover yourselves, Messieurs,” said Fouquet; “for 
 perhaps we are watched : I said, to die ! ” 
 
 “ To die ! ” repeated Peliisson ; “ what ! the men I saw 
 not six days ago, full of health, gayety, and confidence ! 
 What, then, is man, good God ! that disease should thus 
 bring him down all at once] ” 
 
 “ It is not a disease,” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ Then there is a remedy,” said Loret. 
 
 “No remedy. Messieurs Lyodot and d’Eymeris are 
 on the eve of their last day.” 
 
 “ Of what are these gentlemen dying, then I” asked an 
 officer. 
 
 “Ask of him who kills them,” replied Fouquet. 
 
 “Who kills them] Are they being killed, then]” 
 cried the terrified chorus. 
 
 “ They do better still ; they are hanging them,” mur- 
 mured Fouquet, in a sinister voice, which sounded like a 
 fuileral knell in that rich gallery, splendid with pictures, 
 
THE GALLERY OF ST. MANDE. 
 
 91 
 
 flowers, velvet, and gold. Involuntarily every one stopped ; 
 the abbe left his window ; the first rockets of the fireworks 
 began to mount above the tops of the trees. A prolonged 
 shout from the gardens attracted the superintendent to 
 enjoy the spectacle. He drew near to a window, and his 
 friends placed themselves behind him, attentive to his 
 least wish. “ Messieurs, ” said he, “M. Colbert has caused 
 to be arrested, has tried, and will execute my two friends ; 
 what does it become me to do?” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” exclaimed the abbe, the first to speak ; 
 “ run M. Colbert through the body.” 
 
 “Monseigneur,” said Pellisson, “you must speak to his 
 Majesty.” 
 
 “ The king, my dear Pellisson, has signed the order for 
 the execution.” 
 
 “Well! ” said the Comte de Chanost, “the execution 
 must not take place, then ; that is all.” 
 
 “ Impossible ! ” said Gourville, “ unless we could corrupt 
 the jailers.” 
 
 “ Or the governor,” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ This night the prisoners might be allowed to escape.” 
 “ Which of you will undertake the transaction ? ” 
 
 “I,” said the abbe, “ will carry the money.” 
 
 “ And I,” said Pellisson, “ will carry the message.” 
 “Words and money,” said Fouquet: “five hundred 
 thousand livres to the governor of the conciergerie , that 
 is sufficient ; nevertheless, it shall be a million, if 
 necessary.” 
 
 “A million!” cried the abbe; “why, for less than 
 that, I would cause the half of Paris to be sacked.” 
 
 “ There must be no disorder,” said Pellisson. “ The 
 governor being won over, the two prisoners will escape ; 
 once clear of the fangs of the law, they will call to- 
 gether the enemies of Colbert, and prove to the king 
 
92 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE 
 
 that his young justice, like all other exaggerations, is 
 not infallible.” 
 
 “ Go to Paris, then, Pellisson,” said Fouquet, “ and 
 bring hither the two victims ; to-morrow we shall see. — 
 Gourville, give Pellisson the five hundred thousand 
 livres.” 
 
 “ Take care the wind does not carry you away ! ” said 
 the abbe. “ What a responsibility ! Let me help you a 
 little.” 
 
 “ Silence ! ” said Fouquet, “ somebody is coming. Ah ! 
 the fireworks are producing a magical effect.” 
 
 At this moment a shower of sparks fell rustling among 
 the branches of the neighboring trees. Pellisson and 
 Gourville went out together by the door of the gallery; 
 Fouquet descended with the others to the garden. 
 
THE EPICUREANS. 
 
 93 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE EPICUREANS. 
 
 While Fouquet was giving, or appearing to give, all his 
 attention to the brilliant illuminations, the languishing 
 music of the violins and hautboys, the sparkling sheaves 
 of fireworks, which, inflaming the heavens with glowing 
 reflections, marked behind the trees the dark profile of 
 the donjon of Vincennes, — while, we say, the superin- 
 tendent was smiling on the ladies and the poets, the fete 
 was not less gay than ordinary; and Vatel, whose rest- 
 less, even jealous, look earnestly consulted the eye of 
 Fouquet, did not appear dissatisfied with the reception 
 given to the ordering of the evening’s entertainment. 
 
 The fireworks over, the company dispersed about the 
 gardens and beneath the marble porticos, with that care- 
 less freedom which shows in the master of the house 
 such forgetfulness of greatness, courteous hospitality, and 
 magnificent unconcern. The poets wandered about, arm 
 in arm, through the groves ; some reclined upon beds of 
 moss, to the great detriment of velvet clothes and curled 
 heads, into which little dried leaves and blades of grass 
 insinuated themselves. The ladies, in small numbers, 
 listened to the songs of the singers and the verses of the 
 poets ; others listened to the prose, spoken with much 
 art, of men who were neither actors nor poets, but to 
 whom youth and solitude gave an unaccustomed eloquence, 
 which appeared to them preferable to all. 
 
 “ Why,” said La Fontaine, “ does not our master 
 
94 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Epicurus descend into the garden % Epicurus never 
 abandoned his pupils ; the master is wrong .* 7 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Conrart, “you are very wrong in per- 
 sisting to claim the name of an Epicurean ; indeed, noth- 
 ing here reminds me of the doctrine of the philosopher of 
 Gargetta.” 
 
 “Bah ! 7 7 said La Fontaine, “is it not written that 
 Epicurus purchased a large garden, and lived in it tran- 
 quilly with his friends '? 77 
 
 “ That is true . 77 
 
 “ Well, has not M. Fouquet purchased a large garden 
 at St. Mande, and do we not live here very tranquilly 
 with him and his friends *? 77 
 
 “Yes, without doubt. Unfortunately, it is neither the 
 garden nor the friends which can make the resemblance. 
 Now, what likeness is there between the doctrine of 
 Epicurus and that of M. Fouquet '? 77 
 
 “ This, — pleasure gives happiness . 77 
 
 “ Next .’ 7 
 
 “ Well, I do not think we ought to consider ourselves un- 
 fortunate, — for my part, at least. A good repast, — vin 
 de Joigny , which they have the delicacy to go and fetch 
 for me from my favorite public-house ; not one imperti- 
 nence heard during a supper of an hour long, in spite of 
 the presence of ten millionnaires and twenty poets ! 77 
 
 “ Stop there ! You mentioned vin de Joigny and a good 
 repast ; do you persist in that % 77 
 
 “ I persist, — anteco , as they say at Port Boyal . 77 
 
 “ Then please to recollect that the great Epicurus lived, 
 and made his pupils live, upon bread, vegetables, and 
 clear water . 77 
 
 “That is not certain , 77 said La Fontaine; “and you 
 may be confounding Epicurus with Pythagoras, my dear 
 Conrart . 77 
 
THE EPICUREANS. 
 
 95 
 
 “Remember, likewise, that the ancient philosopher was 
 rather a bad friend of the gods and the magistrates.” 
 
 “ Oh, I cannot admit that,” replied La Fontaine. “ Epi- 
 curus was like M. Fouquet.” 
 
 “ Do not compare him to Monsieur the Superintend- 
 ent,” said Conrart, in an agitated voice, “ or you would 
 accredit the reports which are circulated concerning him 
 and us.” 
 
 “ What reports 1 ” 
 
 “ That we are bad Frenchmen, lukewarm with regard 
 to the monarch, deaf to the law.” 
 
 “ I return, then, to my text,” said La Fontaine. “ Lis- 
 ten, Conrart ! This is the morality of Epicurus, whom, 
 besides, I consider, if I must tell you so, a myth. All 
 which touches the least upon antiquity is a myth. Jupi- 
 ter, if we give a little attention to it, is life. Alcides is 
 strength. The words are there to bear me out : 4 Zeus,’ 
 that is zen, to live ; 4 Alcides,’ that is alee , vigor. Well, 
 4 Epicurus ; ’ that is mild watchfulness, that is protection. 
 Now, who watches better over the State, or who protects 
 individuals better, than M. Fouquet'?” 
 
 “ You talk etymology, and not morality ; I say that 
 we modern Epicureans are troublesome citizens.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” exclaimed La Fontaine, “ if we become trouble- 
 some citizens, it will not be in following the maxims of 
 our master. Listen to one of his principal aphorisms, — 
 4 Wish for good leaders.’ ” 
 
 “Well?” 
 
 44 Well, what does M. Fouquet say to us every day? 
 4 When shall we be governed '? ’ Does he say so ? Come, 
 Conrart, be frank ! ” 
 
 44 He says so, certainly.” 
 
 44 Well, that is a doctrine of Epicurus.” 
 
 “ Yes; but that is a little seditious, observe.” 
 
96 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “How? — seditious to wish to be governed by good 
 leaders ? ” 
 
 “Certainly, when those who govern are bad.” 
 
 “ Patience ! I have a reply for all.” 
 
 “ Even for that I have just said to you ? ” 
 
 “ Listen ! ‘ Would you submit to those who govern ill ? 9 
 Oh ! it is written : Cacos politeuousi. You grant me the 
 text?” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! I think so. Do you know that you speak 
 Greek as well as JEsop did, my dear La Fontaine ? ” 
 “Is there any wickedness in that, my dear Conrart?” 
 “God forbid ! ” 
 
 “ Then let us return to M. Fouquet. What did he 
 repeat to us all daylong? Was it not this: ‘What a 
 vulgar pedant is that Mazarin ! what an ass ! what a 
 leech ! We must, however, submit to the fellow ! 5 Now, 
 Conrart, did he say so, or did he not ? ” 
 
 “ I confess that he said it, and even perhaps too 
 often.” 
 
 “ Like Epicurus, my friend, still like Epicurus. I repeat, 
 we are Epicureans; and that is very amusing.” 
 
 “Yes; but I am afraid there will rise up, by the side 
 of us, a sect like that of Epictetus. You know him well, 
 — the philosopher of Hieropolis, — he who called bread 
 luxury, vegetables prodigality, and clear water drunken- 
 ness ; he who being beaten by his master, said to him, 
 grumbling a little it is true, but without being very 
 angry, ‘ I will lay a wager you have broken my leg ! ’ 
 and he won his wager.” 
 
 “ He was a gosling, that Epictetus ! ” 
 
 “ Granted ; but he might easily become the fashion b}^ 
 only changing his name into that of Colbert.” 
 
 “Bah!” replied La Fontaine, “that is impossible; 
 never will you find Colbert in Epictetus.” 
 
THE EPICUREANS. 
 
 97 
 
 “ You are right ; I shall find — Coluber [serpent] there, 
 at the most.” 
 
 “ Ah! you are beaten, Conrart ; you are reduced to a 
 ,play upon words. M. Arnault pretends that I have no 
 logic ; I have more than M. FTicolle.” 
 
 “ Yes,” retorted Conrart ; “ you have logic, but you are 
 a Jansenist.” 
 
 This argument was hailed by an immense shout of 
 laughter. By degrees the promenaders had been attracted 
 by the exclamations of the two quibblers around the arbor 
 under which they were arguing. All the discussion had 
 been listened to with religious silence ; and Fouquet him- 
 self, scarcely able to suppress his laughter, had given an 
 example of moderation. But the denouement of the scene 
 threw off all restraint ; he laughed aloud. Everybody 
 laughed as he did, and the two philosophers received 
 unanimous felicitations. La Fontaine, however, was de- 
 clared conqueror, on account of his profound erudition 
 and his irrefragable logic. Conrart obtained the compen- 
 sation due to an unsuccessful combatant, — he was 
 praised for the loyalty of his intentions and the purity 
 of his conscience. 
 
 At the moment when this mirth was manifesting itself 
 by the most lively demonstrations, — at the moment when 
 the ladies were reproaching the two adversaries with not 
 having admitted women into the system of Epicurean 
 happiness, — Gourville was seen hastening from the other 
 end of the garden, approaching Fouquet, who surveyed 
 him anxiously, and detaching him, by his presence alone, 
 from the group. The superintendent preserved upon his 
 face the smile and the expression of unconcern ; but as 
 soon as they had withdrawn from view he threw off the 
 mask. “Well/’ said he, eagerly, “where is Pellisson? 
 What is he doing?” 
 
 VOL. II. —7 
 
98 
 
 THE VICOMTE 1)E BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Pellisson has returned from Paris.” 
 
 “ Has he brought back the prisoners 'l ” 
 
 “He has not even seen the concierge of the prison.” 
 
 “ What ! did he not tell him he came from me ? ” 
 
 “ He told him so ; but the concierge sent him this reply : 
 ‘ If any one came to me from M. Fouquet, he would have a 
 letter from M. Fouquet.’ ” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried the latter, “ if a letter is all he wants — ” 
 “ Never, Monsieur,” said Pellisson, showing himself 
 at the corner of the little wood, “ never ! Go yourself, 
 and speak in your own name.” 
 
 “You are right. I will go into the house, as if to work ; 
 let the horses remain harnessed, Pellisson. Entertain my 
 friends, Gourville.” 
 
 “ One last word of advice, Monseigneur,” replied the 
 latter. 
 
 “ Speak, Gourville ! ” 
 
 “ Do not go to the concierge but at the last minute ; it 
 is brave, but it is not wise. Excuse me, M. Pellisson, if 
 I am not of the same opinion as you ; but believe me, 
 Monseigneur, send again a message to this concierge , — 
 he is a worthy man, — but do not carry it yourself.” 
 
 “I will think of it,” said Fouquet; “besides, we have 
 the whole night before us.” 
 
 “ Do not reckon too much upon time ; were the time 
 we have double what it is, it would not be too much,” 
 replied Pellisson. “ It is never a fault to arrive too soon.” 
 “ Adieu ! ” said the superintendent. “ Come with me, 
 Pellisson ! Gourville, I commend my guests to your 
 care ; ” and he set off. The Epicureans did not perceive 
 that the head of the school had disappeared 5 the violins 
 continued playing all night. 
 
A QUARTER OF AN HOUR’S DELAY. 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A QUARTER OF AN HOUR’S DELAY. 
 
 Fouquet, on leaving his house for the second time that 
 day, felt less heavy and less disturbed than might 
 have been expected. He turned towards Pellisson, who 
 w T as gravely meditating in the corner of the carriage 
 some good arguments against the violent proceedings of 
 Colbert. 
 
 “ My dear Pellisson, ” said Fouquet, “ it is a great pity 
 you are not a woman.” 
 
 “I think, on the contrary, it is very fortunate,” re- 
 plied Pellisson; “for, Monseigneur, I am excessively 
 ugly.” 
 
 “ Pellisson ! Pellisson ! ” said the superintendent, laugh- 
 ing, “ you repeat so often that you are ugly, that you may 
 lead people to believe it gives you much pain.” 
 
 In fact it does, Monseigneur, much. There is no man 
 more unfortunate than I. I was handsome ; the small- 
 pox rendered me hideous ; I am deprived of a great 
 means of seduction. Now I am your chief clerk, or some- 
 thing of that sort. I take great interest in your affairs ; 
 and if at this moment I were a pretty woman, I could 
 render you an important service.” 
 
 “ What h ” 
 
 “ I would go and find the concierge of the Palais. 
 I would seduce him, — for he is a gallant man, extrava- 
 gantly fond of women ; then I would get away our two 
 prisoners.” 
 
100 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I hope to be able to do so myself, although I am not 
 a pretty woman,” replied Fouquet. 
 
 “ Granted, Monseigneur ; but you are compromising 
 yourself greatly.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” cried Fouquet, suddenly, with one of those 
 secret transports which the generous blood of youth or 
 the remembrance of some sweet emotion infuses into the 
 heart, — “ oh ! I know a woman who will enact the per- 
 sonage we stand in need of with the lieutenant-governor 
 of the conciergerie .” 
 
 “ And on my part I know fifty, Monseigneur, — fifty 
 trumpets, who will inform the universe of your gener- 
 osity, of your devotion to your friends, and consequently 
 will ruin you sooner or later while ruining themselves.” 
 
 “ I do not speak of such women, Pellisson. I speak of 
 a noble and beautiful creature who joins to the intelli- 
 gence and wit of her sex the worth and coolness of 
 ours ; I speak of a woman handsome enough to make the 
 walls of a prison bow down to salute her, of a woman 
 discreet enough to let no one suspect by whom she has 
 been sent.” 
 
 “ A treasure!” said Pellisson; “you would make a 
 famous present to Monsieur the governor of the concier- 
 gerie ! Peste ! Monseigneur, he might have his head cut 
 off, — that might happen ; but he would, before dying, have 
 had such happiness as man never enjoyed before him.” 
 
 “And I add,” said Fouquet, “that the concierge of 
 the Palais would not have his head cut off ; for he would 
 receive of me my horses to effect his escape, and five 
 hundred thousand livres wherewith to live comfortably in 
 England. I add that this woman, my friend, would give 
 him nothing but the horses and the money. Let us go 
 and seek this woman, Pellisson.” 
 
 The superintendent reached forth his hand towards the 
 
A QUARTER OF AN HOUR’S DELAY. 
 
 101 
 
 gold and silken cord placed inside his carriage, but Pellis- 
 son stopped him. “ Monseigneur,” said he, “ you are 
 going to lose as much time in seeking this woman as Co- 
 lumbus took to discover the new world. Now, we have 
 but two hours in which we can possibly succeed ; the 
 concierge once gone to bed, how shall we get at him with- 
 out making a disturbance ? When daylight dawns, how 
 can we conceal our proceedings ? Go, Monseigneur, go 
 yourself, and do not seek either woman or angel to-night.” 
 
 “ But, my dear Pellisson, here we are before her door.” 
 
 “ What ! before the angel’s door ? ” 
 
 “ Why, yes.” 
 
 “ This is the hotel of Madame de Belliere ! ” 
 
 “ Hush ! ” 
 
 “ Ah ! Good Lord ! ” exclaimed Pellisson. 
 
 “ What have you to say against her'?” demanded 
 Fouquet. 
 
 “ Nothing, alas ! and it is that which makes me de- 
 spair. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Why can I not, on 
 the contrary, say ill enough of her to prevent your going 
 to her?” 
 
 But Fouquet had already given orders to stop, and the 
 carriage was motionless. “ Prevent me ! ” cried Fouquet ; 
 “ why, no power on earth should prevent my going to 
 pay my compliments to Madame de Plessis-Belliere ; be- 
 sides, who knows that we shall not stand in need of her ? 
 Will you go in with me ? ” 
 
 “ No, Monseigneur, no ! ” 
 
 “ But I do not wish you to wait for me, Pellisson,” re- 
 plied Fouquet, with sincere courtesy. 
 
 “ The greater reason why I should, Monseigneur ; 
 knowing that you are keeping me waiting, you will per- 
 haps stay a shorter time. Take care ! You see there is 
 a carriage in the courtyard ; she has some one with her.” 
 
102 
 
 THE Vf COMTE DE BHAGELONNE. 
 
 Fouquet leaned towards the step of the carriage. “ One 
 word more/’ cried Pellisson ; “ do not go to this lady till 
 you have been to the conciergerie , for heaven’s sake ! ” 
 
 “Eh ! five minutes, Pellisson,” replied Fouquet, alight- 
 ing at the steps of the hotel, leaving Pellisson in the car- 
 riage in a very ill humor. 
 
 Fouquet ran upstairs, told his name to the footman, 
 which excited an eagerness and a respect that showed the 
 habit the mistress of the house had of honoring that name 
 in her family. 
 
 “ Monsieur the Superintendent,” exclaimed the mar- 
 chioness, advancing, very pale, to meet him ; “ what an 
 honor ! what an unexpected pleasure ! ” said she. Then 
 in a low voice, “ Take care ! Marguerite Vanel is 
 here ! ” 
 
 “ Madame,” replied Fouquet, rather agitated, “I came 
 upon business. One single word, in haste, if you please ! ” 
 and he entered the salon. 
 
 Madame Yanel had risen, more pale, more livid, than 
 Envy herself. Fouquet in vain addressed her with the 
 most agreeable, most pacific salutation ; she only replied 
 by a terrible glance darted at the marchioness and 
 Fouquet. This keen glance of a jealous woman is a 
 stiletto which pierces every cuirass ; Marguerite Yanel 
 plunged it straight into the hearts of the two confidants. 
 She made a courtesy to her friend , a more profound one 
 to Fouquet, and took leave, under pretence of having a 
 great number of visits to make, without the marchioness, 
 or M. Fouquet, each a prey to anxiety, trying to prevent 
 her. She was scarcely out of the room, and Fouquet left 
 alone with the marchioness, when he threw himself on 
 his knees without saying a word. 
 
 “ I expected you,” said the marchioness, with a tender 
 sigh. 
 
A QUARTER OF AN HOUR’S DELAY. 
 
 103 
 
 “ Oh, no/’ cried he, “ or you would have sent away 
 that woman.” 
 
 “ She has been here scarcely a quarter of an hbur, and 
 I had no suspicion she would come this evening.” 
 
 “ You do love me a little, then, Marchioness'? ” 
 
 “ That is not the question now, Monsieur ; it is of your 
 danger. How are your affairs going on?” 
 
 “ I am going this evening to get my friends out of the 
 Palais prisons.” 
 
 “ How will you do that ?” 
 
 “By buying and seducing the governor.” 
 
 “ He is a friend of mine ; can I assist you without 
 injuring you?” 
 
 “ Oh, Marchioness, it would be a signal service ; but 
 how can you be employed without being compromised ? 
 Now, never shall my life, my power, or even my liberty 
 be purchased at the expense of a single tear from your 
 eyes, or of a single pain to your heart ! ” 
 
 “ Monseigneur, speak no more such words ! They bewil- 
 der me. I am culpable in having wished to serve you 
 without foreseeing how far my advances might lead. I 
 love you, in reality, as a tender friend, and as a friend 
 I am grateful for your delicate attentions ; but, alas ! 
 alas ! you will never find a mistress in me.” 
 
 “Marchioness!” cried Fouquet, in a tone of despair, 
 “ why not ? ” 
 
 " Because you are too much beloved,” said the young 
 woman, in a low voice ; “ because you are too much 
 beloved by too many people ; because the splendor of 
 glory and fortune wound my eyes, while the darkness of 
 sorrow attracts them ; because, in short, I, who have re- 
 pulsed you in your proud magnificence, — I, who scarcely 
 looked at you in your splendor, — I came, like a mad 
 woman, to throw myself as it were into your arms, when 
 
104 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 I saw a misfortune hovering over your head. You un- 
 derstand me nowq Monseigneur'? Become happy again, 
 that I may again become chaste in heart and in thought. 
 Your misfortunes w T ould ruin me! ” 
 
 “Oh, Madame,” said Fouquet, with an emotion he 
 had never before felt, “ w^ere I to fall to the last degree 
 of human misery, and should I hear from your mouth 
 that w r ord which you now refuse me, that day, Madame, 
 you will be mistaken in your noble egotism ; that day 
 you will fancy you are consoling the most unfortunate of 
 men, and you will have said I love you to the most illus- 
 trious, the most delighted, the most triumphant of the 
 happy beings of this world.” 
 
 He was still at her feet, kissing her hand, when Pellis- 
 son entered precipitately, exclaiming, in very ill humor, 
 “ Monseigneur ! Madame ! for heaven’s sake ! excuse me. 
 Monseigneur, you have been here half an hour. Oh, do 
 not both look at me so reproachfully ! Madame, pray 
 who is that lady who left your house soon after Mon- 
 seigneur came in ] ” 
 
 “Madame Vanel,” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ There ! ” cried Pellisson, “ I w T as sure of it.” 
 
 “Well! what then*” 
 
 “ Why, she got into her carriage looking deadly 
 pale.” 
 
 “ Of what consequence is that to me 1 ” 
 
 “Yes; but what she said to her coachman is of conse- 
 quence to you.” 
 
 “ Oh, heavens ! ” cried the marchioness, “ what was 
 that ? ” 
 
 “ ‘ To M. Colbert’s ’ ! ” said Pellisson, in a hoarse voice. 
 “ Good heavens ! go, Monseigneur, go ! ” replied the 
 marchioness, pushing Fouquet out of the salon, while 
 Pellisson dragged him by the hand. 
 
A QUARTER OF AN HOUR’S DELAY. 
 
 105 
 
 “Ami, then, indeed,” said the superintendent, “ be- 
 come a child, to be frightened by a shadow 1 ” 
 
 “You are a giant,” said the marchioness, “ whom a 
 viper is endeavoring to bite on the heel.” 
 
 Pellisson continued to drag Fouquet on to the carriage. 
 
 “To the Palais at full speed ! ” cried Pellisson to the 
 coachman. 
 
 The horses set off like lightning ; no obstacle retarded 
 their pace for an instant. Only at the Arcade St. Jean, 
 as they were coming out upon the Place de Greve, a long 
 file of horsemen, barring the narrow passage, stopped the 
 superintendent’s carriage. There was no means of forcing 
 this barrier ; it was necessary to wait till the mounted 
 archers of the watch — for it was they who stopped the 
 way — had passed with the heavy carriage they were 
 escorting, and which ascended rapidly towards the Place 
 Baudoyer. Fouquet and Pellisson took no further ac- 
 count of this circumstance beyond deploring the minute’s 
 delay they had to submit to. They entered the lodge of 
 the concierge of the palace five minutes after. 
 
 That officer was still walking about in the front court. 
 At the name of Fouquet, whispered in his ear by Pellisson, 
 the governor eagerly approached the carriage, and, hat in 
 hand, was profuse in his obeisances. “ What an honor 
 for me, Monseigneur ! ” said he. 
 
 “ One word, Monsieur the Governor ! Will you take the 
 trouble to get into my carriage ! i ” The officer placed him- 
 self opposite Fouquet in the coach. “Monsieur;” said 
 Fouquet, “ I have a service to ask of you.” 
 
 “Speak, Monseigneur!” 
 
 “A service which will compromise you, Monsieur, but 
 which will assure to you forever my protection and my 
 friendship.” 
 
 “Were it to cast myself into the fire for you, Mon- 
 seigneur, I would doit.” 
 
106 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Well,” said Fouquet, “what I require is much more 
 simple.” 
 
 “That being so, Monseigneur, what is it?” 
 
 “To conduct me to the chamber of Messieurs Lyodot 
 and d’Eymeris.” 
 
 “ Will Monseigneur have the kindness to say for what 
 purpose ? ” 
 
 “ I will tell you in their presence, Monsieur, at the 
 same time that I will give you ample means of palliating 
 this escape.” 
 
 “ Escape ! W 7 hy, then, Monseigneur does not know ? ” 
 
 “ What ? ” 
 
 “ That Messieurs Lyodot and d’Eymeris are no longer 
 here. ” 
 
 “Since when? ” cried Fouquet, in great agitation. 
 
 “ About a quarter of an hour.” 
 
 “Whither have they gone, then?” 
 
 “To Vincennes, — to the donjon.” 
 
 “ Who took them from here ? ” 
 
 “ An order from the king.” 
 
 “ Oh ! woe ! woe ! ” exclaimed Fouquet, striking his 
 forehead ; and without saying a single word more to the 
 governor, he threw himself back in his carriage, despair 
 in his heart and death on his countenance. 
 
 “Well!” said Pellisson, with great anxiety. 
 
 “Our friends are lost. Colbert is conveying them to 
 the donjon. It was they who crossed our passage un- 
 der the Arcade St. Jean.” 
 
 Pellisson, struck as with a thunderbolt, made no reply. 
 With a single reproach he would have killed his master. 
 
 “Where is Monseigneur going?” inquired the footman. 
 
 “ Home, to Paris. — You, Pellisson, return to St. Mande, 
 and bring the Abbe Fouquet to me within an hour. Go ! ” 
 
FLAN OF BATTLE. 
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PLAN OF BATTLE. 
 
 The night was already far advanced when the Abbe 
 Fouquet joined his brother. Gourville had accompanied 
 him. These three men, pale with apprehension, resem- 
 bled less three powers of that period than three con- 
 spirators, united by one and the same thought of 
 violence. 
 
 Fouquet walked back and forth for a long time, with his 
 eyes fixed upon the floor, striking his hands one against 
 the other. At length, taking courage, in the midst of 
 a deep, long sigh, “Abbe,” said he, “you were speaking 
 to me, only to-day, of certain people you maintain V' 
 “Yes, Monsieur,” replied the abbe. 
 
 “ Tell me precisely who these people are.” The abbe 
 hesitated. “ Come ! no fear, I am not threatening ; no 
 romancing, I am not joking.” 
 
 “ Since you demand the truth, Monseigneur, here it is : 
 I have a hundred and twenty friends, or companions of 
 pleasure, who are devoted to me as the thief is to the 
 gallows.” 
 
 “ And you think you can depend upon them ? ” 
 
 “ Entirely.” 
 
 “ And you will not compromise yourself 1 ” 
 
 “ I will not even make my appearance.” 
 
 “ And are they men of resolution 1 ” 
 
 “ They would burn Paris, if I promised them they should 
 not be burned in turn.” 
 
108 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ The thing I ask of you, Abbe,” said Fouquet, wiping 
 the sweat which fell from his brow, “ is to throw your 
 hundred and twenty men upon the people I will point out 
 to you, at a certain appointed moment. Is it possible 1 ” 
 
 “ It will not be the first time such a thing has happened 
 to them, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “ That is well ; but would these bandits attack an 
 armed force ? ” 
 
 “ They are used to that.” 
 
 “ Then get your hundred and twenty men together, 
 Abbe.” 
 
 “ Directly. But where ? ” 
 
 “ On the road to Yincennes, to-morrow, at two o’clock, 
 precisely.” 
 
 “ To carry off Lyodot and D’Eymeris? There will be 
 blows to receive ! ” 
 
 “ A number, no doubt ; are you afraid ? ” 
 
 “Not for myself, but for you.” 
 
 “Your men will know, then, what they have to do?” 
 
 “ They are too intelligent not to guess it. Now r , a 
 minister who gets up a riot against his king exposes 
 himself — ” 
 
 “ Of what importance is that to you, if I pay for it ? 
 Besides, if I fall, you fall with me.” 
 
 “ It would then be more prudent, Monsieur, not to 
 stir in the affair, and leave the king to take this little 
 satisfaction.” 
 
 “ Think well of this, Abbe. Lyodot and D’Eymeris at 
 Yincennes are a prelude of ruin for my house. I repeat 
 it, — I arrested, you will be imprisoned ; I imprisoned, 
 you will be exiled.” 
 
 “Monsieur, I am at your orders ; have you any to give 
 me?” 
 
 “ What I told you, — I wish that, to-morrow, the two 
 
PLAN OF BATTLE. 
 
 109 
 
 financiers of whom they mean to make victims while 
 there remain so many criminals unpunished, should be 
 snatched from the fury of my enemies. Take your meas- 
 ures accordingly. Is it possible ? ” 
 
 “ It is possible.” 
 
 “ Describe your plan.” 
 
 “ It is of rich simplicity. The ordinary guard at exe* 
 cutions consists of twelve archers.’’ 
 
 “ There will be a hundred to-morrow.” 
 
 “I reckon so. I even say more, — there will be two 
 hundred.” 
 
 “ Then your hundred and twenty men will not be 
 enough.” 
 
 “ Pardon me. In every crowd composed of a hundred 
 thousand spectators, there are ten thousand bandits or 
 cutpurses; only, they dare not take the initiative.” 
 “Well?” 
 
 “ There will then be, to-morrow, on the Place de Greve, 
 which I choose as my battle-field, ten thousand auxilia- 
 ries to my hundred and twenty men. The attack began 
 by the latter, the others will finish it.” 
 
 “ That all appears feasible ; but what will be done 
 with regard to the prisoners upon the Place de Greve ? ” 
 
 “ This : they must be thrust into some house on the 
 Place, — that will make a siege necessary to get them out 
 again. And stop ! here is another idea, more sublime 
 still : some houses have two exits — one upon the Place, 
 and the other into the Rue de la Mortellerie, or de la 
 Vannerie, or de la Tixeranderie. The prisoners, entering 
 by one door, will go out at another.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but fix upon something positive.” 
 
 “ I am seeking to do so.” 
 
 “ And I,” exclaimed Fouquet, — “I have found it. Lis- 
 ten to what has occurred to me at this moment.” 
 
110 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I am listening.* 1 
 
 Fouquet made a sign to Gourville, who appeared to un- 
 derstand. “ One of my friends lends me sometimes the 
 keys of a house which he rents, in the Eue Baudoyer, the 
 spacious gardens of which extend behind a certain house 
 of the Place de Greve.” 
 
 “ That is the place for us,” said the abbe. “What 
 house 1 ” 
 
 “ A pot-house, pretty well frequented, whose sign rep- 
 resents the image of Notre-Dame.” 
 
 “ I know it,” said the abbe. 
 
 “ This pot-house has windows opening upon the Place, 
 a place of exit into the court, which must abut upon the 
 gardens of my friend by a door of communication.” 
 
 “ Good ! ” said the abbe. 
 
 “ Enter by the pot-house ; take the prisoners in ; defend 
 the door while you enable them to escape by the garden 
 and the Place Baudoyer.” 
 
 “ That is all plain. Monsieur, you would make an ex- 
 cellent general, like the prince.” 
 
 “ Have you understood me ? ” 
 
 “ Perfectly.” 
 
 “How much will it take to make your bandits all 
 drunk with wine, and to satisfy them with gold 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur, what an expression ! Oh, Monsieur, if 
 they heard you ! Some of them are very susceptible.” 
 
 “ I mean to say they must be made no longer to know 
 the heavens from the earth : for I shall to-morrow con- 
 tend with the king ; and when I fight I mean to conquer, 
 — please to understand.” 
 
 “ It shall be done, Monsieur. Give me your other 
 ideas.” 
 
 “ The rest is your business.” 
 
 “ Then give me your purse.” 
 
PLAN OF BATTLE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 “ Gourville, count out a hundred thousand livres for 
 the abbe ! ” 
 
 “ Good ! and do not be at all sparing, did you not say 'l ” 
 “You are right/ ’ 
 
 “ So much the better.” 
 
 “Monseigneur,” objected Gourville, “if this should be 
 known, we should lose our heads.” 
 
 “ Eh ! Gourville,” replied Fouquet, purple with anger, 
 “ you excite my pity. Speak for yourself, if you please. 
 My head does not shake in that manner upon my shoul- 
 ders. Now, Abbe, is everything arranged 1 ” 
 
 “ Everything.” 
 
 “ At two o’clock to-morrow.” 
 
 “ At twelve, because it will be necessary to prepare our 
 auxiliaries in a secret manner.” 
 
 “ That is true ; do not spare the innkeeper’s wine.” 
 
 “ I will spare neither his wine nor his house,” replied 
 the abbe, with a sneering laugh. “ I have my plan, I 
 tell you ; leave me to set it in operation, and you shall 
 see.” 
 
 “Where shall you be yourselH” 
 
 “ Everywhere ; nowhere.” 
 
 “ And how shall I receive information 1 ” 
 
 “ By a courier, whose horse shall be kept in the very 
 garden of your friend. By the way, the name of your 
 friend 1 ” 
 
 Fouquet looked again at Gourville. The latter came 
 to the aid of his master, saying, “Accompany Monsieur 
 the Abbe for several reasons. However, the house is 
 easily found, — the ‘ Image de Notre-Dame ’ in the front ; 
 a garden, the only one in the quarter, behind.” 
 
 “ Good ! good ! I will go and give notice to my soldiers.” 
 “Accompany him, Gourville,” said Fouquet, “and 
 count him down the money ! One moment, Abbe, — one 
 
112 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 moment, Gourville, — what name will be given to this 
 carrying off? ” 
 
 “ A very natural one, Monsieur, — the riot.” 
 
 “The riot on account of what? For if ever the people 
 of Paris are disposed to pay their court to the king, it is 
 when he hangs financiers.” 
 
 “ I will manage that,” said the abbe. 
 
 “Yes; but you may manage it badly, and people will 
 guess.” 
 
 “ Not at all, not at all. I have another idea.” 
 
 “What is that?” 
 
 “ My men shall cry out, ‘ Colbert ! vive Colbert!’ and 
 shall throw themselves upon the prisoners as if they 
 would tear them in pieces, and shall drag them from the 
 gibbets, as too mild a punishment.” 
 
 “ Ah, that is truly an idea ! ” said Gourville. “ Peste ! 
 Monsieur the Abbe, what an imagination you have ! ” 
 “Monsieur, we are worthy of our family,” returned 
 the abbe, proudly. 
 
 “ Strange fellow ! ” murmured Fouquet. Then he added : 
 “ That is ingenious. Carry it out, but shed no blood.” 
 Gourville and the abbe went off together, with their 
 heads full of the meditated riot. The superintendent lay 
 down upon some cushions, partly thinking over the sinis- 
 ter projects of the morrow, partly dreaming of love. 
 
THE POT-HOUSE, 
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE POT-HOUSE OF THE IMAGE DE NOTRE-DAME. 
 
 At two o’clock the next day fifty thousand spectators 
 had taken their position upon the Place around the two 
 gibbets which had been elevated between the Quai de la 
 Greve and the Quai Pelletier, — one close to the other, 
 with their backs to the parapet of the river. In the 
 morning, also, all the sworn criers of the good city of 
 Paris had traversed the quarters of the city, particularly 
 the markets and the outskirts, announcing with their 
 hoarse and untiring voices the great justice to be done 
 by the king upon two peculators, two thieves, devourers 
 of the people. And these people, whose interests were 
 so warmly looked after, in order not to fail in respect to 
 their king, left shops, stalls, and workrooms, to go and 
 evince a little gratitude to Louis XIV., — for all the world 
 like invited guests who fear to commit an incivility in 
 not repairing to the house of him who invited them. 
 According to the tenor of the sentence, which the criers 
 read loudly and badly, two farmers of the revenues, mo- 
 nopolizers of money, wasters of the royal funds, extor- 
 tioners and forgers, were about to undergo capital punish- 
 ment on the Place de Greve, “ with their names placed 
 over their heads.” As to those names, the sentence 
 made no mention of them. The curiosity of the Parisians 
 was at its height ; and, as we have said, an immense crowd 
 awaited with feverish impatience the hour fixed for the ex- 
 ecution. The news had already spread that the prisoners, 
 
 VOL. II. — 8 
 
J ! 1 THE VICO'MTE DE BEAGELONNE. 
 
 transferred to the Chateau of Vincennes, would be con- 
 ducted from that prison to the Place de Greve. Con- 
 sequently the Faubourg and the Rue St. Antoine were 
 crowded ; for the population of Paris in those days of 
 great executions was divided into two classes, — those 
 who came to see the condemned pass by (these were 
 timid and mild hearts, but curious in philosophy), and 
 those who wished to see the condemned die (these were 
 hearts eager for emotion). 
 
 On this day M. d’Artagnan, having received his last in- 
 structions from the king and made his adieus to his friends, 
 the number of whom was at the moment reduced to Plan- 
 chet, was planning out his day’s work, like a man who 
 counts his minutes and appreciates their importance. 
 
 “ My departure is to be,” said he, “ at break of day, 
 three o’clock in the morning. I have, then, fifteen hours 
 before me. Take from them the six hours of sleep which 
 are indispensable for me, — six ; one hour for meals, — 
 seven ; one hour for a farewell visit to Athos, — eight ; 
 two hours for chance circumstances, — total, ten. There 
 are then five hours left. One hour to get my money, — 
 that is, to have it refused me by M. Fouquet; another 
 hour to go and receive my money of M. Colbert, together 
 with his questions and grimaces ; one hour to look over 
 my clothes and my arms, and get my boots oiled. I 
 have still two hours left. Mordioux ! how rich I am ! ” 
 And so saying, D'Artagnan felt a strange joy — a joy of 
 youth, a perfume of those great and happy years of 
 former times — mount to his brain and intoxicate him. 
 “ During those two hours I will go,” said the musketeer, 
 “ and collect my quarter’s rent of the Image de Notre- 
 Dame. That will be pleasant ! Three hundred and 
 seventy-five livres ! Mordioux ! but that is astonishing ! 
 If the poor man who has but one livre in his pocket, 
 
THE POT-HOUSE. 
 
 115 
 
 found a livre and twelve deniers, that would be justice, 
 that would be excellent ; but to the poor man such a 
 windfall does not come. The rich man, on the contrary, 
 makes himself revenues with his money, which he does 
 not touch. Here are three hundred and seventy-five 
 livres which fall to me from heaven. I will go, then, to 
 the Image de Notre-Dame, and drink a glass of Spanish 
 wine with my tenant, which he cannot fail to offer me. 
 But order must be observed, M. d’Artagnan, — order must 
 be observed ! Let us organize our time, therefore, and 
 distribute the employment of it : Art. 1, Athos; i\.rt. 2, 
 the Image de Notre-Dame; Art. 3, M. Fouquet; Art. 4, 
 M. Colbert ; Art. 5, supper ; Art. 6, clothes, boots, horse, 
 portmanteau ; Art. 7 and last, sleep.” 
 
 In accordance with this programme, D’Artagnan then 
 went straight to the Comte de la Fere, to whom modestly 
 and ingenuously he related a part of his fortunate adven- 
 tures. Athos had not been without uneasiness on the 
 subject of D’Artagnan’s visit to the king ; but a few words 
 sufficed as an explanation of that. Athos divined that 
 Louis had charged D’Artagnan with some important 
 mission, and did not even make an effort to draw the 
 secret from him. He only recommended him to take 
 care of himself, and offered discreetly to accompany him, 
 if that were desirable. 
 
 “ But, my dear friend,” said D’Artagnan, “ I am going 
 nowhere.” 
 
 “ What ! you come to bid me adieu, and are going 
 nowhere ? ” 
 
 “ Oh ! yes, yes,” replied D’Artagnan, coloring a little, 
 “ I am going to make a purchase.” 
 
 “ That is quite another thing. Then I change my 
 formula. Instead of 4 Do not get yourself killed,’ I will 
 say, ‘ Do not get yourself robbed.’ ” 
 
116 
 
 THE VrCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ My friend, I will inform you if I cast my eye upon 
 any property that pleases me, and I shall expect you to 
 favor me with your opinion.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes,” said Athos, too delicate to permit himself 
 even the consolation of a smile. Raoul imitated the 
 paternal reserve. But D’Artagnan thought it would 
 appear too mysterious to leave his friends under a pre- 
 tence, without even telling them the route he was about 
 to take. 
 
 “ I have chosen Le Mans,” said he to Athos. “ Is it 
 a good country % ” 
 
 “ Excellent, my friend,” replied the count, without call- 
 ing to his notice that Le Mans was in the same direction 
 as La Touraine, and that by waiting two days at most, 
 he might travel with a friend. But D’Artagnan, more 
 embarrassed than the count, sank, at every explanation, 
 deeper into the mud, into which he fell by degrees. “ I 
 shall set out to-morrow at daybreak,” said he, at last. 
 “Till that time, will you come with me, Raoul 1” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur the Chevalier,” said the young man, 
 “if Monsieur the Count does not want me.” 
 
 “ No, Raoul ; I am to have an audience to-day of 
 Monsieur, the king’s brother.” 
 
 Raoul asked Grimaud for his sword, which the old man 
 brought him immediately. 
 
 “ Now, then,” added D’Artagnan, opening his arms to 
 Athos, “ adieu, my dear friend ! ” Athos held him in a 
 long embrace ; and the musketeer, who knew his discre- 
 tion so well, murmured in his ear, “ An affair of State,” 
 to which Athos only replied by a pressure of the hand, 
 still more significant. They then separated. 
 
 Raoul took the arm of his old friend, who led him along 
 the Rue St. Honore. “ T am conducting you to the abode 
 of the god Plutus,” said D’Artagnan to the young man ; 
 
THE POT-HOUSE. 
 
 117 
 
 “ prepare yourself. All day long you will witness the 
 piling up of crowns. Good God ! how am I changed ! ” 
 
 “ What numbers of people there are in the street ! ” 
 said Raoul. 
 
 “Is there a procession to-day?” inquired D’Artagnan 
 of a lounger. 
 
 “ Monsieur, it is a hanging,” replied the passer-by. 
 
 “ What ! a hanging at the Greve ? ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Devil take the rogue who gets himself hung the day 
 I want to go and collect my rent ! ” exclaimed D’Artagnan. 
 “ Raoul, did you ever see anybody hung ?” 
 
 “Never, Monsieur, thank God I” 
 
 “Oh, how young that sounds ! If you were on guard 
 in the trenches, as I was, and a spy — But, look you, 
 Raoul, pardon me, I am doting, — you are quite right ; 
 it is a hideous sight to see a person hung ! At what hour 
 do they hang, Monsieur, if you please ? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied the stranger, respectfully, delighted 
 at joining conversation with two men of the sword, “ it 
 will take place about three o’clock.” 
 
 “ It is now only half-past one ; let us lengthen our steps. 
 We shall be there in time to collect my three hundred and 
 seventy-five livres, and get away before the arrival of the 
 malefactor.” 
 
 “ Malefactors, Monsieur,” continued the citizen ; “ there 
 are two of them.” 
 
 “ Monsieur, I thank you very much,” said D’Artagnan, 
 who, as he grew older, had become polite to the last degree. 
 
 Drawing Raoul along, he directed his course rapidly 
 in the direction of La Greve. Without that great ex- 
 perience which musketeers have of a crowd, to which 
 were joined an irresistible strength of wrist and an un- 
 common suppleness of shoulders, our two travellers would 
 
118 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 not have arrived at their destination. They followed the 
 line of the quay, which they had reached on leaving the 
 Rue St. Honore, where they had taken leave of Athos. 
 D’Artagnan went first ; his elbow, his wrist, his shoulder, 
 formed three wedges which he knew how to insinuate with 
 skill into the groups, to make them split and separate like 
 pieces of wood. He often made use of the hilt of his sword 
 as an additional help : introducing it between ribs that 
 were too rebellious, making it take the part of a lever 
 or crowbar, to separate husband from wife, uncle from 
 nephew, and brother from brother. And all this was 
 done so naturally, and with such gracious smiles, that 
 people must have had ribs of bronze not to cry, “ Thank 
 you ! ” when the hilt played about them ; or hearts of ada- 
 mant not to be enchanted when the bland smile beamed 
 upon the lips of the musketeer. Raoul, following his 
 friend, cajoled the women, who admired his beauty ; 
 pushed back the men, who felt the rigidity of his muscles ; 
 and both made their way, thanks to these manoeuvres, 
 among the rather compact mass of the populace. 
 
 They arrived in sight of the two gibbets, from which 
 Raoul turned away his eyes in disgust. As for D’Ar- 
 tagnan, he did not even see them : his house, with its 
 serrated gable, its windows crowded with the curious, 
 attracted and even absorbed all the attention he was 
 capable of. He distinguished, in the Place and around 
 the houses, a large number of musketeers on leave, who, 
 some with women, others with friends, awaited the mo- 
 ment of the ceremony. What rejoiced him above all was 
 to see that his tenant, the innkeeper, was so busy he did 
 not know which way to turn. Three lads could not sup- 
 ply the drinkers. They filled the shop, the chambers, 
 and the court even. 
 
 D’Artagnan called Raoul’s attention to this concourse, 
 
THE POT-HOUSE. 
 
 119 
 
 adding : “ The fellow will have no excuse for not paying 
 his rent. Look at those drinkers, Raoul ; one would say 
 they were jolly companions. Mordioux l why, there is no 
 room anywhere ! ” D’Artagnan, however, contrived to 
 catch hold of the master by the corner of his apron, and 
 to make himself known to him. 
 
 “ Ah, Monsieur the Chevalier ! ” said the innkeeper, 
 half distracted, “ one minute, if you please ; I have here 
 a hundred madmen turning my cellar upside down.” 
 
 “ The cellar, if you like, but not the money-box.” 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur, your thirty-seven and a half pistoles 
 are all counted out ready for you, upstairs in my cham- 
 ber ; but there are in that chamber thirty customers, who 
 are sucking the staves of a little barrel of Oporto which I 
 tapped for them this morning. Give me a minute, — only 
 a minute ! ” 
 
 “Very well, very well.” 
 
 ‘T am going,” said Raoul, in a low voice, to D’Ar- 
 tagnan ; “ this hilarity is vile ! ” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied D’Artagnan, sternly, “ you will 
 please to remain where you are. The soldier ought to 
 familiarize himself with all kinds of spectacles. There 
 are in the eye, when it is young, fibres which we must 
 learn how to harden ; and we are not truly generous and 
 good but from the moment when the eye has become 
 hardened and the heart remains tender. Besides, my 
 little Raoul, would you leave me alone here 1 That 
 would be very unkind in you. Look ! there is yonder, in 
 the lower court, a tree, and under the shade of that tree 
 we shall breathe more freely than in this hot atmosphere 
 of spilt wine.” 
 
 From the spot on which they had placed themselves, 
 the two new guests of the Image de Notre-Dame heard 
 the ever-increasing murmurs of the tide of people, and 
 
120 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 lost neither a shout nor a gesture of the drinkers at tables 
 in the drinking-room or scattered through the chambers. 
 If D’Artagnan had wished to place himself as a scout for 
 a reconnoissance, he could not have succeeded better. 
 The tree under which he and Raoul were seated covered 
 them with its already thick foliage; it was a low, thick 
 chestnut-tree, with drooping branches, which cast their 
 shade over a table so broken that the drinkers had aban- 
 doned it. We said that from this post D’Artagnan saw 
 everything. He observed the goings and comings of the 
 waiters ; the arrival of fresh drinkers ; the welcome, some- 
 times friendly, sometimes hostile, given to certain new- 
 comers by certain others that were installed there. He 
 observed all this to amuse himself, for the thirty-seven 
 and a half pistoles were a long time coming. Raoul re- 
 called his attention to it. “ Monsieur,” said he, “ you do 
 not hurry your tenant, and the condemned will soon be 
 here. There will then be such a press, we shall not be 
 able to get out.” 
 
 “ You are right,” said the musketeer. — “ Holloa ! some- 
 body there ! Mordioux ! ” But it was in vain he shouted 
 and knocked upon the wreck of the table, which fell to 
 pieces beneath his fist; nobody came. 
 
 D’Artagnan was preparing to go and find the innkeeper 
 himself, to force him to a definite explanation, when the 
 door of the court in which he was with Raoul, a door 
 which communicated with the garden situated at the 
 back, opened, creaking painfully on its rusted hinges, and 
 a man dressed as a cavalier, with his sword in the sheath 
 but not at his belt, came out of the garden, crossed the 
 court without closing the door, and having cast a glance 
 at D’Artagnan and his companion, proceeded towards the 
 tavern itself, looking about in all directions, with eyes 
 capable of piercing walls or consciences. “ Humph ! ” 
 
THE POT-HOUSE. 
 
 121 
 
 said D’Artagnan, “my tenants are consulting. That, 
 no doubt, now, is some amateur in matters of hanging.” 
 At the same moment the shouts and uproar of the drink- 
 ers in the upper chambers ceased. Silence, under such 
 circumstances, surprises more than a twofold increase of 
 noise. D’Artagnan wished to see what was the cause of 
 this sudden silence. He then perceived that this man, 
 dressed as a cavalier, had just entered the principal 
 chamber, and was haranguing the tipplers, who all lis- 
 tened to him ,with the greatest attention. D’Artagnan 
 would perhaps have heard his speech but for the over- 
 powering noise of the popular clamors, which made a 
 formidable accompaniment to the harangue of the orator. 
 But it was soon finished ; and all the people the house 
 contained came out, one after the other, in little groups, 
 so that there remained only six in the chamber. One 
 of these six, the man with the sword, took the inn- 
 keeper aside, engaging him in conversation more or less 
 serious ; while the others lit a great fire in the chimney- 
 place, — a circumstance rendered strange by the fine 
 weather and the heat. 
 
 “It is very singular,” said D’Artagnan to Raoul, “but 
 I think I know those faces yonder.” 
 
 “ Don’t you think you can smell the smoke here ? ” said 
 Raoul. 
 
 a I rather think I can smell a conspiracy,” replied 
 UArtagnan. 
 
 He had not finished speaking, when four of these men 
 came down into the court, and without the appearance 
 of any bad design mounted guard at the door of com- 
 munication, casting at intervals glances at D’Artagnan, 
 which signified many things. 
 
 “ Mordioux I ” said D’Artagnan, in a low voice, “ there 
 is something going on. Are you curious, Raoul ? ” 
 
122 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ According to the subject, Chevalier.” 
 
 “Well, I am as curious as an old woman. Come a 
 little more in front ; we shall get a better view of the 
 place. I would lay a wager that view will be somewhat 
 interesting.” 
 
 “ But you know, Monsieur the Chevalier, that I am not 
 willing to become a passive and indifferent spectator of 
 the death of the two poor fellows.” 
 
 “ And I, then ! — do you think I am a savage 1 We 
 will go in again when it is time to do so. Come along ! ” 
 And they made their way towards the front of the house, 
 and placed themselves near the window, which, still more 
 strange than anything else, remained unoccupied. 
 
 The last two drinkers, instead of looking out at this 
 window, kept up the fire. On seeing D’Artagnan and 
 his friend enter, “ Ah ! ah ! a reinforcement,” murmured 
 they. 
 
 D’Artagnan jogged Raoul’s elbow. “ Yes, my braves, 
 a reinforcement,” said he. “ Cordieu ! there is a famous 
 fire. Whom are you going to cook 1 ” 
 
 The two men uttered a shout of jovial laughter, and 
 instead of answering, threw on more wood. D’Artagnan 
 could not take his eyes off them. 
 
 “ I suppose,” said one of the fire-makers, “ they sent 
 you to tell us the time, — did they not r l ” 
 
 “ Certainly,” said D’Artagnan, anxious to know what 
 was going on ; “ why should I be here else, if it were not 
 for that h ” 
 
 “ Then place yourself at the window, if you please, and 
 watch.” 
 
 D’Artagnan smiled under his mustache, made a sign to 
 Raoul, and stationed himself complacently at the window. 
 
VIVE COLBERT ! 
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 VIVE COLBERT ! 
 
 The spectacle which the Greve now presented was a 
 frightful one. The heads, levelled by the perspective, 
 extended afar, thick and agitated as the ears of corn in a 
 vast plain. From time to time a fresh report or a dis- 
 tant rumor made the heads oscillate and thousands of 
 eyes flash. Now and then there were great movements. 
 All those ears of corn bent, and became waves more agi- 
 tated than those of the ocean, which rolled from the ex- 
 tremities to the centre, and beat, like the tides, against 
 the hedge of archers who surrounded the gibbets. Then 
 the handles of the halberds were let fall upon the heads 
 and shoulders of the rash invaders ; at times, also, it was 
 the steel as well as the wood, and in that case a large 
 empty circle was formed around the guard, — a space won 
 at the expense of the extremities, which underwent in 
 their turn the compression of the sudden movement, 
 which drove them against the parapets of the Seine. 
 From the window, which commanded a view of the whole 
 Place, D’Artagnan saw, with inward satisfaction, that 
 such of the musketeers and guards as found themselves 
 involved in the crowd were able, with blows of their fists 
 and the hilts of their swords, to keep room. He even no- 
 ticed that they had succeeded, by that esprit de corps 
 which doubles the strength of the soldier, in getting to- 
 gether in one group to the amount of about fifty men ; and 
 that, with the exception of a dozen stragglers whom he still 
 saw rolling about here and there, the nucleus was com- 
 
124 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 plete, and within reach of his voice. But it was not the 
 musketeers and guards only that drew the attention of 
 D’Artagnan. Around the gibbets, and particularly at the 
 entrances to the Arcade of St. Jean, moved a noisy mass, a 
 busy mass ; daring faces, resolute demeanors, were to be 
 seen here and there, mingled with silly faces and indifferent 
 demeanors ; signals were interchanged, hands given and 
 taken. D’Artagnan remarked among the groups, and 
 those groups the most animated, the face of the cavalier 
 whom he had seen enter by the door of communication 
 from his garden, and who had gone upstairs to harangue 
 the drinkers. That man was organizing squads and giv- 
 ing orders. “ Mordioux ! ” said D’Artagnan to himself, 
 “ I was not deceived ; I know that man, — it is Menne- 
 ville. What the devil is he doing here 1 ” 
 
 A distant murmur, which became more distinct by de- 
 grees, put an end to this reflection, and drew his attention 
 another way. This murmur was occasioned by the arri- 
 val of the culprits ; a strong picket of archers preceded 
 them, and appeared at the angle of the arcade. The 
 entire crowd now joined as if in one cry ; all the cries, 
 united, formed one immense howl. D’Artagnan saw Raoul 
 turning pale, and he slapped him roughly on the shoul- 
 der. The fire-keepers turned round on hearing the great 
 cry, and asked what was going on. 
 
 “ The condemned have arrived,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ That is well,” replied they, again replenishing the fire. 
 
 D’Artagnan looked at them with much uneasiness ; it 
 was evident that those men who were making such a 
 fire for no apparent purpose had some strange intentions. 
 The condemned appeared upon the Place. They were 
 walking, the executioner before them, while fifty archers 
 formed a hedge on their right and their left. Both were 
 dressed in black ; they appeared pale but firm. They 
 
VIVE COLBERT ! 
 
 125 
 
 looked impatiently over the peopled heads, standing on 
 tiptoe at every step. 
 
 D’Artagnan noticed this. “ Mordioux ! 99 said he, “ they 
 are in a great hurry to get a sight of the gibbet ! ” 
 
 Kaoul drew back, without, however, having the power 
 to leave the window. Terror even has its attractions. 
 
 “ To the death ! to the death ! ” cried fifty thousand 
 voices. 
 
 “ Yes, to the death ! 99 howled a hundred others, as if 
 the great mass had furnished them the response. 
 
 “ To the halter ! to the halter ! ” cried the great whole ; 
 “ Vive le Roi ! 99 
 
 “Well,” said D’Artagnan, “this is droll; I thought it 
 was M. Colbert who had caused them to be hung.” 
 
 There was at this moment a great rolling movement 
 in the crowd, which stopped for a moment the march of 
 the condemned. The men of bold and resolute mien 
 whom D’Artagnan had observed, by dint of pressing, 
 pushing, and lifting themselves up, had succeeded in al- 
 most touching the hedge of archers. The cortege resumed 
 its march. All at once, to cries of “ Vive Colbert ! 99 those 
 men, of whom D’Artagnan never lost sight, fell upon 
 the escort, which in vain endeavored to stand against 
 them. Behind these men was the crowd. Then began, 
 amid a frightful tumult, as frightful a confusion. This 
 time there was something more than cries of expectation 
 or cries of mirth ; there were cries of pain. Halberds 
 struck men down, swords ran them through, muskets 
 were discharged at them. The turmoil then became so 
 great that D’Artagnan could no longer distinguish any- 
 thing. Then from this chaos suddenly surged something 
 like a visible intention, like a purpose formed. The con- 
 demned had been torn from the hands of the guards, and 
 were being dragged towards the house of the Image de 
 
126 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Notre-Dame. Those who dragged them shouted u Vive 
 Colbert ! ” The people hesitated, not knowing which 
 they ought to fall upon, the archers or the aggressors. 
 What stopped the people was, that those who cried 
 “ Vive Colbert ! ” began to cry, at the same time, u No 
 halter! down with the gibbet! to the fire ! to the fire! 
 burn the thieves ! burn the extortioners ! ” This cry, 
 shouted as with one voice, was enthusiastically received. 
 The populace had come to witness an execution, and here 
 was an opportunity offered them of performing one them- 
 selves. This would of course be more agreeable to the 
 populace ; therefore they ranged themselves immediately 
 on the side of the aggressors against the archers, crying 
 with the minority, which had become, thanks to them, 
 the most compact majority : “Yes, yes; to the fire with 
 the thieves ! Vive Colbert ! ” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! v exclaimed D’Artagnan, “ this begins to 
 look serious.” 
 
 One of the men who remained near the chimney ap- 
 proached the window, a firebrand in his hand. “Ah ! ” 
 * said he, “ it is getting warm.” Then, turning to his 
 companion, “ There is the signal,” added he; and he im- 
 mediately applied the burning brand to the wainscoting. 
 
 Now, this tavern of the Image de Notre-Dame was not 
 a very newly built house, and therefore the fire did not 
 require much coaxing. In a second the boards began to 
 crackle, and the flames arose sparkling to the ceiling. A 
 howling from without replied to the shouts of the incendi- 
 aries. D’Artagnan, who had seen nothing of this, having 
 been looking out upon the Place, felt, at the same time, 
 the smoke which choked him and the fire which scorched 
 him. “Holloa!” cried he, turning round, “is the fire 
 here? Are you drunk or mad, my masters?” 
 
 The two men looked at each other with an air of aston- 
 
VIVE COLBERT ! 
 
 127 
 
 ishment. “ Why,” asked they of D’Artagnan, “ was it 
 not a thing agreed upon]” 
 
 “ A thing agreed upon that you should burn my house ! ” 
 vociferated D’Artagnan, snatching the brand from the 
 hand of the incendiary, and striking him with it across 
 the face. The second wanted to come to the assistance 
 of his comrade ; but Raoul, seizing him by the middle, 
 threw him out of the window, while D’Artagnan pushed 
 his man down the stairs. Raoul, first disengaged, tore 
 the burning wainscoting down, and threw it smoking out 
 of the chamber. At a glance D’Artagnan saw there was 
 nothing to be feared from the fire, and sprang to the 
 window. 
 
 The disorder was at its height. The air was filled 
 with simultaneous cries of “ To the fire ! ” “To the 
 death ! ” “ To the halter ! ” “ To the stake ! ” “ Vive 
 Colbert !” “ Vive le Roi!” The group which had forced 
 the culprits from the hands of the archers had drawn 
 close to the house, which appeared to be the goal towards 
 which they were dragging them. Menneville was at the 
 head of this group, shouting louder than any one, “ To 
 the fire ! to the fire ! Vive Colbert ! ” 
 
 D’Artagnan began to comprehend. They wanted to 
 burn the condemned, and his house was to serve as a 
 funeral pile. “ Halt there ! ” cried he, sword in hand, 
 and one foot upon the window-sill. “Menneville, what 
 do you want to do ? ” 
 
 “M. d’Artagnan ! ” cried the latter; “give way, give 
 way ! 99 
 
 “ To the fire ! to the fire w T ith the thieves ! Vive Col» 
 bert ! ” yelled the crowd. 
 
 These cries exasperated D’Artagnan. “ Mordioux ! 99 
 said he. “ What ! burn the poor devils who are only 
 condemned to be hung! that is infamous!” 
 
128 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Before the door, however, the mass of anxious specta- 
 tors, rolled back against the walls, had become thicker 
 and closed up the way. Menneville and his men, who 
 were dragging along the culprits, were within ten paces 
 of the door. 
 
 Menneville made a last effort. “ Make way ! make 
 way ! ” cried he, pistol in hand. 
 
 “ Burn them ! burn them ! ” repeated the crowd. “ The 
 Image de Notre-Dame is on fire! Burn the thieves! 
 burn the monopolists in the Image de Notre-Dame ! ” 
 
 There now remained no doubt ; it was plainly D’Ar- 
 tagnan’s house that was their object. D’Artagnan re- 
 membered the old cry, always so effective from his 
 mouth. “ To me, Musketeers ! ” shouted he, with the 
 voice of a giant, with one of those voices which predomi- 
 nate over cannon, the sea, the tempest; “To me, Mus- 
 keteers ! ” And suspending himself by the arm from the 
 balcony, he allowed himself to drop in the middle of the 
 crowd, which began to draw back from a house that 
 rained men. Raoul was on the ground as soon as he, 
 both with sword in hand. All the musketeers on the Place 
 heard that mustering cry ; all turned at that cry and 
 recognized D’Artagnan. “ To the captain, to the cap- 
 tain ! ” shouted they, in their turn ; and the crowd 
 opened before them as if before the prow of a vessel. 
 
 At that moment D’Artagnan and Menneville found 
 themselves face to face. 
 
 “Make way! make way!” cried Menneville, seeing 
 that he was within an arm’s length of the door. 
 
 “No one passes here,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Take that, then !” said Menneville, firing his pistol, 
 almost within touch. But before the cock had dropped, 
 D’Artagnan had struck up Menneville’s arm with the hilt 
 of his sword, and passed the blade through his body. 
 
VIVE COLBERT ! 
 
 129 
 
 “ I told you plainly to keep yourself quiet/’ said D’Ar- 
 tagnan to Menneville, who rolled at his feet. 
 
 “ Make way ! make way ! ” cried the companions of 
 Menneville, at first terrified, but soon recovering, when 
 they perceived they had to do with only two men. But 
 those two men are hundred-armed giants; the sword flies 
 about in their hands like the flaming brand of the arch- 
 angel. It pierces with its point, strikes with its back, 
 cuts with its edge ; every stroke brings down its man. 
 
 “For the king!” cried D’Artagnan, to every man he 
 struck at, — that is to say, to every man that fell. 
 
 “For the king ! ” repeated Raoul. 
 
 This cry became the watchword for the musketeers, 
 who, guided by it, joined D’Artagnan. During this time 
 the archers, recovering from the panic they had under- 
 gone, charge the aggressors in the rear, and, regular as 
 mill-strokes, overturn or knock down all that oppose them. 
 The crowd, which sees swords gleaming and drops of 
 blood flying in the air, — the crowd falls back, and crushes 
 itself. At length cries for mercy and of despair resound ; 
 that is the farewell of the vanquished. The two con- 
 demned men are again in the hands of the archers. 
 
 D’Artagnan approaches them, and seeing them pale 
 and sinking, “ Console yourselves, poor men ! ” said he ; 
 “you will not undergo the frightful torture with which 
 these wretches threatened you. The king has condemned 
 you to be hung, — you shall only be hung. Go on, hang 
 them, and it will all be over.” 
 
 There is no longer anything going on at the Image de 
 Notre-Dame. The fire has been extinguished with two 
 tuns of wine in default of water. The conspirators have 
 fled by the garden. The archers are dragging the cul- 
 prits to the gibbets. 
 
 From this moment the affair did not occupy much 
 
 VOL. II. — 9 
 
130 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 time. The executioner, heedless about operating ac- 
 cording to the rules of art, made such haste that he 
 despatched the two wretches in one minute. 
 
 In the mean time the people gathered around D’Ar- 
 tagnan. They congratulated, they cheered him. He wiped 
 his brow, streaming with sweat, and his sword, streaming 
 with blood. He shrugged his shoulders at seeing Men- 
 neville writhing at his feet in the last convulsions ; and 
 while Raoul turned away his eyes in compassion, he 
 pointed out to the musketeers the gibbets laden with 
 their melancholy fruit. “ Poor devils ! ” said he, “ I hope 
 they died blessing me, for I saved them narrowly.” 
 These words caught the ear of Menneville just as he was 
 breathing his last sigh. A dark, ironical smile flitted 
 across his lips ; he wished to reply, but the effort hastened 
 the snapping of the cord of life, — he expired. 
 
 “ Oh, all this is frightful ! 99 murmured Raoul ; “ let us 
 go, Monsieur the Chevalier.” 
 
 “ You are not wounded? ” asked D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Not at all ; thank you.” 
 
 “ That is well ! Thou art a brave fellow, mordioux ! 
 The head of the father, and the arm of Porthos ! Ah ! 
 if he had been here, that Porthos, you would have seen 
 something worth looking at.” 
 
 Then, as if by way of remembrance, “ But where the 
 devil can that brave Porthos be ? ” murmured D’Ar- 
 tagnan. 
 
 “Come, Chevalier, pray come! ” urged Raoul. 
 
 “ One minute, my friend ; let me take my thirty-seven 
 and a half pistoles, and I shall be at your service. The 
 house is a good property,” added D’Artagnan, as he en- 
 tered the Image de Notre-Dame ; “ but decidedty, even 
 if it were less profitable, I should prefer its being in 
 another quarter.” 
 
THE DIAMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS. 
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 HOW THE DIAMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS PASSED INTO THE 
 HANDS OF M. D’ARTAGNAN. 
 
 While this violent and bloody scene was passing on the 
 Greve, several men, barricaded behind the gate of com- 
 munication with the garden, replaced their swords in 
 their sheaths, assisted one among them to mount a ready- 
 saddled horse which was waiting in the garden, and, like 
 a flock of frightened birds, fled away in all directions, 
 some climbing the walls, others rushing out at the gates, 
 with all the fury of a panic. He who mounted the horse, 
 and who gave him the spur so sharply that the animal 
 was near leaping the wall, — this cavalier, we say, crossed 
 the Place Baudoyer, passed like lightning before the 
 crowd in the streets, riding against, running over, and 
 knocking down all that came in his way, and, ten min- 
 utes after, arrived at the house of the superintendent, 
 even more out of breath than his horse. 
 
 The Abbe Fouquet, at the clatter of the hoofs on the 
 pavement, appeared at a window of the court, and before 
 even the cavalier had set foot to the ground, “Well, 
 Danicampl” he inquired, leaning half out at the window. 
 “ Well, it is all over,” replied the cavalier. 
 
 “ All over ! ” cried the abbe ; “ then they are saved 1 ” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur,” replied the cavalier, “ they are hanged.” 
 “ Hanged ! ” repeated the abbe, turning pale. A side 
 door suddenly opened, and Fouquet appeared in the 
 chamber, pale, distracted ,, with lips half opened, groaning 
 
132 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 with grief and anger. He stopped upon the threshold to 
 listen to what was addressed from the court to the window. 
 
 “ Miserable wretches ! ” said the abbe, “you did not 
 fight, thenl” 
 
 “ Like lions.” 
 
 “ Say like cowards.” 
 
 “ Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ A hundred men accustomed to war, sword in hand, 
 are worth ten thousand archers in a surprise. Where is 
 Menneville, that boaster, that braggart, who was to return 
 conqueror or die 1 ” 
 
 “ Well, Monsieur, he has kept his word ; he is dead ! ” 
 “ Dead ! Who killed him 1 ” 
 
 “ A demon disguised as a man, a giant armed with ten 
 flaming swords, a madman, who at one blow extinguished 
 the fire, extinguished the riot, and caused a hundred mus- 
 keteers to rise up out of the pavement of the Place de 
 Greve.” 
 
 Fouquet raised his brow, streaming with sweat, mur- 
 muring, “ Oh ! Lyodot and D’Eymeris ! dead ! dead ! 
 dead ! and I dishonored ! ” 
 
 The abbe turned round, and perceiving his brother 
 crushed and livid, “ Come, come,” said he, “ it is a blow 
 of fate, Monsieur ; we must not lament thus. If we have 
 not succeeded, it is because God — 99 
 
 “ Be silent, Abbe ! be silent ! ” cried Fouquet ; u yout 
 excuses are blasphemies. Order that man up here, and 
 let him relate the details of this horrible event.” 
 
 “ But, Brother — ” 
 
 “ Obey, Monsieur ! ” 
 
 The abbe made a sign, and in half a minute the step 
 of the man was heard upon the stairs. At the same time 
 Gourville appeared behind Fouquet, like the guardian 
 angel of the superintendent, pressing one finger upon his 
 
THE DIAMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS. 
 
 133 
 
 lips to enjoin circumspection even amid the burst of his 
 grief. The minister resumed all the serenity that human 
 strength could leave at the disposal of a heart half broken 
 with sorrow. Danicamp appeared. 
 
 “ Make your report/’ said Gourville. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied the messenger, “we received or- 
 ders to carry off the prisoners, and to cry ‘ Vive Colbert ! ’ 
 while carrying them off.” 
 
 “ To burn them alive, was it not, Abbe 'l ” interrupted 
 Gourville. 
 
 “ Yes, yes ; the order was given to Menneville. Menne- 
 ville knew what was to be done, and Menneville is dead.” 
 This news appeared rather to reassure Gourville than to 
 sadden him. 
 
 “ To burn them alive % ” repeated the messenger, as if 
 he doubted whether that order — the only one that had 
 been given him, moreover — could have been real. 
 
 “ Yes, certainly, to burn them alive,” said the abbe, 
 roughly. 
 
 “ Granted, Monsieur, granted ! ” said the man, looking 
 into the eyes and the faces of his two interlocutors, to 
 ascertain what there was profitable or disadvantageous to 
 himself in telling the truth. 
 
 “ Now proceed,” said Gourville. 
 
 “ The prisoners,” continued Danicamp, “ were brought 
 to the Greve ; and the people, in a fury, insisted upon 
 their being burnt instead of being hanged.” 
 
 “ And the people were right,” said the abbe. “ Go on ! ” 
 
 “But,” resumed the man, “at the moment the archers 
 were broken, at the moment the fire was set to one of 
 the houses of the Place, destined to serve as a funeral-pile 
 for the guilty, the fury, the demon, the giant of whom I 
 told you, and who, we have been informed, was the pro- 
 prietor of the house in question, aided by a young man 
 
134 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 who accompanied him, threw out of the window those 
 who kept up the fire, called to his assistance^ the muske- 
 teers who were in the crowd, leaped himself from the 
 window of the first story into the Place, and plied his 
 sword so desperately that the victory was restored to the 
 archers, the prisoners were retaken, and Menneville 
 killed. When once recaptured, the condemned were ex- 
 ecuted in three minutes.” 
 
 Fouquet, in spite of his self-command, could not pre- 
 vent a deep groan from escaping him. 
 
 “ And this man, the proprietor of the house, what is 
 his name 1 ” said the abbe. 
 
 “I cannot tell you, not having been able to get sight 
 of him ; my post had been assigned me in the garden, 
 and I remained at my post ; only, the affair was related 
 to me as I repeat it. I was ordered, when once the 
 thing was ended, to come at best speed and announce to 
 you how the affair turned out. According to this order, 
 I set out at full gallop, and here I am.” 
 
 “ Very well, Monsieur, we have nothing else to ask of 
 you,” said the abbe, more and more dejected, in propor- 
 tion as the moment approached for finding himself alone 
 with his brother. 
 
 “ Have you been paid % ” demanded Gourville. 
 
 “ Partly, Monsieur,” replied Danicamp. 
 
 “ Here are twenty pistoles. Be off, Monsieur, and 
 never forget to defend, as at this time, the true interests 
 of the king.” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur,” said the man, bowing and pocketing 
 the money. After which he went out. 
 
 Scarcely had the door closed behind him when Fouquet, 
 who had remained motionless, advanced with a rapid step, 
 and stood between the abbe and Gourville. Both of them 
 at the same instant opened their mouths to speak to him. 
 
THE DIAMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS. * 
 
 135 
 
 “ No excuses/’ said he, u no recriminations against any- 
 body. If I had not been a false friend, I should not have 
 confided to any one the care of delivering Lyodot and 
 D’Eymeris. I alone am guilty ; to me alone are re- 
 proaches and remorse due. Leave me, Abbe ! ” 
 
 “ And yet, Monsieur, you will not prevent me,” replied 
 the latter, “ from endeavoring to find out the miserable 
 fellow who has intervened for the advantage of M. Colbert 
 in this so well-arranged affair ; for if it is good policy to 
 love our friends dearly, I do not believe that is bad which 
 consists in pursuing our enemies with inveteracy.” 
 
 “ A truce to policy, Abbe ! Go, I beg of you, and do not 
 let me hear any more of you till I send for you ; what 
 we most need is circumspection and silence. You have a 
 terrible example before you, gentlemen ; no retaliation, I 
 forbid it.” 
 
 “ There are no orders,” grumbled the abbe, “ which 
 will prevent me from avenging a family affront upon the 
 guilty person.” 
 
 “ And I,” cried Fouquet, in that imperative tone to 
 which one feels there is nothing to reply, — “ if you enter- 
 tain one thought, one single thought, which is not the 
 absolute expression of my will, I will have you cast into 
 the Bastille two hours after that thought has manifested 
 itself. Regulate your conduct accordingly, Abbe.” 
 
 The abbe colored and bowed. Fouquet made a sign 
 to Gourville to follow him, and was already directing his 
 steps towards his cabinet, when the usher announced with 
 a loud voice : “M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “Who is he'?” said Fouquet, carelessly, to Gourville. 
 
 “ An ex-lieutenant of his Majesty’s Musketeers,” replied 
 Gourville, in the same tone. Fouquet did not even take 
 the trouble to reflect, and resumed his walk. “ I beg your 
 pardon, Monseigneur ! ” said Gourville, then, “ but I have 
 
136 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 remembered ; this brave man has left the king’s service, 
 and probably comes to receive a quarter of some pension 
 or other.” 
 
 “ Devil take him ! ” said Fouquet, “ why does he choose 
 his time so ill ] ” 
 
 “ Permit me, then, Monseigneur, to announce your 
 refusal to him ; for he is one of my acquaintance, and is 
 a man whom in our present circumstances it would be 
 better to have as a friend than an enemy.” 
 
 “ Answer him as you please,” said Fouquet. 
 
 “ Eh ! good Lord ! ” said the abbe, still rancorous, like 
 a churchman; “tell him there is no money, particularly 
 for musketeers.” 
 
 But scarcely had the abbe uttered this imprudent 
 speech, when the partly open door was thrown back, and 
 D’Artagnan appeared. 
 
 “M. Fouquet,” said he, “I was well aware there was 
 no money for musketeers here. Therefore I did not 
 come to obtain any, but to have it refused. That being 
 done, receive my thanks. I wish you good-day, and will 
 go and seek it at M. Colbert’s ; ” and he went out, after 
 making an easy bow. 
 
 “ Gourville,” said Fouquet, “run after that man and 
 bring him back ! ” Gourville obeyed, and overtook D’Ar- 
 tagnan on the stairs. 
 
 D’Artagnan, hearing steps behind him, turned round and 
 perceived Gourville. “ Mordioux ! my dear Monsieur,” 
 said he, “ these are sad lessons which you gentlemen of 
 finance teach us ! I come to M. Fouquet to receive a sum 
 accorded by his Majesty, and I am received like a mendi- 
 cant who comes to ask charity, or like a thief who comes 
 to steal a piece of plate.” 
 
 “ But you pronounced the name of M. Colbert, my dear 
 M. d’Artagnan ; you said you were going to M. Colbert’s ? ” 
 
THE DIAMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS. 137 
 
 “ I certainly am going there, were it only to ask satis- 
 faction in regard to the people who try to burn houses, 
 crying, ‘ Vive Colbert ! ’ ” 
 
 Gourville pricked up his ears. “ Oh ! ” said he, “you 
 allude to what has just happened at the Greve^ ” 
 
 “Yes, certainly.” 
 
 “ And in what did that which has taken place concern 
 you 1 ” 
 
 “ What ! do you ask me whether it concerns me, or 
 does not concern me, if M. Colbert pleases to make a 
 funeral-pile of my house ? ” 
 
 “ So, your house — was it your house they wanted to 
 burn ] ” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! was it ! ” 
 
 “ Is the pot-house of the Image de Notre-Dame yours, 
 then ? ” 
 
 “ It has been for a week.” 
 
 “ Well, then, are you the brave captain, are you the 
 valiant blade, who dispersed those who wished to burn 
 the condemned 1 ” 
 
 “ My dear M. Gourville, put yourself in my place ; I 
 am an agent of the public force and a proprietor. As a 
 captain, it is my duty to have the orders of the king 
 accomplished. As a proprietor, it is my interest that my 
 house should not be burned. I have, then, at the same 
 time attended to the laws of interest and duty in re- 
 placing Messieurs Lyodot and D’Eymeris in the hands 
 of the archers.’ ’ 
 
 “ Then it was you who threw the man out of the 
 window % ” 
 
 “It was I myself,” replied D’Artagnan, modestly. 
 
 “ And you who killed Menneville ? ” 
 
 “I had that misfortune,” said D’Artagnan, bowing like 
 a man who is being congratulated. 
 
138 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “It was you, then, in short, who caused the two con- 
 demned persons to be hanged ! ” ' 
 
 “ Instead of being burned ; yes, Monsieur, and I glory 
 in it. I snatched the poor devils from horrible tortures. 
 Understand, my dear M. Gourville, that they wanted to 
 burn them alive ! It exceeds imagination ! ” 
 
 “ Go, my dear M. d’Artagnan, go ! ” said Gourville, 
 anxious to spare Fouquet the sight of a man who had 
 just caused him such profound grief. 
 
 “ No,” said Fouquet, who had heard all from the 
 door of the antechamber, “ not so ; on the contrary, 
 M. d’Artagnan, come in.” 
 
 D’Artagnan wiped from the hilt of his sword a last 
 bloody trace, which had escaped his notice, and returned. 
 He then found himself face to face with these three men, 
 whose countenances wore very different expressions, — 
 with the abbe it was anger, with Gourville stupor, with 
 Fouquet dejection. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, Monsieur the Minister,” said 
 D’Artagnan, “ but my time is short ; I have to go to the 
 office of the intendant, to have an explanation with M. 
 Colbert, and to draw my quarter’s pension.” 
 
 “ But, Monsieur,” said Fouquet, “ there is money here.” 
 D’Artagnan looked at the superintendent with astonish- 
 ment. “ You have been answered inconsiderately, Mon- 
 sieur, I know, because I heard it,” said the minister ; “ a 
 man of your merit ought to be known by everybody.” 
 D’Artagnan bowed. “ Have you an order ! ” added Fouquet. 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Give it to me, I will pay you myself ; come with me.” 
 Fouquet made a sign to Gourville and the abbe, who 
 remained in the room where they were. He led D’Ar- 
 tagnan into his cabinet. As soon as they were there, 
 “ How much is due to you, Monsieur!” 
 
THE DIAxMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS. 
 
 139 
 
 “ Why, something like five thousand livres, Mon- 
 seigneur.” 
 
 “For your arrears of pay?” 
 
 “For a quarter’s pay.” 
 
 “ A quarter consisting of five thousand livres ! ” said 
 Fouquet, fixing upon the musketeer a searching look. 
 “ Does the king, then, give you twenty thousand livres 
 a year ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Monseigneur, twenty thousand livres a year ; do 
 you think it is too much ? ” 
 
 “ I ? ” cried Fouquet ; and he smiled bitterly. “ If I 
 had any knowledge of mankind ; if I were — instead of 
 a frivolous, inconsequent, and vain mind — of a prudent 
 and deliberate mind ; if, in a word, I had known, as 
 certain persons have, how to regulate my life, you would 
 not receive twenty thousand livres a year but a hun- 
 dred thousand, and you would not belong to the king 
 but to me.” 
 
 D’Artagnan colored slightly. There is in the manner 
 in which a eulogium is given, in the voice of the eulo- 
 gist, in his affectionate tone, a poison so sweet that the 
 strongest mind is sometimes intoxicated by it. The su- 
 perintendent ended this speech by opening a drawer and 
 taking from it four rouleaux , which he placed before 
 D’Artagnan. The Gascon broke open one. “ Gold ! ” 
 said he. 
 
 “ It will be less burdensome, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ But then, Monsieur, this makes twenty thousand 
 livres.” 
 
 “No doubt.” 
 
 “ But only five are due to me.” 
 
 “ I wish to spare you the trouble of coming four times 
 to my office.” 
 
 “ You overwhelm me, Monsieur.” 
 
140 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I do only what I ought to do, Monsieur the Cheva- 
 lier ; and I hope you will not bear me any malice on ac- 
 count of the rude reception my brother gave you. He is 
 of a sour, capricious disposition. ,, 
 
 “Monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, “believe me nothing 
 would grieve me more than an apology from you.” 
 
 “ Therefore I will make no more, and will content my- 
 self with asking of you a favor.” 
 
 “ Oh, Monsieur ! ” 
 
 Fouquet drew from his finger a diamond worth 
 about a thousand pistoles. “ Monsieur,” said he, “ this 
 stone was given me by a friend of my childhood, by a 
 man to whom you have rendered a great service.” Fou- 
 quet’s voice softened perceptibly. 
 
 “ A service — II” said the musketeer ; “ I have ren- 
 dered a service to one of your friends 1 ” 
 
 “You cannot have forgotten it, Monsieur, for it was 
 this very day.” 
 
 “ And that friend’s name was — ” 
 
 “ M. d’Eymeris.” 
 
 “ One of the condemned ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, one of the victims. Well, M. d’Artagnan, in 
 return for the service you have rendered him, I beg you 
 to accept this diamond. Do so for my sake.” 
 
 “ Monsieur ! you — ” 
 
 “ Accept it, I say. To-day is with me a day of 
 mourning ; hereafter you will, perhaps, learn why. 
 To-day I have lost a friend ; well, I will try to get 
 another.” 
 
 “ But, M. Fouquet — ” 
 
 “ Adieu ! M. d’Artagnan, adieu ! ” cried Fouquet, with 
 much emotion ; “or rather, au revoir ! ” and the minis- 
 ter quitted the room, leaving in the hands of the muske- 
 teer the ring and the twenty thousand livres. 
 
THE DIAMOND OF M. D’EYMERIS. 
 
 141 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said D’Artagnan, after a moment’s sober re- 
 flection. “ Do I understand what this means'? Mor- 
 dioux ! I can understand so far, — he is a gallant man ! 
 I will go and explain matters with M. Colbert ; ” and he 
 went out. 
 
142 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 OP THE NOTABLE DIFFERENCE d’aRTAGNAN FINDS BETWEEN 
 MONSIEUR THE INTENDxVNT AND MONSIEUR THE SUPER- 
 INTENDENT. 
 
 M. Colbert resided in the Rue Neuve des Petits-Champs, 
 in a house which had belonged to Beautru. D’Artagnan’s 
 legs cleared the distance in a short quarter of an hour. 
 When he arrived at the residence of the new favorite, the 
 court was full of archers and policemen, who had come to 
 congratulate him or to excuse themselves, according to 
 whether he should choose to praise or blame. The senti- 
 ment of flattery is instinctive among people of abject 
 condition ; they have the sense of it, as the wild animal 
 has that of hearing and smell. These people, or their 
 leader, had understood that they could give pleasure to 
 M. Colbert in rendering him an account of the way in 
 which his name had been pronounced during the affray. 
 
 D’Artagnan made his appearance just as the chief of 
 the watch was giving his report. D’Artagnan stood close 
 to the door, behind the archers. That officer took Col- 
 bert aside, in spite of his resistance and the contraction 
 of his heavy eyebrows. “ In case,” said he, “ you had 
 really desired, Monsieur, that the people should do justice 
 to the two traitors, it would have been wise to warn us 
 of it ; for indeed, Monsieur, in spite of our regret at dis- 
 pleasing you or thwarting your views, we had our orders 
 to execute.” 
 
 “ Triple fool ! ” replied Colbert, furiously shaking his 
 hair, thick and black as a mane ; “ what are you telling 
 
THE INTENDANT AND THE SUPERINTENDENT, 143 
 
 me here? What! that I could have had an idea of a 
 riot ! Are you mad or drunk ? ” 
 
 “ But, Monsieur, they cried, ‘ Vive Colbert ! ’ 99 replied 
 the trembling chief of watch. 
 
 “ A handful of conspirators — ” 
 
 “ No, no ; a mass of people.” 
 
 “Ah, indeed!” said Colbert, expanding. “A mass of 
 people cried, ‘ Vive Colbert ! ’ Are you certain of what 
 you say, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “We had nothing to do but to open our ears, or rather 
 to close them, so terrible were the cries.” 
 
 “ And this was from the people, the real people ? ” 
 
 “ Certainly, Monsieur ; only, these real people beat 
 us.” 
 
 “ Oh, very well ! ” continued Colbert, thoughtfully. 
 “Then you suppose it was the people who wished to burn 
 the condemned ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ That is quite another thing. You strongly resisted, 
 then ? ” 
 
 “ We had three men killed, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ But you killed nobody yourselves ? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, a few of the rioters were left upon the 
 square, and one among them was not a common man.” 
 
 “ Who was he ? ” 
 
 “ A certain Menneville, upon whom the police have a 
 long time had an eye.” 
 
 “ Menneville ! ” exclaimed Colbert, “ what ! he who 
 killed, in the Rue de la Hochette, a worthy man who 
 wanted a fat fowl ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur; the same.” 
 
 “ And did this Menneville also cry, ‘ Vive Colbert ! ’ 99 
 “ Louder than all the rest ; like a madman.” 
 
 The brow of Colbert became cloudy and wrinkled. A 
 
144 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 kind of ambitious glory which had lighted his face was 
 extinguished, like the light of those glow-worms which we 
 crush beneath the grass. “ Why, then, do you say/’ re- 
 sumed the deceived intendant, “ that the initiative came 
 from the people *? Menneville was my enemy ; I would 
 have had him hanged, and he knew it well. Menneville 
 belonged to the Abbe Fouquet, — the whole affair origi- 
 nated with Fouquet ; does not everybody know that the 
 condemned were his friends from childhood'?” 
 
 “ That is true,” thought D’Artagnan, “ and now are 
 all my doubts cleared up. I repeat it: M. Fouquet may 
 be what they please, but he is a gallant man.” 
 
 “ And,” pursued Colbert, ‘‘are you quite sure Menne- 
 ville is dead h ” 
 
 D’Artagnan thought the time had come for him to 
 make his appearance. “ Perfectly, Monsieur/’ replied he, 
 advancing suddenly. 
 
 “ Oh ! is that you, Monsieur ? ” said Colbert. 
 
 “ In person,” replied the musketeer, with his deliberate 
 tone ; “it appears that you had in Menneville a pretty 
 little enemy.” 
 
 “ It was not I, Monsieur, who had an enemy,” replied 
 Colbert ; “ it was the king.” 
 
 “ Double brute ! ” thought D’Artagnan, “ to think to 
 play the great man and the hypocrite with me. Well,” 
 continued he to Colbert, “ I am very happy to have ren- 
 dered so good a service to the king ; will you take upon 
 yourself to tell his Majesty, Monsieur the Intendant'?” 
 
 “ What commission do you give me, and what do you 
 charge me to tell his Majesty, Monsieur *? Be precise, if 
 you please,” said Colbert, in a sharp voice, tuned before- 
 hand to hostility. 
 
 “ I give you no commission,” replied D’Artagnan, with 
 that calmness which never abandons the banterer. “ I 
 
THE INTENDANT AND THE SUPERINTENDENT. 145 
 
 thought it would be easy for you to announce to his Maj- 
 esty that it was I who, being there by chance, did justice 
 to Menneville, and restored things to order.” 
 
 Colbert opened his eyes, and interrogated the chief of 
 the watch with a look. “ Ah, it is very true,” said the 
 latter, “ that this gentleman saved us.” 
 
 “ Why did you not tell me, Monsieur, that you had 
 come to inform me of this % ” said Colbert, with envy ; 
 “ everything is explained, and better for you than for any 
 other.” 
 
 “ You are in error, Monsieur the Intendant ; I did not 
 at all come for the purpose of informing you of this.” 
 
 “It is an exploit, nevertheless.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said the musketeer, carelessly, “ constant habit 
 blunts the mind.” 
 
 “ To what do I owe the honor of your visit, then ? ” 
 
 “ Simply to this : the king ordered me to come to 
 you.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said Colbert, recovering his self-possession, be- 
 cause he saw D’Artagnan draw a paper from his pocket ; 
 “ it is to demand some money of meU’ 
 
 “Precisely, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Have the goodness to wait, if you please, Monsieur, 
 till 1 have despatched the report of the watch.” 
 
 D’Artagnan turned round upon his heel insolently 
 enough, and finding himself face to face with Colbert 
 after this first turn, bowed to him as a harlequin 
 would have done ; then, after a second evolution, he di- 
 rected his steps towards the door in quick time. Colbert 
 was struck with this pointed rudeness, to which he was 
 not accustomed. In general, men of the sword, when 
 they came to his office, were in such want of money that 
 though their feet had taken root in the marble, they 
 would not have lost their patience. Was D’Artagnan 
 VOL. ii. — 10 
 
146 
 
 THE VTCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 going straight to the king? Would he go and complain 
 of his bad reception, or recount his exploit ? This was a 
 grave matter of consideration. At all events, the mo- 
 ment was badly chosen to send D’Artagnan away, whether 
 he came from the king or on his own account. The 
 musketeer had rendered too great a service, and that too 
 recently, for it to be already forgotten. Therefore Col- 
 bert thought it would be better to shake off his arrogance 
 and call D’Artagnan back. “ Ho, M. d’Artagnan ! ” cried 
 Colbert ; “ what ! are you leaving me thus ? ” 
 
 D’Artagnan turned round. “ Why not?” said he, 
 quietly ; “ we have no more to say to each other, have 
 we?” 
 
 “ You have at least money to get, as you have an 
 order.” 
 
 “ Who? I? Oh, not at all, my dear M. Colbert ! ” 
 
 “ But, Monsieur, you have an order ! And in the same 
 manner as you give a sword-thrust for the king when you 
 are required, I, on my part, pay when an order is pre- 
 sented to me. Present yours.” 
 
 “ It is useless, my dear M. Colbert,” said D’Artagnan, 
 who inwardly enjoyed the confusion introduced into the 
 ideas of Colbert ; “ this order is paid.” 
 
 “ Paid ! by whom ? ” 
 
 “ Why, by Monsieur the Superintendent.” 
 
 Colbert turned pale. “ Explain yourself, then,” said 
 he, in a stifled voice ; “ if you are paid, why do you show 
 me that paper? ” 
 
 “ In consequence of the charge of which you spoke to 
 me so ingeniously just now, dear M. Colbert ; the king 
 told me to draw a quarter of the pension he is pleased to 
 make me.” 
 
 “ Of me ? ” said Colbert. 
 
 “ Not exactly. The king said to me : ‘ Go to M. Fou- 
 
THE INTENDANT AND THE SUPERINTENDENT. 147 
 
 quet ; the superintendent will, perhaps, have no money, 
 then you will go and draw it of M. Colbert. ’ ” 
 
 The countenance of M. Colbert brightened for a mo- 
 ment ; but it was with his unfortunate physiognomy as 
 with a stormy sky, sometimes radiant, sometimes dark as 
 night, according as the lightning gleams or the cloud 
 passes. “ And was there any money in the superintend- 
 ent’s coffers V 9 asked he. 
 
 “Why, yes, he could not be badly off for money,” re- 
 plied D’Artagnan, “since M. Fouquet, instead of paying 
 me a quarter, five thousand livres — ” 
 
 “ A quarter, five thousand livres ! ” exclaimed Col- 
 bert, struck, as Fouquet had been, with the largeness of 
 the sum destined to pay for the service of a soldier ; 
 “why, that would be a pension of twenty thousand 
 livres ! ” 
 
 “ Exactly, M. Colbert. Peste ! you reckon like old 
 Pythagoras ; yes, twenty thousand livres.” 
 
 “ Ten times the salary of an intendant of the finances ! 
 I beg to offer you my compliments,” said Colbert, with a 
 venomous smile. 
 
 “Oh ! ” said D’Artagnan, “the king apologized for giv- 
 ing me so little ; but he promised to make it more here- 
 after, when he should be rich ; but I must go, having 
 much to do — ” 
 
 “ So, then, notwithstanding the expectation of the king, 
 the superintendent paid you, did he % ” 
 
 “ In the same manner as, in opposition to the king’s 
 expectation, you refused to pay me.” 
 
 “ I did not refuse, Monsieur ; I only begged you to 
 wait. And you say that M. Fouquet paid you your five 
 thousand livres ] ” 
 
 “Yes, as you might have done ; but he did still better 
 than that, M. Colbert.” 
 
148 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ And what did he do ? ” 
 
 “ He politely counted me down the whole of the sum, 
 saying that, for the king, his coffers were always full.” 
 
 “ The whole of the sum ! M. Fouquet has counted you 
 out twenty thousand livres instead of five thousand ] ” 
 “Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ And what for?” 
 
 “ In order to spare me three visits to the money-chest 
 of the superintendent ; so that I have the twenty thou- 
 sand livres in my pocket in good new coin. You see, then, 
 that I am able to go away without standing in need of 
 you, having come here only for form’s sake ; ” and D’Ar- 
 tagnan slapped his hand upon his pocket, with a laugh 
 which disclosed to Colbert thirty-two magnificent teeth, 
 as white as those of a man twenty-five years old, and which 
 seemed to say in their language, “ Serve up to us thirty- 
 two little Colberts, and we will grind them willingly.” 
 The serpent is as brave as the lion, the hawk as cour- 
 ageous as the eagle ; that cannot be disputed. It can 
 only be said of animals that are decidedly cowardly, and 
 are so called, that they will be brave when they have to 
 defend themselves. Colbert was not frightened at the 
 thirty-two teeth of D’Artagnan ; he recovered himself, and 
 suddenly. “ Monsieur,” said he, “ Monsieur the Super- 
 intendent has done what he had no right to do.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by that ? ” replied D’Artagnan. 
 
 “I mean that your order — will you let me see your 
 order, if you please ? ” 
 
 “ Very willingly; here it is.” 
 
 Colbert seized the paper with an eagerness which the 
 musketeer did not remark without uneasiness, and partic- 
 ularly without a certain degree of regret at having trusted 
 him with it. “ Well, Monsieur, the royal order says 
 this : ‘ At sight, I command that there be paid to M. 
 
THE INTEND ANT AND THE SUPERINTENDENT. 149 
 
 d’Artagnan the sum of five thousand livres, forming a 
 quarter of the pension I have made him/ ” 
 
 “ So, in fact, it is written,” said D’Artagnan, affecting 
 calmness. 
 
 “Very well; the king owed you only five thousand 
 livres. Why has more been given to you ? ” 
 
 “Because there was more, and M. Fouquet was willing 
 to give me more. That does not concern anybody.” 
 
 “It is natural,” said Colbert, with supercilious ease, 
 “ that you should be ignorant of the usages of finance ; 
 . but, Monsieur, when you have a thousand livres to pay, 
 what do you do 1 ” 
 
 “ I never have a thousand livres to pay,” replied 
 D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Once more,” said Colbert, irritated, “ if you had any 
 payment to .make, would you not pay what you ought 1 ” 
 “ That only proves one thing,” said D’Artagnan ; “ and 
 that is, that you have your particular customs in finance, 
 while M. Fouquet has his own.” 
 
 “Mine, Monsieur, are the correct ones.” 
 
 “ I do not say they are not.” 
 
 “And you have received what was not due to you.” 
 The eye of D’Artagnan flashed. “ What is not due to 
 me yet, you meant to say, M. Colbert ; for if I had re- 
 ceived what was not due to me at all, I should have com- 
 mitted a theft.” 
 
 Colbert made no reply to this subtlety. “ You then 
 owe fifteen thousand livres to the public treasury,” said 
 he, carried aw T ay by his jealous ardor. 
 
 “ Then you must give me credit for them,” replied 
 D’Artagnan, /with his imperceptible irony. 
 
 “ Not at all, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Well, what will you do, then 1 You will not take my 
 rouleaux from me, will you 1 ” 
 
150 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “You must return them to my coffers.” 
 
 “ I ? Oh, Monsieur Colbert, don’t reckon upon that ! 
 
 “ The king wants his money, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ And I, Monsieur, — I want the king’s money.” 
 
 “ That may be ; hut you must return this.” 
 
 “ By no means. I have always understood that in 
 matters of finance, as you call it, a good cashier never 
 gives back, nor takes back.” 
 
 “ Then, Monsieur, we shall see what the king will say 
 about it. I will show him this order, which proves that 
 M. Fouquet not only pays what he does not owe, but 
 that he does not even take care of the receipts for what 
 he has paid.” 
 
 “ Ah ! now I understand why you have taken that 
 paper, M. Colbert ! ” 
 
 Colbert did not perceive all that there was* of a threat- 
 ening character in his name pronounced in a certain man- 
 ner. “You will see hereafter what use I shall make of 
 it,” replied he, holding up the order in his fingers. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” exclaimed D’Artagnan, snatching the paper 
 from him by a rapid movement, “ I understand it per- 
 fectly well, M. Colbert ; I have no occasion to wait for 
 that ; ” and he crumpled up in his pocket the paper he 
 had so cleverly seized. 
 
 “ Monsieur ! Monsieur ! ” cried Colbert, “ that is vio- 
 lence ! ” 
 
 “Nonsense! you must not be particular about the 
 manners of a soldier ! ” replied the musketeer. 61 Receive 
 my compliments, my dear M. Colbert ! ” and he went out, 
 laughing in the face of the future minister. 
 
 “ That man, now,” muttered he, “ was about to adore 
 me ; it is a great pity I was obliged to part company 
 with him.” 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE HEART AND MIND. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF THE HEART AND MIND. 
 
 For a man who had seen so many much more dangerous 
 positions, that of D’Artagnan with respect to M. Colbert 
 was only comic. D’Artagnan, therefore, did not deny 
 himself the satisfaction of laughing at the expense of 
 Monsieur the Intendant, from the Rue Neuve des Petits- 
 Champs to the Rue des Lombards. It was a great while 
 since D’Artagnan had laughed so long. He was still 
 laughing when Planchet appeared, laughing likewise, at 
 the door of his house ; for Planchet, since the return of 
 his patron, since the entrance of the English guineas, 
 passed the greater part of his life in doing what D’Ar- 
 tagnan had done only from the Rue Neuve des Petits- 
 Champs to the Rue des Lombards. 
 
 “You have come, then, my dear master 1 ” said Planchet. 
 “ No, my friend,” replied the musketeer ; “ I am going 
 and that quickly. I will sup with you, go to bed, sleep 
 five hours, and at break of day leap into my saddle. 
 Has my horse had an extra feedP’ 
 
 “Eh ! my dear master,” replied Planchet, “you know 
 very well that your horse is the jewel of the family ; that 
 my lads are caressing it all day, and cramming it with 
 sugar, nuts, and biscuits. You ask me if he has had an 
 extra feed of oats ; you should ask if he has not had 
 enough to burst him ten times over.” 
 
 “Very well, Planchet ; that is all right. Now, then, I 
 pass to what concerns me, — my supper 1 ” 
 
152 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Ready. A smoking roast, white wine, crawfish, and 
 fresh-gathered cherries. That is something new, my 
 master. 77 
 
 “ You are a capital fellow, Planchet ; come on, then, 
 let us sup, and I will go to bed.’ 7 
 
 During supper D ’Art agnail observed that Planchet kept 
 rubbing his forehead, as if to facilitate the issue of some 
 idea closely pent within his brain. He looked with an 
 air of kindness at this worthy companion of his former 
 trials, and clinking glass against glass, “ Come, Friend 
 Planchet/ 7 said he, “ let us see what it is that gives you 
 so much trouble to announce to me. Mordioux ! speak 
 freely, and you will speak quickly. 77 
 
 “ Well, this is it,’ 7 answered Planchet ; “ you appear to 
 me to be going on some expedition or other. 77 
 
 “ I don't say that I am not.” 
 
 “ Then you have some new idea % 77 
 
 “ That is possible, too, Planchet. 77 
 
 “ Then there will be a fresh capital to be ventured. I 
 will lay down fifty thousand livres upon the idea you are 
 about to carry out ; 77 and so saying, Planchet rubbed his 
 hands one against the other with a rapidity evincing great- 
 delight. 
 
 “ Planchet, 77 said D’Artagnan, “ there is but one mis- 
 fortune in it. 77 
 
 “ And what is that 1 77 
 
 “ That the idea is not mine. I can risk nothing upon 
 it. 77 These words drew a deep sigh from the heart of 
 Planchet. Avarice is an ardent counsellor : she car- 
 ries away her man, as Satan did Jesus, to the moun- 
 tain ; and when once she has shown to an unfortunate 
 man all the kingdoms of the earth, she may take her 
 ease, knowing full well that she has left her companion 
 Envy to gnaw his heart, Planchet had tasted of riches 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE HEART AND MIND. 153 
 
 easily acquired, and was never afterwards likely to limit 
 his desires ; but as he had a good heart in spite of his 
 covetousness, as he adored D’Artagnan, he could not 
 refrain from paying him a thousand compliments, each 
 more affectionate than the others. He would not have 
 been sorry, nevertheless, to have caught a little hint 
 of the secret his master concealed so well ; but tricks, 
 turns, counsels, and traps were all useless, — D’Artagnan 
 let nothing confidential escape him. 
 
 The evening passed thus. After supper the portman- 
 teau occupied D’Artagnan’s attention ; he took a turn to 
 the stable, patted his horse, and examined his shoes and 
 legs ; then, having counted over his money, he went to 
 bed, sleeping as if only twenty years old, because he had 
 neither anxiety nor remorse ; he closed his eyes five 
 minutes after having blown out his light. Yet there 
 were many things to keep him awake. Thought surged 
 in his brain, conjectures abounded, and D’Artagnan was a 
 great drawer of horoscopes ; but with that imperturb- 
 able phlegm which does more than genius for the fortune 
 and happiness of men of action, he put off reflection till 
 the next day, for fear, he said, that he might not be 
 fresh when he wanted to be so. 
 
 The day came. The Rue des Lombards had its share 
 of the caresses of Aurora with the rosy fingers, and 
 D’Artagnan arose w T ith Aurora. He did not awaken any- 
 body ; he placed his portmanteau under his arm, de- 
 scended the stairs without making one of them creak, 
 and without disturbing one of the sleepers whose sono- 
 rous breathing might be heard in every story from garret 
 to cellar; then, having saddled his horse and shut the 
 stable and house doors, he set off, at a foot-pace, on his 
 expedition to Bretagne. He had done quite right in not 
 thinking over, the evening before, all the political and 
 
154 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 diplomatic affairs which solicited his attention ; for in 
 the morning, in the freshness of the mild twilight, his 
 ideas developed themselves with clearness and fluency. 
 In the first place, as he passed the house of Fouquet, 
 he threw into a large gaping box at the superintendent’s 
 door the fortunate order which, the evening before, he 
 had had so much trouble to extract from the hooked 
 fingers of the intendant. Placed in an envelope, and 
 addressed to Fouquet, its nature had not even been 
 divined by Planchet, who in divination was equal to 
 Calchas or the Pythian Apollo. D’Artagnan thus sent 
 back the receipt to Fouquet, without compromising him- 
 self, and without having thenceforward any reproaches 
 to make himself. When he had effected this proper 
 restitution, “ Now,” said he to himself, “ let us inhale 
 freely the morning air ; let us invite freedom from care, 
 and abundant health ; let us allow the horse Zephyr, 
 whose flanks swell as if he had to snuff in a hemisphere, 
 to breathe ; and let us be very ingenious in our little cal- 
 culations. It is time,” pursued D’Artagnan, “ to form a 
 plan of the campaign ; and, according to the method of 
 M. de Turenne, who has a very large head full of all sorts 
 of good counsel, before the plan of the campaign it is ad- 
 visable to draw a portrait of the generals to whom we are 
 to be opposed. In the first place, M. Fouquet presents 
 himself. What is M. Fouquet ? M. Fouquet,” replied 
 D’Artagnan to himself, “ is a handsome man, very much 
 beloved by the women ; a generous man, very much 
 beloved by the poets ; a man of wit, much execrated by 
 pretenders. I am neither woman, poet, nor pretender ; 
 I neither love nor hate Monsieur the Superintendent. I 
 find myself, therefore, in the same position in which M. 
 de Turenne found himself when he had to win the Battle 
 of the Dunes. He did not hate the Spaniards, but he 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE HEART AND MIND. 155 
 
 beat them soundly. No, there is a better example ; I 
 am in the same position in which M. de Turenne found 
 himself when opposed to the Prince de Conde at Jargeau, 
 Gien, and the Faubourg St. Antoine. He did not exe- 
 crate Monsieur the Prince, it is true, but he obeyed the 
 king. Monsieur the Prince is an agreeable man, but the 
 king is king. Turenne heaved a deep sigh, called Conde 
 ‘ My cousin/ and swept away his army. Now, what does 
 the king wish? That does not concern me. Now, what 
 does M. Colbert wish ? Oh, that ’s another thing. M. 
 Colbert wishes all that M. Fouquet does not wish. Then 
 what does M. Fouquet wish? Oh, that is serious! M. 
 Fouquet wishes precisely all that the king wishes.” 
 
 This monologue ended, D’Artagnan began to laugh, 
 while making his whip whistle in the air. He was 
 already on the high-road, frightening the birds in the 
 hedges, listening to the louis dancing in his leather 
 pocket at every step ; and, let us confess it, every time 
 that D’Artagnan found himself in such circumstances, 
 tenderness was not his dominant vice. “ Come,” said he, 
 “ the expedition is not a very dangerous one ; and it will 
 fall out with my voyage as with that play M. Monk took 
 me to see in London, which was called, I think, ‘ Much 
 Ado about Nothing. ’ ” 
 
156 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 It was perhaps the fiftieth time since the day on which 
 we opened this history, that this man, with a heart of bronze 
 and muscles of steel, had left house and friends — every- 
 thing, in short — to go in search of fortune and death* 
 The one — that is to say, Death — had constantly re- 
 treated before him, as if afraid of him ; the other — that 
 is to say,. Fortune — only for a month past had really 
 made an alliance with him. Although he was not a great 
 philosopher, after the fashion of either Epicurus or Soc- 
 rates, his was a powerful mind, having knowledge of life 
 and endowed with thought. No one is as brave, as ad- 
 venturous, or as skilful as D’Artagnan, without being at 
 the same time inclined to be a dreamer. He had picked 
 up here and there some scraps of M. de la Rochefou- 
 cauld, worthy of being translated into Latin by the gen- 
 tlemen of Port Royal ; and he had made a collection, 
 while passing the time in the society of Atlios and Ara- 
 mis, of many morsels of Seneca and Cicero, translated by 
 them and applied to the uses of common life. That con- 
 tempt of riches which our Gascon had observed as an 
 article of faith during the first thirty-five years of his life 
 had for a long time been considered by him as the first 
 article of the code of bravery. u Article first,” said he : 
 “A man is brave because he has nothing; a man has 
 nothing because he despises riches.” Therefore, with 
 these principles, which, as we have said, had regulated 
 
THE JOURNEY. 
 
 157 
 
 the first thirty -five years of his life, D’Artagnan was no 
 sooner possessed of riches than he felt it necessary to ask 
 himself if in spite of his riches he were still brave. To 
 this, for any other than D’Artagnan, the episode of the 
 Place de Greve might have served as an answer. Many 
 consciences would have been satisfied with it, but D’Ar- 
 tagnan was brave enough to ask himself sincerely and 
 conscientiously if he were brave. Therefore to this, “ But 
 it appears to me that I drew promptly enough and 
 cut and thrust prettily enough on the Place de Greve 
 to be satisfied of my bravery,” D’Artagnan had himself 
 replied : — 
 
 “ Gently, Captain ; that is not an answer. I was brave 
 that day, because they were burning my house ; and there 
 are a hundred, and even a thousand, odds against one, 
 that if those gentlemen of the riots had not formed that 
 unlucky idea, their plan of attack would have succeeded, 
 or at least it would not have been I who opposed myself 
 to it. Now, what will be brought against me? I have 
 no house to be burned in Bretagne ; I have no treasure 
 there that can be taken from me. No ; but I have my 
 skin, - — that precious skin of M. d’Artagnan, which to 
 him is worth more than all the houses and all the treas- 
 ures of the world ; that skin to which I cling above 
 everything, because it is, everything considered, the bind- 
 ing of a body which encloses a heart very warm and very 
 well satisfied to beat and consequently to live. Then, 
 I do desire to live ; and in reality I live much better, 
 more completely,, since I have become rich. Who the 
 devil ever said that money spoiled life ? Upon my soul, 
 it is no such thing ; on the contrary, it seems as if I ab- 
 sorbed a double quantity of air and sunlight. Mordioux ! 
 what will it be, then, if I double that fortune, and if in- 
 stead of the switch I now .hold in my hand I should ever 
 
158 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 carry the baton of a marshal ? Then, I really don’t 
 know if there will be, from that moment, enough of air 
 and sunlight for me. In fact, this is not a dream ; who 
 the devil would oppose it, if the king made me a duke 
 and a marshal, as his father, King Louis XIII., made a 
 duke and constable of Albert de Luynes 1 Am I not as 
 brave as that imbecile De Yitry, and much more intelli- 
 gent than he ! Ah ! that ’s exactly what will prevent my 
 advancement ; I have too much wit. Luckily, if there is 
 any justice in this world, Fortune owes me many compen- 
 sations. She owes me, certainly, a recompense for all I 
 did for Anne of Austria, and an indemnification for all 
 she has not done for me. Then at the present I am very 
 well with a king, and with a king who has the appearance 
 of determining to reign. May God keep him in that 
 illustrious road ! For if he is resolved to reign, he will 
 want me ; and if he wants me, he will give me what he 
 has promised me, — warmth and light ; so that I march, 
 comparatively, to-day, as I marched formerly, — from 
 nothing to everything. Only, the nothing of to-day is the 
 all of former days ; there has only this little change 
 taken place in my life. And now let us see ! let us take 
 into consideration the heart, as I just now was speaking 
 of it. But, in truth, I only spoke of it from memory ; ” 
 and the Gascon applied his hand to his breast, as if he 
 were actually seeking the place where his heart was. 
 
 “ Ah, wretch ! ” murmured he, smiling with bitter- 
 ness. “Ah, poor worm! You hoped for an instant that 
 you had not a heart, and now you finqi you have one, — 
 bad courtier as you are, — and even one of the most sedi- 
 tious. You have a heart which speaks to you in favor of 
 M. Fouquet. And what is M. Fouquet when the king is 
 in question! A conspirator, a real conspirator, who did 
 not even give himself the trouble to conceal his being a 
 
THE JOURNEY. 
 
 159 
 
 conspirator ; therefore, what a weapon would you not 
 have against him, if his good grace and his intelligence 
 had not made a scabbard for that weapon ! An armed re- 
 volt ! — for, in fact, M. Fouquet has been guilty of an 
 armed revolt. Thus, while the king vaguely suspects M. 
 Fouquet of rebellion, I know it, — I could prove that M. 
 Fouquet had caused the shedding of the blood of his 
 Majesty’s subjects. Now, then, let us see ! Knowing all 
 that, and holding my tongue, what further would this 
 pitiful heart wish in return for a kind action of M. Fou- 
 quet’s, for an advance of fifteen thousand livres, for a dia- 
 mond worth a thousand pistoles, for a smile in which 
 there was as much bitterness as kindness? — I save his 
 life. 
 
 “ Now, I hope,” continued thq* musketeer, “ that this 
 imbecile of a heart is going to preserve silence, and so be 
 fairly quits with M. Fouquet. Now, then, the king be- 
 comes my sun ; and as my heart is quits with M. Fou- 
 quet, let him beware who places himself between me 
 and my sun ! Forward, for his Majesty Louis XI Y. ! 
 forward ! ” 
 
 These reflections were the only impediments which 
 could retard the progress of D’Artagnan. These reflec- 
 tions once finished, he increased the speed of his horse. 
 But, however perfect his horse Zephyr might be, he could 
 not go on forever. The day after his departure from 
 Paris, he left him at Chartres, with an old friend he 
 had met in a hotel-keeper of that city. From that mo- 
 ment the musketeer travelled on post-horses. Thanks to 
 this mode of locomotion, he traversed the space which 
 separates Chartres from Chateaubriand. In the last of 
 these two cities, far enough from the coast to prevent any 
 one guessing that D’Artagnan wished to reach the sea, — 
 far enough from Paris to prevent all suspicion of his 
 
160 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 coming as a messenger from his Majesty, Louis XIV., 
 whom D’Artagnan had called his sun, without suspecting 
 that he who was only at present a rather poor star in the 
 heaven of royalty, would one day make that star his em- 
 blem, — the messenger of Louis XIV., we say, gave up 
 post-horses and purchased a nag of the meanest appear- 
 ance, one of those animals which an officer of cavalry 
 would never think of choosing for fear of being disgraced 
 Excepting the color, this new acquisition recalled to the 
 mind of D’Artagnan the famous orange-colored horse 
 with which, or rather upon which, he had made his first 
 entrance into active life. Truth to say, from the moment 
 he mounted this new steed, it was no longer D’Artagnan 
 wdio was travelling, — it was a good man clothed in an 
 iron-gray close coat an<J maroon trunk-hose, preserving 
 the mean between a priest and a layman ; that which 
 brought him nearest to the churchman was that D’Ar- 
 tagnan had placed on his head a skull-cap of threadbare 
 velvet, and over it a large black hat. In place of a sword, 
 a stick, hung by a cord to his wrist ; but to which he 
 promised himself to join as an unexpected auxiliary, upon 
 occasion, a good dagger, ten inches long, concealed under 
 his cloak. The nag purchased at Chateaubriand com.' 
 pleted the metamorphosis ; it was called, or rather D’Ar- 
 tagnan called it, Furet (ferret). 
 
 “If I have changed Zephyr into Furet,” said D’Ar- 
 tagnan, “ I must make some diminutive or other of my 
 own name. So, instead of D’Artagnan, I will be Agnan, 
 for short ; that is a concession which I naturally owe to 
 my gray coat, my round hat, and my rusty cap.” 
 
 M. Agnan, then, travelled without too great a shaking 
 up upon Furet, who ambled like a true butter-woman’s 
 pad, and who with his amble made cheerfully twelve 
 leagues a day, upon four spindle-shanks whose strength 
 
THE JOURNEY. 
 
 161 
 
 and sureness the practised- eye of D’Artagnan had appre- 
 ciated beneath the thick mass of hair which covered 
 them. Jogging along, the traveller took notes, studied 
 the stern and cold landscape through which he was trav- 
 elling, ever seeking the most plausible pretext to go to 
 Belle-Isle-en-Mer, and to see everything without arousing 
 suspicion. In this manner he was enabled to convince 
 himself of the importance the event assumed in propor- 
 tion as he drew near to it. In this remote country, in this 
 ancient duchy of Bretagne, — which was not France at that 
 period, and is not even to-day, — the people knew noth- 
 ing of the King of France. They not only did not know 
 him, but they were unwilling to know him. One fact — 
 a single one — floated visibly for them upon the current 
 of politics. Their ancient dukes no longer governed 
 them ; but there was a void, — nothing more. In the 
 place of the sovereign duke, the seigneurs of parishes 
 reigned without control ; and, above these seigneurs, God, 
 who has never been forgotten in Bretagne. Among these 
 suzerains of castles and parishes, the most powerful, the 
 most rich, and above all the most popular, was M. Fou- 
 quet, seigneur of Belle-Isle. Even in the country, even 
 within sight of that mysterious isle, legends and tradi- 
 tions consecrated its wonders. Every one did not pene- 
 trate into it ; the isle, of an extent of six leagues in 
 length and six in breadth, was a seigniorial property 
 which the people had for a long time respected, protected 
 as it was by the name of Retz, so much dreaded in 
 the country. Shortly after the raising of this seigniory 
 to a marquisate by Charles IX., Belle-Isle passed to M. 
 Fouquet. The celebrity of the isle did not date from 
 yesterday ; its name, or rather its qualification, is traced 
 back to the remotest antiquity ; the ancients called it 
 Kalonese, from two Greek words, signifying u beautiful 
 
 VOL. II. — 11 
 
162 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 isle.” Thus, at a distance of eighteen hundred years, it 
 had borne, in another language, the same name it still 
 bears. There was, then, something in itself in this prop- 
 erty of M. Fouquet’s, besides its position six leagues off 
 the coast of France, — a position which makes it a sovereign 
 in its maritime solitude, like a majestic ship which should 
 disdain roads, and proudly cast its anchor in mid-ocean. 
 
 D’Artagnan learned all this without appearing the least 
 in the world astonished. He also learned that the best 
 way to get intelligence was to go to La Roche-Bernard, 
 a tolerably important city at the mouth of the Vilaine. 
 Perhaps there he could embark ; if not, crossing the salt 
 marshes, he would repair to Guerande or to Le Croisic, 
 to wait for an opportunity to cross over to Belle-Isle. He 
 had discovered, besides, since his departure from Chateau- 
 briand, that nothing would be impossible for Furet un- 
 der M. Agnan’s urging, and nothing to M. Agnail upon 
 Furet’s example. He prepared, then, to sup off a teal 
 and an oil-cake, in a hotel of La Roche-Bernard, and 
 ordered to be brought from the cellar, to wash down these 
 two Breton dishes, some cider, which, the moment it 
 touched his lips, he perceived to be more Breton still. 
 
P’ARTAGNAN AND THE POET. 
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 how d’artagnan became acquainted with a poet who 
 
 HAD TURNED PRINTER FOR THE SAKE OF PRINTING HIS 
 
 OWN VERSES. 
 
 Before taking his place at table, D’Artagnan acquired, 
 as was his custom, all the information he could ; but it is 
 an axiom of curiosity, that every man who wishes to 
 question well and fruitfully ought in the first place to lay 
 himself open to questions. D’Artagnan sought, then, 
 with his usual skill, a useful questioner in the hostelry of 
 La Roche-Bernard. At the moment there were in the 
 house, in the first story, two travellers occupied also in 
 preparations for supper, or with their supper itself. D’Ar- 
 tagnan had seen their nags in the stable, and their bag- 
 gage in the hall. One travelled with a lackey, as an 
 important personage ; two Perche mares — sleek, sound 
 beasts — were their means of locomotion. The other — 
 rather a little fellow, a traveller of meagre appearance, 
 wearing a dusty surtout, dirty linen, boots more worn 
 by the pavement than the stirrup — had come from 
 Nantes with a cart drawn by a horse so like Furet in 
 color, that D’Artagnan might have gone a hundred miles 
 without finding a better match. This cart contained 
 divers large packets wrapped up in pieces of old stuff. 
 
 “That traveller there,” said D’Artagnan to himself, 
 “ is the man for my money. He will do ; he suits me. I 
 ought to do for and suit him ; M. Agnan, with the gray 
 doublet and the rusty cap, is not unworthy of supping 
 with the gentleman of the old boots and the old horse.” 
 
164 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNK. 
 
 This being said, D’Artagnan called the host, and desired 
 him to send his teal, oil-cake, and cider up to the room 
 of the gentleman of modest exterior. He himself climbed, 
 a plate in his hand, the wooden staircase which led to 
 the chamber, and began to knock at the door. 
 
 “ Come in ! ” said the unknown. D’Artagnan entered, 
 with a simper on his lips, his plate under his arm, his hat 
 in one hand, his candle in the other. 
 
 “ Excuse me, Monsieur,” said he ; “ I am, as you are, a 
 traveller. I know no one in the hotel, and I have the 
 bad habit of losing my spirits when I eat alone ; so that 
 my repast appears a bad one to me, and does not nourish 
 me. Your face, which I saw just now, when you came 
 down to have some oysters opened, — your face pleased 
 me much. Besides, I have observed that you have a 
 horse just like mine, and that the host, no doubt on ac- 
 count of that resemblance, has placed them side by side 
 in the stable, where they appear to agree amazingly 
 well. I therefore, Monsieur, cannot see why the mas- 
 ters should be separated when the horses are together. 
 In consequence, I am come to request the pleasure of 
 being admitted to your table. My name is Agnan at 
 your service, Monsieur, the unworthy steward of a rich 
 seigneur, who wishes to purchase some salt-mines in this 
 country, and sends me to examine his future acquisitions. 
 In truth, Monsieur, I should be well pleased if my coun- 
 tenance were as agreeable to you as yours is to me ; for, 
 upon my honor, I like you exceedingly.” 
 
 The stranger, whom D’Artagnan saw for the first time, 
 — for before he had only caught a glimpse of him, — the 
 stranger had black and brilliant eyes, a yellow complex- 
 ion, a brow a little wrinkled by the weight of fifty years, 
 simplicity in his features collectively, but a little cunning 
 in the glance of his eye. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN AND THE POET. 
 
 165 
 
 “ One would say, 5 ’ thought D’Artagnan, “ that this 
 merry fellow has never exercised more than the upper 
 part of his head, his eyes, and his brain. He must be a 
 man of science ; his mouth, nose, and chin signify abso- 
 lutely nothing.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied the latter, with whose mind and 
 person we have been making so free, “ you do me much 
 honor. Not that I am ever low-spirited, for I have,” 
 added he, smiling, “ company which amuses me always ; 
 but, never mind that, I am very happy to receive you.” 
 But while saying this, the man with the worn boots cast 
 an uneasy look at his table, from which the oysters had 
 disappeared, and upon which there was nothing left but 
 a morsel of salt bacon. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” D’Artagnan hastened to say, “ the host 
 is bringing me up a fine piece of roasted poultry and a 
 superb oil-cake.” D’Artagnan had read in the look of 
 his companion, however rapid it had been, the fear of an 
 attack by a parasite ; he guessed rightly. At this over- 
 ture the features of the man of modest exterior relaxed ; 
 and as if he had watched the moment for his entrance, 
 the host straightway appeared, bearing the dishes men- 
 tioned. The oil-cake and the teal were added to the 
 morsel of broiled bacon ; D’Artagnan and his guest bowed 
 to each other, sat down face to face, and, like two 
 brothers, shared the bacon and the other dishes. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, “you must confess that 
 partnership is a wonderful thing.” 
 
 “How sol” replied the stranger, with his mouth full. 
 
 “Well, I will tell you,” replied D’Artagnan. 
 
 The stranger gave a short truce to the movement of 
 his jaw T s, in order to hear the better. 
 
 “In the first place,” continued D’Artagnan, “instead 
 of one candle, which each of us had, we have two.” 
 
1 66 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ That is true ! ” said the stranger, struck with the 
 extreme justness of the observation. 
 
 “Then I see that you eat my oil-cake by preference, 
 while I, by preference, eat your bacon.” 
 
 “ That is true, again.” 
 
 “And then, besides the pleasure of being better lighted 
 and eating things according to our taste, I add the pleas- 
 ure of your company.” 
 
 “Truly, Monsieur, you are very jovial,” said the un- 
 known, cheerfully. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur, jovial, as all people are who carry 
 nothing in their heads. Oh ! I can see it is quite another 
 sort of thing with you,” continued D’Artagnan ; “ 1 can 
 read in your eyes all sorts of genius.” 
 
 “Oh, Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ Come, confess one thing.” 
 
 “ What is that ? ” 
 
 “ That you are a learned man.” 
 
 “ Faith, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Hey?” 
 
 “Almost.” 
 
 “ Come, then ! ” 
 
 “ I am an author.” 
 
 “ There ! ” cried D’Artagnan, clapping his hands in 
 delight ; “ I knew I could not be deceived ! It is a 
 miracle ! ” 
 
 “ Monsieur — ” 
 
 “ What ! shall I have the honor of passing the evening 
 in the society of an author, — of a celebrated author, 
 perhaps 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said the unknown, blushing, “ ‘ celebrated,’ Mon- 
 sieur, ‘ celebrated ’ is not the word.” 
 
 “ Modest ! ” cried D’Artagnan, enraptured, “ he is 
 modest ! ” Then, turning towards the stranger, with an 
 
D’ARTAGNAN AND THE POET. 
 
 167 
 
 air of blunt good nature, — “ But tell me at least the names 
 of your works, Monsieur ; for you will please to observe 
 you have not told me your own, and I have been forced 
 to divine your genius.” 
 
 “ My name is Jupenet, Monsieur,” said the author. 
 
 “ A fine name ! a fine name ! upon my word ; and I do 
 not know why — pardon me the blunder, if it be one — 
 but surely I have heard that name somewhere.’ ’ 
 
 “ I have made verses,” said the poet, modestly. 
 
 “ Ah ! that is it, then ; I have heard them read.” 
 
 “ A tragedy.” 
 
 “ I must have seen it played.” 
 
 The poet blushed again, and said : “ I do not think 
 that can be the case, for my verses have not been printed.” 
 
 “ Well, then, it must have been the tragedy which 
 acquainted me with your name.” 
 
 “You are again mistaken, for the comedians of the 
 Hotel de Bourgogne would have nothing to do with it,” 
 said the poet, with the smile of which certain kinds of 
 pride alone know the secret. D’Artagnan bit his lips. 
 “Thus, then, you see, Monsieur,” continued the poet, 
 “you are in error on my account, and that, not being 
 at all known to you, you have never heard me spoken 
 of.” 
 
 “And that confounds me. That name, Jupenet, ap- 
 pears to me, nevertheless, a fine name, and quite as worthy 
 of being known as those of Corneille or Rotrou or Gamier. 
 I hope, Monsieur, you will have the goodness to repeat to 
 me a part of your tragedy presently, by way of dessert, 
 for instance. That will be sugared toast, — mordioux ! 
 Ah ! pardon me, Monsieur, that was a little oath which 
 escaped me, because it is a habit with my lord and 
 master. I sometimes allow myself to usurp that little 
 oath, as it seems in good taste. I take this liberty only 
 
168 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 in his absence, please to observe ; for you may understand 
 that in his presence — But, in truth, Monsieur, this 
 cider is abominable, do you not think so ? And besides, 
 the pot is of such an irregular shape it will not stand on 
 the table.” 
 
 “ Suppose we wedge it ? ” 
 
 “ To be sure ; but with what?” 
 
 “ With this knife.” 
 
 “ And the teal, — with what shall we cut that up? Do 
 you not mean to touch the teal ? ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ Well then — ” 
 
 “ Wait.” 
 
 The poet rummaged in his pocket, and drew out a small 
 piece of metal, oblong, quadrangular, about a line in thick- 
 ness and an inch and a half in length. But scarcely had 
 this little piece of metal seen the light, when the poet 
 appeared to think he had committed an imprudence, and 
 made a motion to put it back again in his pocket. D’Ar- 
 tagnan perceived this, — for he was a man whom nothing 
 escaped. He stretched forth his hand towards the piece 
 of metal : “ Humph ! that which you hold in your hand 
 is pretty; may I look at it? ” 
 
 “ Certainly,” said the poet, who appeared to have 
 yielded too soon to a first impulse, — “ certainly, you may 
 look at it. But it will be in vain for you to look at it,” 
 added he, with a satisfied air ; “ if I were not to tell you 
 the use of that, you would never guess it.” 
 
 D’Artagnan had interpreted as a confession the hesita- 
 tion of the poet, and his eagerness to conceal the piece of 
 metal which a first impulse had induced him to take out 
 of his pocket. His attention, therefore, once awakened 
 on this point, he indued himself with a vigilance which 
 gave him a superiority upon all occasions. Besides, what- 
 
D’ARTAGNAN AND THE POET. 
 
 169 
 
 ever M. Jupenet might say about it, by the simple inspec- 
 tion of the object, he had known perfectly what it was. 
 It was a character used in printing. 
 
 “ Can you guess, now, what this is'?” continued the 
 poet. 
 
 “ No,” said D’Artagnan ; “no, faith ! ” 
 
 “Well, Monsieur,” said M. Jupenet, “this little piece 
 of metal is a printing letter.” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” 
 
 “A capital letter.” 
 
 “ Stop ! stop ! stop ! ” said D’Artagnan, opening his eyes 
 very innocently. 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur, a capital J ; the first letter of my 
 name.” 
 
 “ And this is a letter, is it 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Well, I will confess one thing to you.” 
 
 “ And what is that 1 ” 
 
 “ No, I will not ; I was going to say something very 
 stupid.” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! ” said Master Jupenet, with a patronizing air. 
 “ Well, then, I cannot comprehend, if that is a letter, 
 how you can make a word.” 
 
 “ A word *? ” 
 
 “ Yes, a printed word.” 
 
 “ Oh, that ? s very easy.” 
 
 “ Let me see.” 
 
 “ Does it interest you 1 ” 
 
 “ Enormously.” 
 
 “ Well, I will explain the thing to you. Attend ! ” 
 
 “ I am attending.” 
 
 “ Here it is.” 
 
 “ Good ! ” 
 
 “ Look attentively.” 
 
170 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I am looking/' ’ D’Artagnan, in fact, appeared ab- 
 
 sorbed in his contemplation. Jupenet drew from his 
 pocket seven or eight other pieces of metal, but smaller 
 than the first. 
 
 “ Ah ! ah ! ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ What ? ” 
 
 “ You have, then, a whole printing-office in your pocket. 
 Peste! that is curious indeed.” 
 
 “ Is it not ? ” 
 
 “ Good God ! what a number of things we learn by 
 travelling ! ” 
 
 “ To your health ! ” said Jupenet, quite enchanted. 
 
 “ To yours, mordioux ! to yours. But — an instant — 
 not in this cider. It is an abominable drink, unworthy 
 of a man who quenches his thirst at the Hippocrene 
 fountain ; is it not thus you call your fountain, you 
 poets ? ” 
 
 “Yes, Monsieur, our fountain is indeed so called. That 
 comes from two Greek words, — hippos , which means a 
 horse, and — ” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” interrupted D’Artagnan, “ you shall drink 
 of a liquor which comes from one single French word, and 
 is none the worse for that, — from the word grape; this 
 cider gives me the heartburn. Allow me to inquire of 
 our host if there is not a good bottle of Beaugency, or of 
 the Ceran growth, at the back of the large bins of his 
 cellar.” 
 
 The host, being called, immediately attended. 
 
 “Monsieur,” interrupted the poet, “take care! We 
 shall not have time to drink the wine, unless we make great 
 haste, for I must take advantage of the tide to take the 
 boat.” 
 
 “ What boat 'l ” asked D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Why, the boat which sets out for Belle-Isle.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN AND THE POET. 
 
 171 
 
 “Ah! fur Belle-Isle?” said the musketeer; “that is 
 good.” 
 
 “ Bah ! you will have plenty of time, Monsieur,” replied 
 the hotel-keeper, uncorking the bottle ; “ the boat will not 
 leave this hour.” 
 
 “ But who will give me notice ? ” said the poet. 
 
 “ Your neighbor,” replied the host. 
 
 “ But I scarcely know him.” 
 
 “ When you hear him going, it will be time for you to 
 g°" 
 
 “ Is he going to Belle-Isle too ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ The Monsieur who has a lackey? ” asked D’Artagnan, 
 “ He is some gentleman, no doubt ? ” 
 
 “I know nothing of him.” 
 
 “ How ! — know nothing of him ? ” 
 
 “ No ; all I know is, that he is drinking the same wine 
 as this.” 
 
 “ Peste ! that is a great honor for us,” said D’Artagnan, 
 filling his companion’s glass, while the host went out. 
 
 “ So,” resumed the poet, returning to his ruling ideas, 
 “you never saw any printing done ?” 
 
 “Never.” 
 
 “ Well, then, take the letters thus, which compose the 
 word, you see: Ab; here is an r, two e’s, then a g ; ” 
 and he arranged the letters with a swiftness and skill 
 which did not escape the eye of D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Abrege” said he, as he ended. 
 
 “ Good ! ” said D’Artagnan. “ Here are plenty of letters 
 got together ; but how are they kept so ? ” and he poured 
 out a second glass for his host. M. Jupenet smiled like a 
 man who has an answer for everything ; then he pulled 
 out — still from his pocket — a little metal instrument 
 composed of two parts, arranged at right angles, against 
 
172 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 which he put together in a straight line the characters, 
 holding them under his left thumb. 
 
 “ And what do you call that little iron ruler 1 ” said 
 D’Artagnan ; “ for, I suppose, all these things must have 
 names.’ , 
 
 “ This is called a composing-stick,” said Jupenet ; “it 
 is by the aid of this rule that the lines are formed.’ ’ 
 
 “Come, then, I was not mistaken in what I said; you 
 have a press in your pocket,” said D’Artagnan, laughing 
 with an air of simplicity so stupid that the poet was 
 completely his dupe. 
 
 “No,” replied he; “but I am too lazy to write, and 
 when I have a verse in my head, I set it up all ready for 
 printing. That is a labor spared.” 
 
 “ Mordioux /” thought D’Artagnan to himself, “this 
 must be cleared up ; ” and under a pretext, which did 
 not embarrass the musketeer, who was fertile in ex- 
 pedients, he left the table, went downstairs, ran to the 
 shed under which stood the poet’s little cart, and poked 
 the point of his poniard into the stuff which enveloped 
 one of the packages, which he found full of types, like 
 those which the printer-poet had in his pocket. 
 
 “ Humph ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ I do not yet know 
 whether M. Fouquet wishes to fortify Belle-Isle materi- 
 ally ; but, at all events, here are some spiritual munitions 
 for the castle.” Then, rich in his discovery, he ran up- 
 stairs again to resume his place at the table. 
 
 D’Artagnan had learned what he wished to know. He 
 none the less, however, remained face to face with his 
 partner, to the moment when they heard from the next 
 room the stirring about of a person ready to go out. 
 The printer was immediately on foot ; he had given 
 orders for his horse to be harnessed. His carriage was 
 waiting at the door. The second traveller got into his 
 
D’ ART AG NAN AND THE POET. 
 
 173 
 
 saddle, in the courtyard, with his lackey. D’Artagnan 
 followed Jupenet to the door. The printer embarked his 
 cart and horse on board the boat. As to the opulent 
 traveller, he did the same with his two horses and his 
 servant. But all the wit D’Artagnan employed in en- 
 deavoring to find out his name was lost ; he could learn 
 nothing. Only, he took such notice of his countenance, 
 that that countenance was engraved upon his memory 
 forever. D’Artagnan had a great inclination to embark 
 with the two travellers ; but an interest more powerful 
 than curiosity — that of success — repelled him from the 
 shore, and brought him back again to the hostelry. He 
 entered with a sigh, and went to bed directly, in order 
 to be ready early in the morning with fresh ideas and 
 the counsel of the night. 
 
174 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 d’artagnan continues his investigations. 
 
 At daybreak D’Artagnan himself saddled Furet, who 
 had fared sumptuously all the night, devouring the 
 remainder of the corn left by his companions. The 
 musketeer sifted all he could out of the host, whom he 
 found cunning, mistrustful, and devoted, body and soul, 
 to M. Fouquet. In order, then, not to awaken the sus- 
 picions of this man, he carried on his fable of being a 
 probable purchaser of some salt-mines. To have em- 
 barked for Belle-Isle at La Roche-Bernard would have 
 been to expose himself to comments which had perhaps 
 been already made, and which would be carried to the 
 castle. Moreover, it was singular that this traveller and 
 his lackey should have remained a secret to D’Artagnan, 
 in spite of all the questions addressed by him to the host, 
 who appeared to know the man perfectly well. The 
 musketeer then made some inquiries concerning the salt- 
 mines, and took the road to the marshes, leaving the sea 
 to his right, and penetrating into that vast and desolate 
 plain which resembles a sea of mud, of which here and 
 there a few crests of salt silver the undulations. 
 
 Furet progressed admirably, with his nervous little legs, 
 along the foot-wide causeways which separate the salt- 
 mines. D’Artagnan, aware of the consequences of a fall, 
 which would result in a cold bath, allowed him to go as 
 he liked, contenting himself with looking at three rocks 
 in the distance, which rose up like lance-blades from the 
 
D’ARTAGNAN CONTINUES HIS INVESTIGATIONS. 175 
 
 bosom of the verdureless plain. Pirial, the market- 
 town of Batz, and Le Croisic, exactly resembling each 
 other, attracted and held his attention. If the traveller 
 turned round, the better to make his observations, he 
 saw in the other direction three other steeples, — Gue- 
 rande, Le Poulighen, and St. Joachim, — which in their 
 circumference represented a set of skittles, of which 
 he and Furet were but the wandering ball. Pirial was 
 the first little port on his right. He went thither, with 
 the names of the principal salters in his mouth. At the 
 moment when he arrived at the little port of Pirial, five 
 large barges, laden with stone, were leaving it. It ap- 
 peared strange to D’Artagnan that stones should be 
 leaving a country where none are found. He had re- 
 course to all of M. Agnail’s affability to learn from the 
 people of the port the cause of this singularity. An old 
 fisherman replied to M. Agnail, that the stones very 
 certainly did not come from Pirial or the marshes. 
 
 “ Where do they come from, then] ” naively asked the 
 musketeer. 
 
 “ Monsieur, they come from Nantes and Paimboeuf. ,, 
 
 “ Where are they going, then ] ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, to Belle-Isle.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said D’Artagnan, in the same tone he had as- 
 sumed to tell the printer that his characters interested 
 him; “ are they building at Belle-Isle, then]” 
 
 “ Why, yes, Monsieur ; M. Fouquet has the walls of the 
 castle repaired every year.” 
 
 “ Is it in ruins, then ] ” 
 
 “ It is old.” 
 
 “ Thank you. The fact is,” said D’Artagnan to him- 
 self, “ nothing is more natural ; every proprietor has a 
 right to repair his property. It would be like telling me 
 that I was fortifying the Image de Notre-Dame, when 
 
176 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 I should be purely and simply obliged to rnake repairs. 
 In truth, I believe false reports have been made to his 
 Majesty, and he is very likely to be in the wrong.” 
 
 “ You must confess,” continued he then, aloud, address- 
 ing the fisherman, — for his role of a suspicious man was 
 imposed upon him by the very object of his mission, — 
 “ you must confess, my dear Monsieur, that those stones 
 travel in a very curious fashion.” 
 
 “ Plow so ] ” said the fisherman. 
 
 “ They come from Nantes or Paimbceuf by the Loire, 
 do they not] ” 
 
 “ P'hat is descending.” 
 
 “ That is convenient, — I don’t say it is not ; but why 
 do they not go straight from St. Nazaire to Belle-Isle 1” 
 
 “ Eh ! because the barges are bad boats, and are not 
 seaworthy,” replied the fisherman. 
 
 “ That is not a reason.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Monsieur, one may see that you have 
 never been a sailor,” added the fisherman, not without a 
 sort of disdain. 
 
 “ Pray explain that to me, my good man. It seems to 
 me that to come from Paimboeuf to Pirial, and go from 
 Pirial to Belle-Isle, is as if we went from La Boche-Ber- 
 nard to Nantes, and from Nantes to Pirial.” 
 
 “By water that would be the nearest way,” replied 
 the fisherman, imperturbably. 
 
 “But there is an elbow]” 
 
 The fisherman shook his head. 
 
 “ The shortest road from one place to another is the 
 straight line,” continued D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ You forget the tide, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Well, take the tide.” 
 
 “ And the wind.” 
 
 “ Well; and the wind.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN CONTINUES HIS INVESTIGATIONS. 177 
 
 “ Without doubt ; the current of \ he Loire carries boats 
 almost as far as Le Croisic. If they want to be repaired 
 a little, or to recruit the crew, they come to Pirial along 
 the coast ; from Pirial they find another inverse current, 
 which carries them to the Isle-Dumet, two leagues and a 
 half.” 
 
 u Granted.” 
 
 “ There the current of the Vilaine throws them upon 
 another isle, the isle of Hoedic h ” 
 
 “ I agree to that.” 
 
 “Well, Monsieur, from that isle to Belle-Isle the way 
 is cpiite straight. The sea, broken both above and below, 
 passes like a canal, like a mirror, between the two isles ; 
 the barges glide along upon it, don’t you see, like ducks 
 upon the Loire.” 
 
 “ It does not signify,” said the obstinate M. Agnail j 
 “it is very far about.” 
 
 “Ah, yes; but M. Fouquet will have it so,” replied 
 the fisherman in conclusion, taking off his woollen cap at 
 the enunciation of that respected name. 
 
 A look from D’Artagnan, a look as keen and piercing 
 as a sword-blade, found nothing in the heart of the old 
 man but simple confidence, on his features nothing but 
 satisfaction and indifference. He said, “ M. Fouquet will 
 have it so,” as he would have said, “ God has willed it.” 
 
 D’Artagnan had already gone too far in this direction ; 
 besides, the barges having departed, there remained at 
 Pirial nothing but a single boat, — that of the old man, 
 
 - — and it did not look fit for sea without great preparation. 
 D’Artagnan therefore aroused Furet, who, as a new proof 
 of his charming character, resumed his march, with his 
 feet in the salt-mines, and his nose to the dry wind which 
 bends the furze and the scant}^ heather of this country. 
 D’Artagnan reached Le Croisic about five o’clock. 
 vol. ir. — 12 
 
178 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 If D’Artagnan had been a poet, it would have been a 
 beautiful spectacle, that of the immense strand of a 
 league or more, which the sea covers at high tide, and 
 which at the reflux appears gray, desolate, spread over 
 with star-fishes and dead seaweed, with its pebbles sparse 
 and white, like the bones in some vast cemetery. But 
 the soldier, the politician, and the ambitious man had no 
 longer the sweet consolation of looking towards heaven, 
 to read there a hope or a warning. A red sky signifies 
 nothing to such men but wind and storm. White and 
 fleecy clouds upon the azure only say that the sea will 
 be smooth and peaceful. D’Artagnan found the sky blue, 
 the breeze balmy with saline perfumes, and he said, “ I 
 will embark with the first tide, if it be but in a nutshell.” 
 At Le Croisic, as at Pirial, he had noticed enormous heaps 
 of stone lying along the strand. These gigantic walls, 
 demolished at every tide by the transports going to Belle- 
 Isle, were, in the eyes of the musketeer, the consequence 
 and the proof of what he had so well divined at Pirial. 
 Was it a wall that M. Fouquet was rebuilding 1 — was it 
 a fortification that he was erecting ? To ascertain this, he 
 must see it. D’Artagnan put Furet into a stable, supped, 
 went to bed, and on the morrow took a walk upon the 
 quay, or rather upon the shingle. Le Croisic has a quay 
 fifty feet long; it has a look-out which resembles an enor- 
 mous brioche [a kind of cake] elevated on a dish. The 
 flat strand is the dish. Hundreds of barrowsful of earth, 
 solidified with the pebbles, and rounded into cones, with 
 sinuous passages between, make the look-out and the 
 brioche at the same time. It is so now, it was so two 
 hundred years ago ; only, the brioche was less large, and 
 probably there were not to be seen trellises of lath around 
 the brioche , which constitute the ornament of it, and which 
 the aedileship of that poor and pious little market-town 
 
D’ARTAGNAN CONTINUES TIIS INVESTIGATIONS. 179 
 
 has planted like hand-rails along the snail-like passages 
 winding towards the little terrace. Upon the shingle were 
 three or four fishermen talking about sardines and shrimps. 
 D’Artagnan, his eye animated with rough gayety, and a 
 smile upon his lips, approached these fishermen. 
 
 “ Any fishing going on to-day ?” said he. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur,” replied one of them ; “ we are only 
 waiting for the tide.” 
 
 “ Where do you fish, my friends ?” 
 
 “ Upon the coasts, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Which are the best coasts ? ” 
 
 “ Ah, that depends upon circumstances. Around the 
 isles, for example.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but they are a long way off, those isles, are 
 they not?” 
 
 “ Not very ; four leagues.” 
 
 “Four leagues ! That is a voyage.” 
 
 The fishermen laughed out in M. Agnan’s face. 
 
 “ Hear me, then,” said the latter, with an air of simple 
 stupidity; “four leagues off you lose sight of land, do 
 you not ? ” 
 
 “ Why, not always.” 
 
 “ Ah ! it is a long way, — too long, or else I would have 
 asked you to take me aboard, and to show me what I 
 have never seen.” 
 
 “ What is that?” 
 
 “ A live sea-fish.” 
 
 “ Monsieur is from the province ? ” said a fisherman. 
 “Yes, I come from Paris.” 
 
 The Breton' shrugged his shoulders; then, “Have you 
 ever seen M. Fouquet in Paris?” asked he. 
 
 “ Often,” replied D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Often ! ” repeated the fishermen, closing their circle 
 round the Parisian. “ Do you know him ? ” 
 
180 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ A little ; he is the intimate friend of my master.” 
 u Ah ! ” exclaimed the fishermen. 
 
 “ And,” said D’Artagnan, “ I have seen his chateaux at 
 St. Mande and at Vaux, and his hotel in Paris.” 
 
 “ Is that a fine place 1 ” 
 
 “ Superb.” 
 
 “ It is not so fine a place as Belle-Isle,” said a fisher- 
 man. 
 
 “ Bah ! ” replied M. Agnan, breaking into a laugh so 
 disdainful that he angered all his auditors. 
 
 “ It is very plain that you have never seen Belle-Isle,” 
 returned the most curious of the fishermen. “ Do you 
 know that there are six leagues of it, and that there are 
 such trees on it as cannot be equalled even at Nantes- 
 sur-le-Fosse ? ” 
 
 “ Trees in the sea ! ” cried D’Artagnan. “ Well, I 
 should like to see them.” 
 
 “ That can be easily done. We are fishing at the Isle 
 de Hoedic, — come with us. From that place you will see, 
 as a Paradise, the black trees of Belle-Isle against the 
 sky ; you will see the white line of the castle, which cuts 
 the horizon of the sea like a blade.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said D’Artagnan, “ that must he fine ! But do 
 you know there are a hundred belfries at M. Fouquet’s 
 chateau at Vaux ? ” 
 
 The Breton raised his head in profound admiration, 
 but he was not convinced. “ A hundred belfries ! That 
 may be ; but Belle-Isle is finer than that. Would you 
 like to see Belle-Isle '? ” 
 
 “ Is that possible 1 ” asked D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Yes, with the permission of the governor.” 
 
 “ But I do not know the governor.” 
 
 “ As you know M. Fouquet, you can tell your name.” 
 “ Oh, my friends, I am not a gentleman.” 
 
d’artagnan continues his investigations. 181 
 
 “ Everybody enters Belle-Isle,” continued the fisher- 
 man, in his strong, pure language, “ provided he means 
 no harm to Belle-Isle or its master.” 
 
 A slight shudder passed over the body of the muske- 
 teer. “ That is true,” thought he ; then recovering him- 
 self, “ if I were sure,” said he, “ not to be sea-sick.” 
 
 “ What ! upon her? ” said the fisherman, pointing with 
 pride to his pretty, round-bottomed boat. 
 
 “ Well, you almost persuade me,” cried M. Agnan ; 
 “ I will go and see Belle-Isle, but they will not admit 
 me.” 
 
 “ We shall enter, safe enough.” 
 
 “You! What for?” 
 
 “Why, dame! to sell fish to the corsairs.” 
 
 “ Hey ! corsairs ! — what do you mean ? ” 
 
 “ I mean that M. Fouquet is having two corsairs built 
 to chase the Dutch or the English, and we sell our fish to 
 the crews of those little vessels.” 
 
 “ Come, come ! ” said D’Artagnan to himself ; “ better 
 and better. A printing-press, bastions, and corsairs ! 
 Well, M. Fouquet is not an enemy to be despised, as I 
 had presumed. He is worth the trouble of travelling to 
 see him nearer.” 
 
 “We set out at half- past five,” added the fisherman, 
 gravely. 
 
 “ I am quite ready, and I will not leave you now.” 
 So D’Artagnan saw the fishermen haul their boats with a 
 windlass to meet the tide. The tide came in. M. Agnan 
 managed to climb on board, not without feigning a little 
 fear and awkwardness, to the amusement of the young 
 sea-urchins who watched him with their large intelligent 
 eyes. He lay down upon a folded sail, and remained en- 
 tirely inactive, while the boat prepared for sea ; within 
 two hours it was ready to sail. The fishermen, who pros* 
 
182 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 ecuted their occupation as they proceeded, did not perceive 
 that their passenger had not become pale, had neither 
 groaned nor suffered : that, in spite of the horrible tossing 
 and rolling of the boat, to which no hand imparted direc- 
 tion, the novice passenger had preserved his presence of 
 mind and his appetite. They fished, and their fishing was 
 sufficiently fortunate. To lines baited with prawns, soles 
 and plaice came, with numerous gambols, to bite. Two 
 nets had already been broken by the immense weight of 
 congers and cod ; three sea- eels ploughed the hold with 
 their slimy folds in their dying contortions. D’Artagnan 
 brought them good luck ; they told him so. The soldier 
 found the occupation so pleasant that he put his hand to 
 the work — that is to say, to the lines — and uttered 
 roars of joy, and mordioux enough to have astonished his 
 musketeers themselves, every time that a shock given to 
 his line by a captured prey tugged at the muscles of 
 his arm, and required the employment of his strength 
 and skill. The pleasure party had made him forget his 
 diplomatic mission. He was struggling with a frightful 
 conger, and holding fast with one hand to the side of the 
 vessel in order to seize with the other the gaping jowl of 
 his antagonist, when the skipper said to him, “ Take care 
 they don’t see you from Belle-Isle ! ” 
 
 These words produced the same effect upon DArtagnan 
 as the hissing of the first bullets on a day of battle : he 
 let go of both line and conger, which, one dragging the 
 other, returned again to the water. D’ Artagnan perceived, 
 within half a league at most, the blue and marked profile 
 of the rocks of Belle-Isle, overtowered by the white and 
 majestic line of the castle ; in the distance, the land with 
 its forests and verdant plains ; in the pastures, cattle. 
 This was what first attracted the attention of the mus- 
 keteer. The sun, risen half-way to the meridian, darted its 
 
D’ARTAGNAN CONTINUES HIS INVESTIGATIONS. 188 
 
 rays of gold upon the sea, raising a shining mist or dust 
 around this enchanted isle. Nothing could be seen of it, 
 owing to this dazzling light, but the flattened points ; 
 every shadow was strongly marked, and striped with a 
 band of darkness the luminous sheet of the fields and the 
 walls. “ Well ! ” said D’Artagnan, at the aspect of those 
 masses of black rocks, “ these are fortifications, it seems 
 to me, which do not stand in need of any engineer to 
 render a landing difficult. Where the devil could a land- 
 ing be effected on that isle which God has defended so 
 completely 1 ” 
 
 “ This way,” replied the skipper of the boat, changing 
 the sail, and imparting to the rudder a twist which turned 
 the boat in the direction of a pretty little harbor, quite 
 coquettish, quite round, and quite newly battlemented. 
 
 “What the devil do I see yonder? ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “You see Locmaria,” replied the fisherman. 
 
 “ Well, but there?” 
 
 “ That is Bangos.” 
 
 “ And farther on ? ” 
 
 “Saujen, and then the palace.” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! it is a world ! Ah ! there are some 
 soldiers.” 
 
 “ There are seventeen hundred men in Belle-Isle, Mon- 
 sieur,” replied the fisherman, proudly. “Do you know 
 that the smallest garrison has twenty companies of 
 infantry ? ” 
 
 “ Mordioux /” cried D’Artagnan to himself, stamping 
 with his foot; “his Majesty was right enough.” They 
 landed. 
 
184 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IN WHICH THE READER, NO DOUBT, WILL BE AS ASTON- 
 ISHED AS D’ARTAGNAN WAS TO MEET WITH AN OLD 
 ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 There is always in a landing, if it be only from the 
 smallest sea-boat, a bustle and a confusion which do not 
 leave to the mind the liberty which it needs in order to 
 study at the first glance the new place that is presented 
 to it. The movable bridges, the excited sailors, the 
 noise of the water upon the pebbles, the cries and the 
 importunities of those who are waiting on the shore, are 
 the multiple details of that sensation which is summed 
 up in one single word, — hesitation. 
 
 It was not, then, till after D’Artagnan had disembarked 
 and stood several minutes on the shore that he saw at 
 the harbor, but more particularly in the interior of the isle, 
 an immense number of workmen in motion. At his feet 
 he recognized the five barges laden with rough stone which 
 he had seen leave the port of Pirial. The stones were 
 transported to the shore by means of a chain formed by 
 twenty -five or thirty peasants. The large stones were 
 loaded upon carts which conveyed them in the same 
 direction as the shards, — that is to say, towards the works, 
 of which D’Artagnan could as yet appreciate neither the 
 strength nor the extent. Everywhere prevailed an ac- 
 tivity equal to that which Telemachus observed on his 
 landing at Salentum. 
 
 D’Artagnan felt a strong inclination to penetrate into 
 
MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 185 
 
 the interior ; hut he could not, without danger of exciting 
 mistrust, exhibit too much curiosity. He advanced, then, 
 with exceeding caution, scarcely going beyond the line 
 formed by the fishermen on the beach, observing every- 
 thing, saying nothing, and meeting all suspicions that 
 might have been excited with a half-silly question or a 
 polite bow. And yet, while his companions carried on 
 their trade, giving or selling their fish to the workmen or 
 the inhabitants of the town, D’Artagnan had gained 
 ground by degrees, and, reassured by the little attention 
 paid to him, began to cast an intelligent and confident 
 look upon the men and things that appeared before his 
 eyes. And his very first glance fell upon earthworks in 
 which the eye of a soldier could not be mistaken. In the 
 first place, at the two extremities of the port, in order 
 to cover the great axis of the ellipsis formed by the basin, 
 two batteries had been raised, evidently destined to receive 
 flank pieces; for D’Artagnan saw the workmen finishing 
 the platforms and making ready the half-circle of wood 
 upon which the wheels of the pieces might turn so as to 
 command every direction over the ramparts. By the side 
 of each of these batteries other workmen were strength- 
 ening gabions filled with earth, the lining of another bat- 
 tery. The latter had embrasures, and a superintendent 
 of the works called up in succession the men who, with 
 cords, tied the saucissons, and those who cut the lozenges 
 and right angles of turf destined to retain the matting 
 of the embrasures. By the activity displayed in these 
 works, already so far advanced, they might be consid- 
 ered as completed ; they were not yet furnished with their 
 cannon, but the platforms had their beds and their planks 
 all prepared ; the earth, beaten carefully, had consolidated 
 them ; and, supposing the artillery to be on the island, in 
 less than two or three days the port might be completely 
 
186 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 armed. What astonished D’Artagnan, when he turned 
 his eyes from the coast batteries to the fortifications of 
 the town, was to see that Belle-Isle was defended by an en- 
 tirely new system, of which he had often heard the Comte 
 de la Fere speak as a great advancement, but of which he 
 had never yet seen the application. These fortifications 
 belonged neither to the Dutch method of Marollais, nor 
 to the French method of the Chevalier Antoine de Yille, 
 but to the system of Manesson Mallet, a skilful engineer, 
 who about six or eight years before had quitted the ser- 
 vice of Portugal to enter that of France. These works 
 had the peculiarity that instead of rising above the earth, 
 as did the ancient ramparts destined to defend a city 
 from escalades, they, on the contrary, sank into it ; and 
 the depth of the ditches served instead of the height of 
 walls. It did not take long to make D’Artagnan perceive 
 the superiority of such a system, which gives no advan- 
 tage to cannon. Besides, as the ditches were lower than 
 the sea, or on a level with it, they might be inundated by 
 subterranean sluices. Otherwise, the works were almost 
 complete ; and a group of workmen, receiving orders from 
 a man who appeared to be the superintendent of the 
 works, were occupied in placing the last stones. A bridge 
 of planks, thrown over the ditch for greater convenience 
 in using the barrows, joined the interior to the exterior. 
 With an air of simple curiosity, D’Artagnan asked if he 
 might be permitted to cross the bridge, and he was told 
 that no order prevented it. Consequently he crossed the 
 bridge, and advanced towards the group. 
 
 This group was superintended by the man whom D’Ar- 
 tagnan had already remarked, and who appeared to be 
 the engineer-in-chief. A plan was lying open before him 
 upon a large stone forming a table, and at some paces 
 from him a crane was in action. This engineer, who by 
 
MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 187 
 
 his evident importance first attracted the attention of 
 DArtagnan, wore a coat which from its sumptuousness 
 was scarcely in harmony with the work he was employed 
 in, which would rather have required the costume of a 
 master mason than of a noble. He was, furthermore, a 
 man of high stature and large square shoulders, and he 
 wore a hat covered with plumes. He gesticulated in the 
 most majestic manner, and appeared — for only his back 
 was seen — to be scolding the workmen for their idleness 
 and want of strength. 
 
 D’Artagnan continued to draw nearer. At that mo- 
 ment the man with the plumes had ceased to gesticulate, 
 and, with his hands placed upon his knees, was following, 
 half bent, the efforts of six workmen who were trying to 
 raise a block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber 
 destined to support the stone, so that the cord of the 
 crane might be passed under it. The six men, all on one 
 side of the stone, united their efforts to raise it eight or 
 ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing ; while 
 a seventh got ready, as soon as there should be daylight 
 enough beneath it, to slide in the roller that was to sup- 
 port it. But the stone had already twice escaped from 
 their hands before gaining a sufficient height for the roller 
 to be introduced. It may well be believed that every 
 time the stone escaped them, they bounded quickly back- 
 wards, to keep their feet from being crushed by the fall- 
 ing stone. Moreover, each time that the stone was re- 
 linquished by them, it sank deeper and deeper into the 
 damp earth, which rendered the operation more and 
 more difficult. A third effort was attended by no bet- 
 ter success, but with increasing discouragement. And 
 yet, when the six men were bent over the stone, the 
 man with the plumes had himself, with a powerful 
 voice, given the word of command, “ Steady ! ” which 
 
1 88 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 guides all manoeuvres of strength. Then he drew 
 himself up. 
 
 “ Come now ! ” said he, “ what is all this about 1 
 Have I to do w T ith men of straw! Corboeuf l stand on 
 one side, and you shall see how this is to be done.” 
 
 “ Peste ! ” said D’Artagnan, “ will he pretend to raise 
 that rock! That would be a sight worth looking at.” 
 
 The workmen, as commanded by the engineer, drew 
 back, crestfallen and shaking their heads, with the excep- 
 tion of the one who held the joist, who prepared to per- 
 form his office. The man with the plumes went up to the 
 stone, stooped, slipped his hands under the face lying 
 upon the ground, stiffened his herculean muscles, and 
 without a jerk, but with a slow motion like that of a 
 machine, lifted the- end of the rock a foot from the ground. 
 The workman who held the joist profited by the space 
 thus given him, and slipped the roller under the stone. 
 
 “ That ’s the way,” said the giant, not letting the rock 
 fall again, but placing it upon its support. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” cried D’Artagnan, “ I know but one man 
 capable of such a feat of strength.” 
 
 “ Hey 1 ” said the colossus, turning round. 
 u Porthos ! ” murmured D’Artagnan, seized with amaze- 
 ment ; “ Porthos at Belle-Isle ! ” 
 
 On his part, the man with the plumes fixed his eyes 
 upon the pretended steward, and, in spite of his disguise, 
 recognized him. (c D’Artagnan ! ” exclaimed he ; and the 
 color mounted to his face. “ Hush ! ” said he to D’Artagnan. 
 “ Hush ! ” in his turn said the musketeer. 
 
 In fact, if Porthos had just been discovered by D’Ar- 
 tagnan, D’Artagnan had just been discovered by Porthos. 
 Their share in each other’s particular secret struck them 
 both at the same time. Nevertheless, the first move of 
 the two men was to throw their arms round each other. 
 
MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, 
 
 189 
 
 What they wished to conceal from the bystanders was 
 not their friendship, but their names. But after the 
 embrace came reflection. 
 
 “ Why the devil is Porthos at Belle-Isle lifting stones 1 ” 
 said D’Artagnan ; only, D’Artagnan uttered that question 
 to himself in a low voice. 
 
 Less strong in diplomacy than his friend, Porthos 
 thought aloud. “ How the devil did you come to Belle- 
 Isle % ” asked he of D’Artagnan, “ and what do you come 
 to do here h ” 
 
 It was necessary to reply without hesitation. To hesi- 
 tate in his answer to Porthos would have been a check 
 for which the self-love of D’Artagnan could never have 
 consoled itself. “ Pardieu ! my friend, I am at Belle- 
 Isle because you are here.” 
 
 “ Oh, bah ! ” said Porthos, visibly astounded by the 
 statement, and seeking to account for it to himself, with 
 that clearness of deduction which we know to be charac- 
 teristic of him. 
 
 “ Besides, ” continued D’Artagnan, unwilling to give his 
 friend time to recollect himself, “ I have been to see you 
 at Pierrefonds.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And you did not find me there 1 ” 
 
 “No; but I found Mouston.” 
 
 “ Is he well ? ” 
 
 “ Peste ! " 
 
 “Well, but Mouston did not tell you I was here.” 
 
 “ Why should he not ^ Have I, perchance, deserved 
 to lose his confidence 1 ” 
 
 “No ; but he did not know it.” 
 
 “ Well, that is a reason at least not offensive to nry 
 self-love.” 
 
190 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ But how did you manage to find me ? ” 
 
 “ My dear friend, a great noble, like you, always leaves 
 traces of his passage ; and I should think but poorly of 
 myself if I were not sharp enough to follow the traces of 
 my friends.” This explanation, flattering as it was, did 
 not entirely satisfy Porthos. 
 
 “But I left no traces behind me, as I came here dis- 
 guised/ , said Porthos. 
 
 “ Ah ! You came disguised, did you ] ” said D’Artagnan. 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “And how I ” 
 
 “ As a miller.” 
 
 “ And do you think a great noble like you, Porthos, 
 can affect common manners so as to deceive people I ” 
 “Well, I swear to you, my friend, that I played my 
 part so well that everybody was deceived.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! so well that I have not discovered and re- 
 joined you I ” 
 
 “ Yes ; but how have you discovered and rejoined me 1 ” 
 “ Stop a bit ! I was going to tell you how. Do you 
 imagine that Houston — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! it was that fellow, Mouston,” said Porthos, 
 gathering together those two triumphal arches which 
 served him for eyebrows. 
 
 “ But, stop, I tell you ! It was no fault of Mouston’s, 
 because he was ignorant himself of where you were.” 
 
 “ I know he was ; and that is why I am in such haste 
 to understand — ” 
 
 “ Oh, how impatient you are, Porthos ! ” 
 
 “When I do not comprehend, I am terrible.” 
 
 “ Well, you will understand. Aramis wrote to you at 
 Pierrefonds, did he not 1 ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ And he told you to come before the equinox.” 
 
MEETING AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 191 
 
 “ That is true.” 
 
 “Well, that is it/’ said D’Artagnan, hoping that this 
 reason would satisfy Porthos. 
 
 Porthos appeared to give himself up to violent mental 
 labor. “ Yes, yes,” said he, “ I understand. As Aramis told 
 me to come before the equinox, you have understood that 
 that was to join him. You then inquired where Aramis 
 was, saying to yourself, ‘ Where Aramis is, there Porthos 
 will be.’ You have learned that Aramis was in Bretagne, 
 and you said to yourself, ‘ Porthos is in Bretagne/ ” 
 
 “ Exactly ! In truth, Porthos, I cannot tell why you 
 have not turned soothsayer. So you understand that, 
 arriving at La Boche-Bernard, I heard of the splendid 
 fortifications going on at Belle-Isle. The account that 
 they gave me raised my curiosity. I embarked in a fish- 
 ing-boat, without dreaming that you were here. I came, 
 and I saw a fine fellow lifting a stone which Ajax could 
 not have stirred. I cried out, ‘Nobody but the Baron de 
 Bracieux could have performed such a feat of strength/ 
 You heard me, you turned round, you recognized me, we 
 embraced ; and, faith ! if you like, my dear friend, we will 
 embrace again.” 
 
 “ Ah ! now it is all explained,” said Porthos ; and he 
 embraced D’Artagnan with so much affection as to de- 
 prive the musketeer of his breath for five minutes. 
 
 “ Why, you are stronger than ever,” said D’Artagnan, 
 “and still, fortunately, in your arms/’ 
 
 Porthos greeted D’Artagnan with a gracious smile. 
 During the five minutes in which D’Artagnan was recov- 
 ering his breath, he reflected that he had a very difficult 
 part to play. It was necessary that he should question 
 without ever replying. By the time his respiration re- 
 turned, his plan of the campaign had been made. 
 
192 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WHEREIN THE IDEAS OF D’ARTAGNAN, AT FIRST VERY CON- 
 FUSED, BEGIN TO CLEAR UP A LITTLE. 
 
 D’Artagnan immediately took the offensive. “ Now 
 that I have told you all, dear friend, or rather now that 
 you have guessed all, tell me what you are doing here, 
 covered with dust and mud.” 
 
 Porthos wiped his brow, and looked around him with 
 pride. “ Why, I should think,” said he, “ that you might 
 see what I am doing here.” 
 
 “ No doubt, no doubt; you lift great stones.” 
 
 “ Oh, to show these idle fellows what a man is ! ” said 
 Porthos, with contempt. “ But you understand — ” 
 
 “ Yes ; that it is not your place to lift stones, although 
 there are many, whose place it is, who cannot lift them as 
 you do. It was that which made me ask you, just now, 
 what you are doing here, Baron.” 
 
 “ I am studying topography, Chevalier.” 
 
 “ You are studying topography 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes ; but you — what are you doing in that common 
 dress ? ” 
 
 D’Artagnan perceived he had committed a fault in giv- 
 ing expression to his astonishment. Porthos had taken 
 advantage of it, to retort with a question. Fortunately 
 D’Artagnan was expecting this question. “ Why,” said 
 he, u you know I am a bourgeois, in fact ; my dress, then, 
 has nothing astonishing in it, since it conforms to my 
 condition.” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 193 
 
 “ Nonsense! you are a musketeer.” 
 
 “You are wrong, my friend; I have given in my 
 resignation.” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, mon Dieu ! yes.” 
 
 “ And have you abandoned the service?” 
 
 “ I have quitted it.” 
 
 “ You have abandoned the king? ” 
 
 “ Quite.” 
 
 Porthos raised his arms towards heaven, like a man 
 who has heard extraordinary news. “ Well, that does 
 confound me,” said he. 
 
 “ It is nevertheless true.” 
 
 “And what could have led you to form such a 
 resolution ? ” 
 
 “ The king displeased me. Mazarin had disgusted me 
 for a long time, as you know ; so I threw my uniform to 
 the nettles.” 
 
 “ But Mazarin is dead.” 
 
 “ I know that well enough, parbleu ! Only, at the 
 period of his death, my resignation had been given in 
 and accepted two months. Then, feeling myself free, I 
 set off for Pierrefonds, to see my dear Porthos. I had 
 heard of the happy division you had made of your time, 
 and I wished for a fortnight to divide mine after your 
 fashion.” 
 
 “ My friend, you know that it is not for a fortnight 
 the house is open to you ; it is for a year, — for ten years, 
 — for life.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Porthos.” 
 
 “Ah! you don’t want any money, do you?” said 
 Porthos, making something like fifty louis chink in his 
 pocket. “ In that case, you know — ” 
 
 “ No, thank you ; I am not in want of anything. I 
 VOL. II. — 13 
 
194 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 placed my savings with Plan diet, who pays me the inter- 
 est of them.” 
 
 “ Your savings 1 ” 
 
 “Yes, to be sure,” said D’Artagnan ; “why should I 
 not put by savings, as well as another, Porthos ] ” 
 
 “ Oh, there is no reason why ; on the contrary, I al 
 ways suspected you — that is to say, Aramis always sus- 
 pected you — to have savings. For my own part, d’ ye 
 see, I take no concern about the management of my 
 household ; but I presume the savings of a musketeer 
 must be small.” 
 
 “No doubt, relative to yourself, Porthos, who are a 
 millionnaire ; but you shall judge. I had laid by twenty- 
 five thousand livres.” 
 
 “ That ’s pretty well,” said Porthos, with an affable air. 
 
 “ And,” continued D’Artagnan, “ on the 28th of 
 last month I added to it two hundred thousand livres 
 more.” 
 
 Porthos opened his great eyes, which eloquently de- 
 manded of the musketeer, “ Where the devil did you steal 
 such a sum as that, my dear friend 1 ” “ Two hundred 
 
 thousand livres ! ” cried he, at length. 
 
 “Yes; which, with the twenty-five I had, and twenty 
 thousand I have about me, complete the sum of two hun- 
 dred and forty-five thousand livres.” 
 
 “ But tell me, whence comes this fortune ] ” 
 
 “ I will tell you all about it presently, dear friend ; 
 but as you have, in the first place, many things to tell 
 me yourself, let us place my narration in its proper 
 rank.” 
 
 “ Bravo ! ” said Porthos ; “ then we are both rich. 
 But what can I have to tell you ? ” 
 
 “ You have to tell me how Aramis came to be 
 named — ” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 195 
 
 ‘‘Ah ! bishop of Vannes.” 
 
 “ That ’s it/’ said D’Artagnan, “ bishop of Vannes. 
 Dear Aramis ! do you know how he succeeded so well'?” 
 “Yes, yes; without considering that he does not mean 
 to stop there.” 
 
 “ What ! do you think he will not be contented with 
 violet stockings, and that he wants a red hat ? ” 
 
 “ Hush ! that is promised him.” 
 
 “Bah ! by the king?” 
 
 “ By somebody more powerful than the king.” 
 
 “ Oh, the devil ! Porthos, what incredible things you 
 tell me, my friend ! ” 
 
 “ Why incredible ? Is there not always somebody in 
 Prance more powerful than the king ? ” 
 
 “Oh, yes! in the time of King Louis XIII. it was the 
 Due de Richelieu ; in the time of the regency it was 
 Cardinal Mazarin ; in the time of Louis XIV; it is M. — ” 
 “ Go on/ 
 
 “ It is M. Fouquet.” 
 
 “ Jove! you have hit it the first time.” 
 
 “So it is M. Fouquet who has promised Aramis the 
 hat?” 
 
 Porthos assumed an air of reserve. “Dear friend,” 
 said he, “ God preserve me from meddling with the affairs 
 of others, above all from revealing secrets it may be to 
 their interests to keep ! When you see Aramis, he will 
 tell you what he thinks he ought to tell you.” 
 
 “ You are right, Porthos ; and you are quite a padlock 
 for safety. But to revert to yourself ? ” 
 
 “Yes,” said Porthos. 
 
 “ You said just now that you came hither to study 
 topography ? ” 
 
 “ I did so.” 
 
 “ Tudieu ! my friend, what fine things you will do ! ” 
 
196 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 66 How do you mean 1 ” 
 
 “ Why, these fortifications are admirable.” 
 
 “ Is that your opinion 1 ” 
 
 “ Certainly. In truth, to anything but a regular siege, 
 Belle-Isle is impregnable.” 
 
 Porthos rubbed his hands. “ That is my opinion,” said 
 he. 
 
 “ But who the devil has fortified this paltry little place 
 in this manner'?” 
 
 Porthos drew himself up proudly : “ Did not I tell you 
 who 1 ” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “ Do you not suspect 1 ” 
 
 “ No ; all that I can say is that he is a man who has 
 studied all the systems, and who appears to me to have 
 stopped at the best.” 
 
 “ Hush ! ” said Porthos ; “ consider my modesty, my 
 dear d’Artagnan ! ” 
 
 “Really,” replied the musketeer, “can it be you — 
 who — oh ! ” 
 
 “ Pray, my dear friend — ” 
 
 “ You who have imagined, traced, and contrived these 
 bastions, these redans, these curtains, these half-moons, 
 and are preparing that covered way ” 
 
 “ I beg you — ” 
 
 “ You who have built that lunette with its retiring 
 angles and its salient angles 1 ” 
 
 “ My friend — ” 
 
 “ You who have given that inclination to the openings 
 of your embrasures, by means of which you so effectively 
 protect the men who serve the guns ? ” 
 
 “ Eh ! mon Dieu ! yes.” 
 
 “ Oh, Porthos, Porthos ! I must bow down before 
 you, I must admire you ! But you have always com 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 197 
 
 cealed from us this superior genius. I hope, my dear 
 friend, you will show me all this in detail ? ” 
 
 “Nothing more easy. There is my plan.” 
 
 “ Show it me.” 
 
 Porthos led D’Artagnan towards the stone which served 
 him for a table, and upon which the plan was spread. 
 At the foot of the plan was written, in the formidable 
 writing of Porthos, of which we have already had occasion 
 to speak : — 
 
 “ Instead of making use of the square or rectangle, as has 
 been done up to this time, you will suppose your place enclosed 
 in a regular hexagon, this polygon having the advantage of 
 offering more angles than the quadrilateral. Every side of 
 your hexagon, of which you will determine the length in pro- 
 portion to the dimensions taken upon the place, will be divided 
 into two parts, and upon the middle point you will draw a per- 
 pendicular towards the centre of the polygon, which will equal 
 in length the sixth part of the side. At the extremities of each 
 side of the polygon, you will trace two diagonals, which will 
 cut the perpendicular. These two straight lines will form the 
 lines of defence.” 
 
 “ The devil ! ” said D’Artagnan, stopping at this point 
 of the demonstration ; “ why, this is a complete system, 
 Porthos.” 
 
 “ Entirely,” said Porthos. “ Do you wish to continue ? ” 
 “No, I have read enough of it; but since it is you, 
 my dear Porthos, who direct the works, what need have 
 you of setting down your system so formally in writing 1 ” 
 “ Oh, my dear friend, death ! ” 
 
 “ How ! death 1 ” 
 
 “Why, we are all mortal.” 
 
 “ That is true,” said D’Artagnan ; “ you have an answer 
 for everything, my friend ; 99 and he replaced the plan 
 upon the stone. 
 
198 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 But however short the time he had the plan in his 
 hands, D’Artagnan had been able to distinguish, under the 
 enormous writing of Porthos, a much more delicate hand, 
 which reminded him of certain letters to Marie Michon, 
 with which he had been acquainted in his youth. Only, 
 the India-rubber had passed and repassed over this writ- 
 ing, so that it might have escaped a less practised eye 
 than that of our musketeer. 
 
 “Bravo ! my friend, bravo ! ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ And now you know all that you want to know, do 
 you not ? ” said Porthos, wheeling about. 
 
 “ Mon Dieu , yes; only do me one last favor, dear 
 friend ! ” 
 
 “ Speak ! I am master here.” 
 
 “ Do me the pleasure to tell me the name of that gen- 
 tleman who is walking yonder.” 
 
 “ Where 1 there 
 “ Behind the soldiers.” 
 
 “ Followed by a lackey 1 ” 
 
 “ Exactly.” 
 
 “ In company with a mean sort of fellow dressed in 
 black 1" 
 
 “Yes; I mean him.” 
 
 “ That is M. Getard ? ” 
 
 “ And who is Getard, my friend ? ” 
 
 “He is the architect of the house.” 
 
 “ Of what house ?” 
 
 “ Of M. Fouquet’s house.” 
 
 “Ah ! ” cried D’Artagnan ; “ you are of the household 
 of M. Fouquet, then, Porthos ? ” 
 
 “ I ! what do you mean by that 1 ” said the topographer, 
 blushing to the tips of his ears. 
 
 “ Why, you say ‘ the house,’ when speaking of Belle-Isle, 
 as if you were speaking of the chateau of Pierrefonds.” 
 
p’ARTAGNAN’S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 199 
 
 Porthos bit his lips. “ Belle-Isle, my friend,” said he, 
 * belongs to M. Fouquet, does it not ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, I believe so.” 
 
 “ As Pierrefonds belongs to me % ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 44 Yon have been at Pierrefonds 
 
 44 I told you that I was there not two months ago.” 
 
 “ Did you ever see a man there who is accustomed to 
 walk about with a ruler in his hand ? ” 
 
 “No; but I might have seen him there, if he really 
 walked there.” 
 
 “Well, that gentleman is M. Boulingrin.” 
 
 “ Who is M. Boulingrin *? ” 
 
 “ Now we come to it. If, when this gentleman is walk- 
 ing with a ruler in his hand, any one should ask me, 
 4 Who is M. Boulingrin % ’ I should reply : 4 He is the 
 architect of the house.’ Well ! M. Getard is the Boulin- 
 grin of M. Fouquet. But he has nothing to do with the 
 fortifications, which are my department alone, do you 
 understand 1 — absolutely nothing.” 
 
 “ Ah, Porthos,” exclaimed D’Artagnan, letting his 
 arms fall as a conquered man gives up his sword ; 44 ah, 
 my friend, you are not only a herculean topographer, 
 you are, still further, a dialectician of the first 
 water.” 
 
 “Was it not powerfully reasoned V 1 said Porthos ; and 
 he puffed and blew like the conger which D’Artagnan had 
 let slip from his hand that morning. 
 
 44 And now,” continued D’Artagnan, 44 that shabby- 
 looking man who accompanies M. Getard, is he also of 
 the household of M. Fouquet 1 ?” 
 
 44 Oh, yes,” said Porthos, with contempt; 44 it is one 
 M. Jupenet, or Juponet, a sort of poet.” 
 
 “ Who has come to establish himself here ? ” 
 
200 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I believe so.” 
 
 “ I thought M. Fouquet had poets enough, yonder, — 
 Scuderi, Loret, Pellisson, La Fontaine] If I must tell 
 'you the truth, Porthos, that poet disgraces you.” 
 
 “Eh ! my friend ; but what saves us is that he is not 
 here as a poet.” 
 
 “ As what, then, is he ] ” 
 
 “ As printer. And you make me remember that I have 
 a word to say to the dirty pedant.” 
 
 “ Say it, then.” 
 
 Porthos made a sign to Jupenet, who clearly recognized 
 D’Artagnan, and did not care to come nearer, — which 
 naturally produced another sign from Porthos. This 
 was so imperative that he was obliged to obey. As 
 he approached, “ Come hither ! ” said Porthos. “ You 
 landed only yesterday, and you have begun your tricks 
 already.” 
 
 “How so, Monsieur the Baron?” asked Jupenet, 
 trembling. 
 
 “ Your press was groaning all night, Monsieur,” said 
 Porthos, “and you prevented my sleeping, corboeuf ! ” 
 “Monsieur — ” objected Jupenet, timidly. 
 
 “You have nothing yet to print; therefore you have 
 no occasion to set your press going. What did you print 
 last night? ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, a light poem of my own composition.” 
 
 “ Light ! Nonsense, Monsieur; the press groaned piti 
 fully with it. Let that not happen again ! ” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ You promise me ? ” 
 
 “ I do, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Very well ; this time I pardon you. Adieu ! ” 
 
 The poet withdrew with t !i o same humility he had 
 exhibited on coming up. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN’S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 201 
 
 “ Well, now we have combed that fellow’s head, let ns 
 breakfast.” 
 
 “ Yes,” replied D’Artagnan, “let us breakfast.” 
 “Only,” said Porthos, “I beg you to observe, my 
 friend, that we have only two hours for our repast.” 
 
 “ What would you ha \e1 We will try to make it an» 
 swer. But why have you only two hours 'l ” 
 
 “ Because it is high tide at one o’clock, and with the 
 tide I am going to start for Vannes. But as I shall re- 
 turn to-morrow, my dear friend, you can stay here. You 
 shall be master. I have a good cook and a good 
 cellar.” 
 
 “ No,” interrupted D’Artagnan ; “ better than that l ” 
 “ What 1 ” 
 
 “ You are going to Vannes, you say 1 ” 
 
 “ To a certainty.” 
 
 “ To see Aramis ] ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Well, I came from Paris on purpose to see Aramis.” 
 
 “ That ’s true.” 
 
 “ I will go with you, then.” 
 
 “ Do ; that ’s the thing.” 
 
 “ Only, I ought to have seen Aramis first, and you 
 after. But man proposes, and God disposes. I have be- 
 gun with you, and will finish with Aramis.” 
 
 “ Very well.” 
 
 “ And in how many hours can you go from hence to 
 Vannes 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh ! pardieu ! in six hours. Three hours by sea 
 from here to Sarzeau, three hours by road from Sarzeau 
 to Vannes.” 
 
 “ How convenient that is ! Being so near to the bish- 
 opric, do you often go to Vannes 1” 
 
 “ Yes ; once a week. But stop till I get my plan.” 
 
202 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Porthos picked up his plan, folded it carefully, and 
 engulfed it in his large pocket. 
 
 “ Good ! ” said D’Artagnan, aside ; “ I think I now 
 know the true engineer who is fortifying Belle-Isle.” 
 Two hours after, at high tide, Porthos and D’Artagnan 
 set out for Sarzeau. 
 
A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 
 
 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 
 
 The passage from Belle-Isle to Sarzeau was made rapidly 
 enough, thanks to one of those little corsairs of which 
 D’Artagnan had been told during his voyage, and which, 
 shaped for fast sailing and destined for the chase, were 
 sheltered at that time in the road of Locmaria, where one 
 of them, with a quarter of its war-crew, did service be- 
 tween Belle-Isle and the Continent. D’Artagnan had an 
 opportunity of convincing himself once more that Porthos, 
 though engineer and topographer, was not deeply versed 
 in affairs of State. His entire ignorance, with any other, 
 might have passed for well-informed dissimulation. But 
 D’Artagnan knew too well all the folds and the refolds of 
 his Porthos not to find a secret if there were one there, — 
 like those regular, minute old bachelors, who know how 
 to find, with their eyes shut, each book on the shelves of 
 their library, and each piece of linen in the drawers of 
 their commode. Then, if he had found nothing, that sly 
 D’Artagnan, in rolling and unrolling his Porthos, it was 
 because, in truth, there was nothing to be found. 
 
 “ Be it so,” said D’Artagnan ; “ I shall know more at 
 Vannes in half an hour than Porthos hasr known at Belle- 
 Isle in two months. Only, in order that I may know 
 something, it is important that Porthos does not make 
 use of the only stratagem I leave at his disposal. He must 
 not warn Aramis of my arrival.” 
 
 All the vigilance of the musketeer was then, for the 
 moment, devoted to watching Porthos. And let us 
 
204 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 hasten to say, Porthos did not deserve alljthis mistrust. 
 Porthos had no thoughts of evil. Perhaps, on first 
 seeing him, D’Artagnan had inspired him with a little 
 suspicion ; but almost immediately D’Artagnan had re- 
 conquered in that good and brave heart the place he 
 had always occupied, and not the least cloud darkened 
 the great eye of Porthos, fixed from time to time with 
 fondness on his friend. 
 
 On landing, Porthos inquired if his horses were waiting, 
 and he soon perceived them at the crossing of the road 
 which turns round Sarzeau, and which, without passing 
 through that little town, leads towards Vannes. These 
 horses were two in number, — one for M. du Vallon, and 
 one for his equerry ; for Porthos had an equerry since 
 Mousqueton could use only a carriage as a means of loco- 
 motion. D’Artagnan expected that Porthos would pro- 
 pose to send forward his equerry upon one horse to bring 
 back another horse, and he (D’Artagnan) had made up 
 his mind to oppose this proposition. But nothing which 
 D’Artagnan had expected happened. Porthos simply 
 ordered the servant to dismount and await his return at 
 Sarzeau, while D’Artagnan would ride his horse, — which 
 was done. 
 
 “ Eh ! but you are quite a man of foresight, my dear 
 Porthos,” said D’Artagnan to his friend, when he found 
 himself in the saddle upon the equerry’s horse. 
 
 “ Yes ; but this is a kindness on the part of Aramis. 
 I have not my stud here, and Aramis has placed his 
 stables at my disposal.” 
 
 “ Good horses for bishop’s horses, mordioux ! ” said 
 D’Artagnan. “It is true, Aramis is a bishop of a peculiar 
 kind.” 
 
 “ He is a holy man ! ” replied Porthos, in a tone almost 
 nasal, raising his eyes towards heaven. 
 
A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 
 
 205 
 
 “ Then he is much changed,” said D’Artagnan ; “for 
 you and I have known him tolerably profane.” 
 
 “ Grace has touched him,” said Porthos. 
 
 “ Bravo ! ” said D’Artagnan ; “ that redoubles my de- 
 sire to see him, this precious Aramis ! ” and he spurred 
 his horse, which sprang off with renewed speed. 
 
 “ Peste!” said Porthos, “if we go on at this rate, we 
 shall take only one hour instead of two.” 
 
 “To go how far do you say, Porthos ? ” 
 
 “Four leagues and a half.” 
 
 “ That will be a good pace.” 
 
 “ I .could have embarked you on the canal, but the 
 devil take rowers and boat-horses ! The first are like tor- 
 toises, the second like snails ; and when a man is able to 
 put a good horse between his knees, that horse is worth 
 more than rowers or any other means.” 
 
 “ You are right, — you, above all, Porthos, who always 
 look magnificent on horseback.” 
 
 “ A little heavy, my friend ; I was weighed the other 
 day.” 
 
 “ And what do you weigh i" 
 
 “ Three hundred- weight ! ” said Porthos, proudly. 
 “Bravo!” 
 
 “ So that you must perceive that I am forced to choose 
 horses whose loins are straight and wide ; otherwise I 
 break them down in two hours.” 
 
 “ Yes ; giant’s horses you must have, must you not 1 ’ 
 
 “ You are very polite, my friend,” replied the engineer, 
 with affectionate majesty. 
 
 “ As a case in point,” replied D’Artagnan, “your horse 
 seems to sweat already.” 
 
 “ Dame! it is hot. Ah ! do you see Vannes now ” 
 “Yes, perfectly. It is a handsome city, apparently.” 
 
 “ Charming, — according to Aramis, at least ; it is too 
 
206 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 dark-colored to please me. But black seems to be con- 
 sidered handsome by artists; I am very sorry for it.” 
 
 “ Why so, Porthos 1 ” 
 
 “ Because I have lately had my chateau of Pierrefonds, 
 which was gray with age, plastered white.” 
 
 “ Humph ! ” said D’Artagnan ; “ but white is more 
 cheerful.” 
 
 “Yes; but it is less august, as Aramis tells me. For- 
 tunately there are dealers in black as well as white. I 
 will have Pierrefonds replastered in black, that is all. If 
 gray is handsome, you understand, my friend, black must 
 be superb.” 
 
 “ Dame! ” said D’Artagnan, “ that appears logical.” 
 “Were you never at Vannes, D’Artagnan ?” 
 
 “ Never.” 
 
 “ Then you do not know the city ? ” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “Well, look!” said Porthos, raising himself in his 
 stirrups, which made the fore-quarters of his horse bend 
 sadly; “do you see that spire in the sunlight yonder 1 ” 
 “Yes, I see it plainly.” 
 
 “That is the cathedral.” 
 
 “ Which is called — ” 
 
 “ St. Pierre. Now look again ! In the faubourg on 
 the left do you see another cross 'l ” 
 
 “ Perfectly well.” 
 
 “ That is St. Paterae, the parish preferred by Aramis.” 
 “ Indeed ! ” 
 
 “ Without doubt. Saint Paterae, you see, passes for 
 having been the first bishop of Vannes. It is true that 
 Aramis pretends that he was not ; but he is so learned 
 that that may be only a paro — a para — ” 
 
 “ Paradox,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Precisely ; thank you ! My tongue trips, it is so hot.” 
 
A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 
 
 207 
 
 “ My friend/’ said D’Artagnan, “ continue your inter- 
 esting description, I beg. What is that large white build- 
 ing with many windows 1” 
 
 “ Oh ! that is the college of the Jesuits. Pardieu ! you 
 have a lucky hand. Do you see, close to the college, a large 
 house with steeples and turrets, and built in a handsome 
 Gothic style, as that brute, M. Getard, says 1 ” 
 
 “Yes, I see. Well V 1 
 “ Well, that is where Aramis resides.” 
 
 “ What ! does he not reside at the episcopal palace ? ” 
 
 “ No ; that is in ruins. The palace, likewise, is in the 
 city, and Aramis prefers the faubourg. That is why, as 
 I told you, he is partial to St. Paterne ; St. Paterne is in 
 the faubourg. Besides, there are in this faubourg a mall, 
 a tennis-court, and a house of Dominicans, — see ! the one 
 whose handsome steeple rises to the heavens.” 
 
 “Well?” 
 
 “ Next, you see, the faubourg is like a separate city ; it 
 has its walls, its towers, its ditches ; the quay is upon it, 
 likewise, and the boats land at the quay. If our little 
 corsair did not draw eight feet of water, we could have 
 come full sail up to Aramis’s windows.” 
 
 “ Porthos, Porthos,” cried D’Artagnan, “you are a well 
 of knowledge, a spring of ingenious and profound reflec- 
 tions. Porthos, you no longer surprise me ; you confound 
 me.” 
 
 “ Here we are, arrived/’ said Porthos, turning the con- 
 versation with his usual modesty. 
 
 “ And high time we were,” thought D’Artagnan, “ for 
 Aramis’s horse is melting away like a horse of ice.” 
 
 They entered almost at the same instant into the fau- 
 bourg ; but scarcely had they gone a hundred paces when 
 they were surprised to find the streets strewed with leaves 
 and flowers. Against the old walls of Vannes were hung 
 
208 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the oldest and the strangest tapestries of France. Over- 
 iron balconies fell long white sheets stuck all over with 
 bouquets. The streets were deserted ; it was plain that 
 the whole population w r as assembled at one point. The 
 blinds were closed, and the breeze penetrated into the 
 houses under the hangings, which cast long black shadows 
 between their places of issue and the walls. Suddenly, 
 at the turning of a street, chants struck the ears of the 
 newly arrived travellers. A crowd in holiday garb ap- 
 peared through the vapors of incense which mounted to 
 the heavens in blue flakes, and clouds of rose-leaves flew 
 up as high as the first stories. Above all heads were to 
 be seen the cross and banners, the sacred symbols of reli- 
 gion. Then, beneath those crosses and banners, as if 
 protected by them, was a whole world of young girls, 
 clothed in white, and crowned with corn-flowers. At the 
 two sides of the street, enclosing the cortege , marched the 
 guards of the garrison, carrying bouquets in the barrels 
 of their muskets and on the points of their lances. This 
 was a procession. 
 
 While D’Artagnan and Porthos were looking on with 
 becoming pious ardor, which disguised an extreme im- 
 patience to push forward, a magnificent dais approached, 
 preceded by a hundred Jesuits and a hundred Domini- 
 cans, and escorted by two archdeacons, a treasurer, a 
 penitentiary, and twelve canons. A chanter with a 
 thundering voice — a chanter certainly picked out from 
 all the voices of France, as was the drum-major of the 
 Imperial Guard from all the giants of the empire — a 
 chanter escorted by four other chanters, who appeared to 
 be there only to serve him as an accompaniment — made 
 the air resound, and the windows of all the houses vi- 
 brate. Under the dais appeared a pale and noble coun- 
 tenance, with black eyes, black hair streaked with threads 
 
A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 
 
 209 
 
 of silver, a delicate, compressed mouth, a prominent and 
 angular chin. This head, full of graceful majesty, was 
 covered with the episcopal mitre, — a head-dress which 
 gave it, in addition to the character of sovereignty, that 
 of asceticism and evangelic meditation. 
 
 “ Aramis ! ” cried the musketeer, involuntarily, as this 
 lofty countenance passed before him. 
 
 The prelate started at the sound of the voice. He 
 raised his large black eyes with their long lashes, and 
 turned them without hesitation towards the spot whence 
 the exclamation proceeded. At a glance he saw Porthos 
 and D’Artagnan close to him. On his part, D’Artagnan, 
 thanks to the keenness of his sight, had seen all, grasped 
 all. The full portrait of the prelate had entered his 
 memory, never to leave it. One thing had particularly 
 struck D’Artagnan. On perceiving him, Aramis had col 
 ored ; then he had concentrated under his eyelids the 
 fiery look of the master, and the affectionate look of the 
 friend. It was evident that Aramis addressed this question 
 to himself : “ Why is DArtagnan there with Porthos, and 
 what does he want at Valines'?” Aramis comprehended 
 all that was passing in the mind of D’Artagnan, on turn- 
 ing his look upon him again, and seeing that he had not 
 lowered his eyes. He knew the acuteness and intelli- 
 gence of his friend ; he feared to let him divine the secret 
 of his blush and his astonishment. He was still the same 
 Aramis, always having a secret to conceal. Therefore, to 
 put an end to this searching examination, which it was 
 necessary to get rid of at all events, as at any price a 
 general silences the fire of a battery which annoys him. 
 Aramis stretched forth his beautiful white hand, upon 
 which sparkled the amethyst of the pastoral ring ; he cut 
 the air with the sign of the cross, and poured out his ben- 
 ediction upon his two friends. Perhaps, thoughtful and 
 VOL. II. — 14 
 
210 
 
 THE VICOMTE 1>E BRAGELONNE. 
 
 absent, D’Artagnan, impious in spite of himself, might 
 not have bent beneath this holy benediction ; but Porthos 
 saw his distraction, and laying his friendly hand upon 
 the back of his companion, crushed him down towards 
 the earth. D’Artagnan was forced to give way ; indeed, 
 he was little short of being flat on the ground. In the 
 mean time Aramis had passed. D’Artagnan, like An- 
 taeus, had only touched the ground, and he turned 
 towards Porthos, quite ready to quarrel with him. But 
 there was no mistaking the intention of the brave Hercu- 
 les ; it was a feeling of religious propriety that had influ- 
 enced him. Besides, speech with Porthos, instead of 
 disguising his thought, always revealed it. 
 
 “ It is very polite of him,” said he, “ to have given his 
 benediction to us alone. Decidedly, he is a holy man 
 and a brave man.” 
 
 Less convinced than Porthos, D’Artagnan made no 
 reply. 
 
 “Observe, my friend,” continued Porthos, “he has 
 seen us; and instead of continuing to walk on at the 
 simple pace of the procession, as he did just now, — see 
 what a hurry he is in ! Do you see how the cortege is in- 
 creasing its speed % He is eager to come to us and to 
 embrace us, is that dear Aramis! ” 
 
 “ That is true,” replied D’Artagnan, aloud. Then to 
 himself : “ It is equally true that he has seen me, the fox, 
 and will have time to prepare himself to receive me.” 
 
 But the procession had passed ; the road was free, 
 D’Artagnan and Porthos walked straight up to the epis 
 copal palace, which was surrounded by a numerous crowd, 
 anxious to see the prelate return. D’Artagnan noticed 
 that this crowd was composed principally of citizens and 
 military men. He recognized in the character of these 
 partisans his friend’s address. Aramis was not the man 
 
A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 
 
 211 
 
 to seek for a useless popularity. He cared very little for 
 being beloved by people who could be of no service to 
 him. The train of ordinary pastors — that is to say, 
 women, children, and old men — was not the train for 
 him. 
 
 Ten minutes after the two friends had passed the 
 threshold of the palace, Aramis returned like a trium- 
 phant conqueror ; the soldiers presented arms to him as 
 to a superior officer ; the citizens bowed to him as to a 
 friend and patron, rather than as a head of the Church. 
 There was something in Aramis resembling those Roman 
 senators who had their doors always surrounded by 
 clients. At the foot of the steps he had a conference of 
 half a minute with a Jesuit, who in order to speak to 
 him more secretly passed his head under the dais. He 
 then entered his palace ; the doors closed slowly, and the 
 crowd melted away, while chants and prayers were still 
 resounding abroad. It was a magnificent day. Earthly 
 perfumes were mingled with the perfumes of the air and 
 the sea. The city breathed happiness, joy, and strength. 
 D’Artagnan felt something like the presence of an invis- 
 ible hand which had, all-powerfully, created this strength, 
 this joy, this happiness, and spread everywhere these 
 perfumes. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said he to himself, “ Porthos has got fat, but 
 Aramis has grown taller.” 
 
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 2 1 2 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 
 
 Porthos and D’Artagnan had entered the bishop’s resi- 
 dence by a private door, as his personal friends. Of 
 course, Porthos served D’Artagnan as guide. The worthy 
 baron comported himself everywhere rather as if he were 
 at home. Nevertheless, whether it was a tacit acknowl- 
 edgment of the sanctity of the personage of Aramis and 
 his character, or the habit of respecting him who exer- 
 cised a moral influence over him, — a worthy habit which 
 had always made Porthos a model soldier and an excel- 
 lent companion, — ■ for these reasons, say we, Porthos pre- 
 served in the palace of his Greatness the Bishop of Vannes 
 a sort of reserve which D’Artagnan remarked at once in 
 the attitude he took with respect to the valets and the 
 officers. And yet this reserve did not go so far as to pre- 
 vent his asking questions. Porthos questioned. They 
 learned that his Greatness had just returned to his apart- 
 ments, and was preparing to appear, in familiar intimacy, 
 less majestic than he had appeared with his flock. 
 
 After a quarter of an hour, which D’Artagnan and Por- 
 thos passed in looking at the whites of each other’s eyes, 
 and twirling their thumbs in all possible different evolu- 
 tions, a door of the hall opened, and his Greatness ap- 
 peared, dressed in the undress complete of a prelate. 
 Aramis carried his head high, like a man accustomed to 
 command; his violet robe was tucked up on one side, 
 and his hand was on his hip. He had retained the fine 
 
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 213 
 
 mustache and the lengthened imperial of the time of 
 Louis XIII. He exhaled, on entering, that delicate per. 
 fume which among elegant men and women of high 
 fashion never changes, and appears to be incorporated 
 in the person, of whom it has become the natural em 
 anation. Only, in this case the perfume had retained 
 something of the religious sublimity of incense. It no 
 longer intoxicated, it penetrated ; it no longer inspired 
 desire, it inspired respect. Aramis, on entering the room, 
 did not hesitate an instant ; and without pronouncing- 
 one word, which whatever it might be would have been 
 cold on such an occasion, he went straight up to the mus- 
 keteer, so well disguised under the costume of M. Agnan, 
 and pressed him in his arms with a tenderness which the 
 most mistrustful could not have suspected of coldness or 
 affectation. 
 
 D’Artagnan, on his part, embraced him with equal 
 warmth. Porthos grasped the delicate hand of Aramis 
 in his immense hands, and D’Artagnan noticed that his 
 Greatness gave him his left hand, probably from habit, 
 seeing that Porthos already a dozen times had injured 
 his fingers, covered with rings, by bruising his flesh 
 in the vice of his fist. Warned by the pain, Aramis 
 was cautious, and presented only flesh to be bruised, and 
 not fingers to be crushed against gold or the facets of 
 diamonds. 
 
 Between two embraces, Aramis looked D’Artagnan in 
 the face, offered him a chair, sitting down himself in the 
 shade, observing that the light fell full upon the face of 
 his interlocutor. The manoeuvre, familiar to diplomatists 
 and women, resembles much the advantage of the guard 
 which, according to their skill or habit, combatants en- 
 deavor to take on the ground at a duel. D’Artagnan 
 was not the dupe of this manoeuvre \ but he did not 
 
214 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 appear to perceive it. He felt himself caught ; but pre- 
 cisely because he was caught, he felt himself on the road 
 to discovery, and it was of little moment to him, old con - 
 dottiere as he was, to be beaten in appearance, provided 
 he drew from his pretended defeat the advantages of vic- 
 tory. It was Aramis who began the conversation. 
 
 “ Ah, dear friend ! my good D’Artagnan,” said he, 
 “ what a fortunate chance ! ” 
 
 “It is a chance, my reverend companion,” said D’Ar- 
 tagnan, “that I will call friendship. I seek you, as I 
 always have sought you, when I had any grand enter- 
 prise to propose to you, or some hours of liberty to give 
 you.” 
 
 “Ah! indeed,” said Aramis, with no outburst, “you 
 have been seeking me % ” 
 
 “ Eh ! yes, he has been seeking you, Aramis,” said Por- 
 thos ; “ and the proof is that he has hunted me up at 
 Belle-Isle. That is kind, is it not'? ” 
 
 “ Ah ! yes,” said Aramis, “ at Belle-Isle ! certainly.” 
 
 “ Good ! ” thought D’Artagnan ; “ my booby Porthos, 
 without thinking of it, has fired the first cannon of attack.” 
 
 “ At Belle-Isle !” said Aramis, “in that hole, in that 
 desert ! That is kind indeed ! ” 
 
 “And it was I who told him you were at Vannes,” con- 
 tinued Porthos, in the same tone. 
 
 DArtagnan set his lips with a subtilty almost ironical. 
 “ Yes, I knew, but I wished to see,” replied he. 
 
 “ To see what t ” 
 
 “ If our old friendship still held out ; if on seeing each 
 other our hearts, hardened as they are by age, would 
 still let the old cry of joy escape, which welcomes the 
 coming of a friend.” 
 
 “ Well, and you must have been satisfied,” said Aramis. 
 
 “ So, so.” 
 
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 215 
 
 “ How is that ?” 
 
 “ Yes ; Porthos said, ‘ Hush ! ’ and you — ” 
 
 “ Well ! and I?” 
 
 “ And you gave me your benediction.’’ 
 
 “ What would you have, my friend?” said Aramis, 
 smiling ; u that is the most precious thing that a poor 
 prelate, like me, has to give.” 
 
 “ Indeed, my dear friend ! ” 
 
 “ Most certainly.” 
 
 “ And yet they say at Paris that the bishopric of 
 Vannes is one of the best in France.” 
 
 “ Ah ! you are now speaking of temporal wealth,” said 
 Aramis, with a careless air. 
 
 “ To be sure, I wish to speak of that ; 1 hold by it, on 
 my part.” 
 
 “ In that case, let me speak of it,” said Aramis, with a 
 smile. 
 
 “You own yourself to be one of the richest prelates in 
 France'? ” 
 
 “ My friend, since you ask me to give you an account, 
 I will tell you that the bishopric of Vannes is worth 
 about twenty thousand livres a year, neither more nor 
 less. It is a diocese which contains a hundred and sixty 
 parishes.” 
 
 “ That is very pretty,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ It is superb ! ” said Porthos. 
 
 “ And yet,” resumed D’Artagnan, throwing his eye 
 over Aramis, “you have not buried yourself here forever? ” 
 “ Pardon me. Only, I do not admit the word ‘ buried.’ ” 
 “ P>ut it seems to me that at this distance from Paris 
 a man is buried, or nearly so.” 
 
 “My friend, I am getting old,” said Aramis; “the 
 noise and bustle of a city no longer suit me. At fifty- 
 seven we ought to seek calm and meditation. I have 
 
216 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 found them here. What is there more beautiful and 
 stern at the same time, than this old Armorica? I find 
 here, dear D’Artagnan, all that is unlike what I for- 
 merly loved ; and that is what must happen at the end 
 of life, which is unlike the beginning. A little of my old 
 pleasure of former times still comes to greet me here, 
 now and then, without diverting me from the way of 
 salvation. I am still of this world, and yet every step 
 that I take brings me nearer to God.” 
 
 “ Eloquent, wise, and discreet ; you are an accomplished 
 prelate, Aram is, and I offer you my congratulations.” 
 
 “ But,” said Aramis, smiling, “you did not come here 
 only for the purpose of paying me compliments. Speak ! 
 What brings you hither? May it be that, in some fashion 
 or other, you want me ? 99 
 
 “ Thank God, no, my friend,” said D’Artagnan ; “ it is 
 nothing of that kind, — I am rich and free.” 
 
 “ Rich ! ” exclaimed Aramis. 
 
 “ Yes, rich for me ; not for you, nor Porthos, under- 
 stand. I have an income of about fifteen thousand livres.” 
 Aramis looked at him suspiciously. He could not be- 
 lieve — particularly on seeing his old friend in such hum- 
 ble guise — that he had made so fine a fortune. Then 
 D’Artagnan, seeing that the hour for explanations had 
 come, related the story of his English adventures. Dur- 
 ing the narration he saw, a dozen times, the eyes of the 
 prelate sparkle, and his slender fingers work convulsively. 
 As to Porthos, it was not admiration he manifested for 
 D’Artagnan, it was enthusiasm, it was delirium. 
 
 When D’Artagnan had finished, “ Well ! ” said Aramis. 
 “Well!” said D’Artagnan, “you see that I have in 
 England friends and property, in France a treasure. If 
 your heart approves, I offer them to you. That is what 
 I came here for.” 
 
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 217 
 
 However firm his look, he could not this time support 
 that of Aramis. He therefore allowed his eye to stray 
 towards Porthos, — like the sword which yields to too 
 powerful a pressure and seeks another passage. 
 
 “ At all events,” said the bishop, “you have assumed 
 a singular travelling costume, old friend.” 
 
 “ Frightful ! I know it is. You may understand why 
 I would not travel as a cavalier or a noble ; since I be- 
 came rich I am miserly.” 
 
 “ And you say, then, you came to Belle-Isle ? ” said 
 Aramis, without transition. 
 
 “Yes,” replied D’Artagnan ; “I knew I should find 
 you and Porthos there.” 
 
 “ Find me ! ” cried Aramis. “ Me ! During the year 
 that 1 have been here I have not once crossed the sea.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said D’Artagnan, “ I did not know you were so 
 domestic.” 
 
 “ Ah, dear friend, I must tell you that I am no longer 
 the man of former times. Riding on horseback is un- 
 pleasant to me ; the sea fatigues me. I am a poor ailing 
 priest, always complaining, always grumbling, and in- 
 clined to the austerities which appear to accord with old 
 age, — parleys with death. I abide, my dear D’Artagnan, 
 I abide.’ 7 
 
 “ Well, that is all the better, my friend ; for we shall 
 probably become neighbors.” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” said Aramis, with a degree of surprise he did 
 not even seek to dissemble. “ You, my neighbor ! ” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! yes.” 
 
 “ How so?” 
 
 “ I am about to purchase some very profitable salt- 
 mines, which are situated between Pirial and Le Croisic. 
 Imagine, my friend, working at a clear profit of twelve per 
 cent ! Never any deficiency, never any idle expenses ; 
 
218 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the ocean, faithful and regular, bringing every six hours 
 its contingency to my coffers. I am the first Parisian 
 who has dreamed of such a speculation. Do not divulge 
 the matter, I beg of you, and in a short time we will 
 communicate on the subject. 1 am to have three leagues 
 of territory for thirty thousand livres.” 
 
 Aramis darted a look at Porthos, as if to ask if all this 
 were indeed true, if some snare were not concealed be- 
 neath this outward indifference. But soon, as if ashamed 
 of having consulted this poor auxiliary, he collected all 
 his forces for a fresh assault and a fresh defence. “ I 
 heard that you had had some difference with the Court,” 
 said he, “ but that you had come out of it, as you know 
 how to come out of everything, D’Artagnan, with the 
 honors of war.” 
 
 “ I ! ” exclaimed the musketeer, with a great burst of 
 laughter that could not conceal his embarrassment ; for 
 from these words, Aramis was not unlikely to be ac- 
 quainted with his last relations with the king. — “ I ! oh, 
 tell me all about that, pray, my dear Aramis V 9 
 
 “ Yes ; it was related to me, a poor bishop lost in the 
 middle of the moors, that the king had taken you as the 
 confidant of his amours.” 
 
 “ With whom c l ” 
 
 “ With Mademoiselle de Mancini.” 
 
 D’Artagnan breathed freely again. “ Ah ! I don't say 
 no to that,” replied he. 
 
 “ It appears that the king took you, one morning, over 
 the bridge of Blois, to talk with his lady-love.” 
 
 “That’s true,” said D’Artagnan. “And you know 
 that, do you 1 Well, then, you must know that the same 
 day I gave in my resignation.” 
 
 “ What, sincerely ] ” 
 
 “ Nothing could be more sincere.” 
 
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 219 
 
 “ It was then that you went to the Comte de la 
 Fere’s 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Afterwards tG me ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And then to Porthos 1 99 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Was it in order to pay us a simple visit ? ” 
 
 “ No ; I did not know you were engaged, and I wished 
 to take you with me into England.” 
 
 “Yes, I understand; and then you executed alone, 
 wonderful man ! what you wanted to propose to us four 
 to do. I suspected you had had something to do in that 
 famous restoration, when I learned that you had been 
 seen at King Charles’s receptions, and that he spoke of 
 you as a friend, or rather as a person to whom he was 
 under an obligation.” 
 
 “But how the devil could you learn all that 1 ?” de- 
 manded D’Artagnan, who began to fear that the investi- 
 gations of Aramis would extend further than he wished. 
 
 “ Dear D’Artagnan,” said the prelate, “ my friendship 
 resembles, in a degree, the solicitude of that night-watch 
 whom we have in the little tower of the mole, at the ex- 
 tremity of the quay. That brave man every night lights 
 a lantern to direct the boats which come from sea. He 
 is concealed in his watch-tower, and the fishermen do not 
 see him ; but he follows them with interest, he divines 
 their presence, he calls them, he attracts them into the 
 way to the port. I resemble this watcher ; from time to 
 time some news reaches me, and recalls to my remem- 
 brance all that I loved. Then I follow the friends of old 
 days over the stormy ocean of the world, — I, a poor 
 watcher, to whom God has kindly given the shelter of a 
 watch-tower.” 
 
220 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well, what did I do after I came from England ]” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” replied Aramis, “ there you get out of my 
 sight. I know nothing of you since your return, D’Ar- 
 iagnan ; my sight grows thick. I regretted you did not 
 think of me. I wept over your forgetfulness. I was 
 wrong. I see you again ; and it is a festival, a great fes- 
 tival, I assure you ! How is Athos 'l ” 
 
 “ Very well, thank you.” 
 
 “ And our young pupil, Raoul 1 ” 
 
 “ He seems to have inherited the skill of his father, 
 Athos, and the strength of his tutor, Porthos.” 
 
 “ And on what occasion have you been able to judge of 
 that 1 ” 
 
 “ Eh ! mon Dieu ! the very day before my departure 
 from Paris.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! what was it % ” 
 
 “ Yes ; there was an execution at the Greve, and in 
 consequence of that execution, a riot. We happened, by 
 accident, to be in the riot; and in this riot we were 
 obliged to have recourse to our swords. And he did 
 wonders.” 
 
 “ Bah ! what did he do ? ” 
 
 “ Why, in the first place, he threw a man out of the 
 window as he would have thrown out a bale of cotton.” 
 
 “ Come, that ’s pretty well ! ” said Porthos. 
 
 “ Then he drew, and cut and thrust away, as we fellows 
 used to do in the good old times.” 
 
 “ And what was the cause of this riot ? ” inquired 
 Porthos. 
 
 D’Artagnan noticed upon the face of Aramis a com- 
 plete indifference to this question of Porthos. “Why,” 
 said he, fixing his eyes upon Aramis, “ on account of two 
 farmers of the revenues, friends of M. Fouquet, whom the 
 king forced to disgorge their plunder, and then hanged.’' 
 
THE GRANDEUR OE THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 221 
 
 A scarcely perceptible contraction of the prelate’s brow 
 showed that he had heard D’Artagnan’s reply. “ Oh ! ” 
 said Porthos ; “ and what were the names of these friends 
 of M. Fouquet % ” 
 
 “ Messieurs d’Eymeris and Lyodot,” said D’Artagnan. 
 “ Do you know those names, Aramis 1 ” 
 
 “No,” said the prelate, disdainfully ; “they sound like 
 the names of financiers.” 
 
 “ Exactly ; so they were.” 
 
 “ Oh ! M. Fouquet allows his friends to be hanged, 
 then 1 ” cried Porthos. 
 
 “ And why not ! ” said Aramis. 
 
 “ Why, it seems to me — ” 
 
 “ If these culprits were hanged, it was by order of the 
 king. Now, M. Fouquet, although superintendent of the 
 finances, has not, I believe, the right of life and death.” 
 “That may be,” said Porthos; “but in the place of 
 M. Fouquet — ” 
 
 Aramis, fearing that Porthos was about to say some- 
 thing awkward, interrupted him : “ Come, D’Artagnan ! v 
 said he, “ this is quite enough about other people ; let us 
 talk a little about yourself.” 
 
 “ Of me you know all that I can tell you. On the 
 contrary, let me hear a little about you, Aramis.” 
 
 “I have told you, my friend. There is nothing of 
 Aramis left in me.” 
 
 “Nor of the Abbe d’Herblay even ! ” 
 
 “ No, not even of him. You see a man whom God has 
 taken by the hand, whom he has conducted to a position 
 that he could never have dared even to hope for.” 
 
 “ God!” asked D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “Well, that is strange! I have been told it was M. 
 Fouquet/’ 
 
222 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Who told you that'?” cried Aramis, without being 
 able, with all the power of his will, to prevent a slight 
 flush coloring his cheeks. 
 
 “ Why, Bazin, in faith ! ” 
 
 “ The fool ! ” 
 
 “ Indeed, I do not say he is a man of genius; but he 
 told me so, and after him I repeat it to you.” 
 
 “ I have never seen M. Fouquet,” replied Aramis, with 
 a look as pure and calm as that of a virgin who has never 
 told a lie. 
 
 “ Well ; but if you have seen him and even known 
 him, there is no harm in that,” replied D’Artagnan. 
 “ M. Fouquet is a very good sort of man.” 
 
 Humph ! ” 
 
 “ A great politician.” 
 
 Aramis made a gesture of indifference. 
 
 “ An all-powerful minister.” 
 
 “ I hold only of the king and the Pope,” said Aramis. 
 
 “ Dame ! listen then,” said D’Artagnan, in the most 
 natural tone imaginable. “ I said that because everybody 
 here swears by M. Fouquet. The plain is M. Fouquet’s; 
 the salt-mines I have bought are M. Fouquet’s ; the island 
 in which Porthos studies topography is M. Fouquet’s ; the 
 garrison is M. Fouquet’s; the galleys are M. Fouquet’s. 
 I confess, then, that nothing would have surprised me in 
 your enfeoffment, or rather in that of your diocese, to M. 
 Fouquet. He is another master than the king, that is 
 all ; but quite as powerful as a king.” 
 
 “ Thank God ! I am not enfeoffed to anybody ; I belong 
 to nobody, and am entirely my own,” replied Aramis, who 
 during this conversation followed with his eye every ges- 
 ture of D’Artagnan, every glance of Porthos. But D’Ar- 
 tagnan was impassive and Porthos motionless. The thrusts 
 aimed so skilfully were parried by an able adversary ; not 
 
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 223 
 
 one hit the mark. Nevertheless, both began to feel the 
 fatigue of such a contest, and the announcement of supper 
 was well received by everybody. Supper changed the 
 course of conversation. Besides, they felt that, upon their 
 guard as each one had been, they could neither of them 
 boast of having the advantage. Porthos had understood 
 nothing of it all. He had remained motionless, because 
 Aramis had made him a sign not to stir. Supper, for 
 him, was nothing but supper ; but that was quite enough 
 for Porthos. The supper, then, went off very well. D’Ar- 
 tagnan was in high spirits. Aramis exceeded himself in 
 kind affability. Porthos ate like old Pelops. Their talk 
 was of war, finance, the arts, and love. Aramis feigned 
 astonishment at every word of politics D’Artagnan risked. 
 This long series of surprises increased the mistrust of 
 D’Artagnan, as the eternal mistrust of D’Artagnan pro- 
 voked the suspicions of Aramis. At length D’Artagnan 
 designedly let fall the name of Colbert ; he had reserved 
 that stroke for the last. 
 
 “ Who is this Colbert ] ” asked the bishop. 
 
 “ Oh, come,” said D’Artagnan to himself, “ that is too 
 strong ! We must be careful, mordioux we must be 
 careful.” 
 
 D’Artagnan then gave Aramis all the information re- 
 specting Colbert he could desire. The supper, or rather 
 the conversation, was prolonged till one o’clock in the 
 morning, between D’Artagnan and Aramis. At ten 
 o’clock precisely Porthos had fallen asleep in his chair, 
 and snored like an organ. At midnight he woke up, 
 and they sent him to bed. “ Hum ! ” said he, “ it seems 
 to me that I was near falling asleep ; but that was all very 
 interesting, what you were talking about.” 
 
 At one o’clock Aramis conducted D’Artagnan to the 
 chamber destined for him, which was the best in the 
 
224 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 episcopal palace. Two servants were placed at his com- 
 mand. “ To-morrow T , at eight o’clock,” said he, taking 
 leave of D’Artagnan, “ we will take, if agreeable to you, 
 a ride on horseback with Porthos.” 
 
 “ At eight o’clock ! ” said D’Artagnan ; “ so late 1 ” 
 
 “ You know that I require seven hours’ sleep,” said 
 Aram is. 
 
 “ That is true.” 
 
 “ Good-night, dear friend ! ” and he embraced the 
 musketeer cordially. 
 
 D’Artagnan allowed him to depart; then, as soon as 
 the door was closed, “ Good ! ” said he, “ at five o’clock 
 I will be on foot.” 
 
 Then, this determination being made, he went to bed, 
 and “ folded the pieces together,” as people say. 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH U’ARTAGNAN. 225 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 IN WHICH PORTHOS BEGINS TO BE SORRY FOR HAVING 
 COME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 
 
 Scarcely had D’Artagnan extinguished his taper, when 
 Aramis, who had watched through his curtains the last 
 glimmer of light in his friend’s apartment, traversed the 
 corridor on tiptoe, and went to Porthos’ room. The 
 giant, who had been in bed nearly an hour and a half, 
 lay grandly stretched out upon the eider-down. He was 
 in that happy calm of the first sleep, which with Por- 
 thos was proof against the noise of bells or the report of 
 cannon ; his head swam in that soft oscillation which re- 
 minds us of the soothing motion of a ship. A moment 
 more, and Porthos would have begun to dream. The 
 door of the chamber opened softly under the delicate 
 pressure of the hand of Aramis. The bishop approached 
 the sleeper. A thick carpet deadened the sound of his 
 steps ; and besides, Porthos snored in a manner to drown 
 all noise. Aramis laid one hand on the sleeper’s shoulder. 
 “ Eouse ! ” said he ; “ wake up, my dear Porthos ! ” The 
 voice of Aramis was soft and kind, but it conveyed more 
 than a notice, — it conveyed an order. His hand was 
 light, but it indicated a danger. 
 
 Porthos heard the voice and felt the hand of Aramis, 
 even in the profoundness of his sleep. He started up. 
 “ Who goes there ] ” said he, in his giant’s voice. 
 
 “ Hush ! hush ! It is I,” said Aramis. 
 
 VOL. II. —15 
 
226 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Y ou, my friend 1 And what the devil-do you wake 
 me for 1 ” 
 
 “ To tell you that you must set off directly/ ’ 
 
 “ Set off] ” 
 
 “ Yes/ 
 
 “ Where for 1 ” 
 
 “ For Paris.’’ 
 
 Porthos bounded up in his bed, and then sank back 
 again, fixing his great eyes in terror upon Aramis. 
 
 “ For Paris % ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ A hundred leagues 1 ” said he. 
 
 “A hundred and four,” replied the bishop. 
 
 “ Oh, mon Dieu ! ” sighed Porthos, lying down again, 
 like those children who contend with their nurse to gain 
 an hour or two more sleep. 
 
 “ Thirty hours’ riding,” added Aramis, firmly. “ You 
 know there are good relays.” 
 
 Porthos pushed out one leg, allowing a groan to escape 
 him. 
 
 “ Come, come, my friend ! ” insisted the prelate, with a 
 sort of impatience. 
 
 Porthos drew the other leg out of the bed. “ And is it 
 absolutely necessary that I should go ? ” said he. 
 
 “ Urgently necessary.” 
 
 Porthos got upon his feet, and began to shake both walls 
 and floors with steps like the weight of a marble statue. 
 
 “ Hush ! hush ! for the love of Heaven, my dear Por 
 thos! ” said Aramis; “you will wake somebody.” 
 
 “ Ah ! that ’s true,” replied Porthos, in a voice of thun- 
 der, “I forgot that; but never fear, I will be careful;” 
 and so saying, he let fall a belt loaded with his sword 
 and pistols, and a purse, from which the crowns escaped 
 with a ringing and prolonged noise. This noise made the 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 227 
 
 blood of Aramis boil, while it provoked in Porthos a for- 
 midable burst of laughter. “ How droll that is ! ” said 
 he, in the same voice. 
 
 “Not so loud, Porthos, not so loud ! ” 
 
 “ True, true ! ” and he lowered his voice a half-note. 
 
 “ I was going to say,” continued Porthos, “ that it is 
 droll that we are never so slow as when we are in a hurry, 
 and never make so much noise as when we wish to be 
 silent.” 
 
 “Yes, that is true ; but let us give the proverb the lie, 
 Porthos; let us make haste, and hold our tongues.” 
 
 “ You see I am doing my best,” said Porthos, drawing 
 on his trunk hose. 
 
 “ Very well.” 
 
 “ This seems to be something urgent ? ” 
 
 “ It is more than that ; it is serious, Porthos.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” 
 
 “ D’Artagnan has questioned you, has he not ? ” 
 
 “ Questioned me ? ” 
 
 “Yes, at Belle-Isle'?” 
 
 “ Not the least in the world.” 
 
 “ Are you sure of that, Porthos? ” 
 
 “ Parbleu ! ” 
 
 “ It is impossible. Recollect yourself.” 
 
 “ He asked me what I was doing, and I told him, — • 
 studying topography. I would have made use of another 
 word which you employed one day.” 
 
 “ Of castrametation ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, that ? s it ; but I never could recollect it.” 
 
 “ All the better. What more did he ask you ? ” 
 
 “ Who M. Getard was.” 
 
 “ Next ? ” 
 
 “ Who M. Jupenet was.” 
 
 “ He did not happen to see our plan of fortifications, 
 did he ? ” 
 
228 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ The devil he did ! ” 
 
 “ But don’t be alarmed ; I had rubbed out jour writing 
 with India-rubber. It was impossible for him to suppose 
 you had given me any advice in those works.” 
 
 “Ay ; but our friend has very keen eyes.” 
 u What are you afraid of ? ” 
 
 “ I fear that everything is discovered, Porthos ; the ne- 
 cessity is, then, to prevent a great misfortune. I have 
 given orders to my people to close all the gates and 
 doors. D’Artagnau will not be able to get out before 
 daybreak. Your horse is ready saddled ; you will gain 
 the first relay ; by five o’clock in the morning, you will 
 have gone fifteen leagues. Come ! ” 
 
 Aramis then assisted Porthos to dress, piece by piece, 
 with as much celerity as the most skilful valet de chambre 
 could have done. Porthos, half confused, half stupefied, 
 let him do as he liked, and was lost in excuses. When 
 he was ready, Aramis took him by the hand, and led him, 
 making him place his foot with precaution on every step 
 of the stairs, preventing his running against door-frames, 
 turning him this way and that, as if Aramis had been the 
 giant and Porthos the dwarf. Soul set fire to and ani- 
 mated matter. A horse was waiting, ready saddled, in the 
 courtyard. Porthos mounted. Then Aramis himself took 
 the horse by the bridle, and led him over some dung- 
 spread in the yard with the evident intention of sup- 
 pressing noise. He at the same time pinched the 
 horse’s nose, to prevent him from neighing. When they 
 had arrived at the outer gate, drawing Porthos towards 
 him, who was going off without even asking him what for, 
 “ Now, Friend Porthos, now ; without drawing bridle, till 
 you get to Paris,” whispered he, in his ear ; “ cat on 
 horseback, drink on horseback, sleep on horseback, but 
 lose not a minute ! ” 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 229 
 
 “ That ’s enough ; I will not stop.” 
 
 “ This letter to M. Fouquet ; cost what it may, he must 
 have it to-morrow before midday.” 
 
 “ He shall have it.” 
 
 “ And do not forget one thing, my friend.” 
 
 “ What is that ? ” 
 
 “ That you are riding after your title of duke and peer.” 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” said Porthos, with his eyes sparkling ; “ I 
 will do it in twenty-four hours in that case.” 
 
 “ Try to do so.” 
 
 “ Then let go the bridle; and forward, Goliath ! ” 
 Aramis did let go, — not the bridle, but the horse’s 
 nose. Porthos released his hand, clapped spurs to his 
 horse, and the maddened animal set off at a gallop. As 
 long as he could distinguish Porthos through the dark- 
 ness, Aramis followed him with his eyes; then, when 
 he was completely out of sight, re-entered the yard. 
 Nothing had stirred in D’ArtagnaiTs apartment. The 
 valet placed on watch at the door had neither seen 
 any light nor heard any noise. Aramis closed his door 
 carefully, sent the lackey to bed, and quickly sought his 
 own. 
 
 D’Artagnan really suspected nothing, therefore thought 
 he had gained everything, when he awoke in the morning 
 about half-past four. He ran to the window in his shirt. 
 The window looked out upon the court. Day was dawn- 
 ing. The court was deserted ; the fowls, even, had not 
 yet left their roosts. Not a servant appeared. All the 
 doors were closed. 
 
 “Good! perfect quiet!” said D’Artagnan to himself. 
 “ Never mind ; I am up first in the house. Let us dress ; 
 that will be so much done ; ” and D’Artagnan dressed 
 himself. But this time he did not study to give to the 
 costume of M. Agnan that plain and almost ecclesiastical 
 
230 
 
 THE VI COMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 appearance he had affected before ; he managed, by drawing 
 his belt tighter, by buttoning his clothes in a different 
 fashion, and by putting on his hat a little on one side, to 
 restore to his person somewhat of that military character 
 the absence of which had surprised Aramis. This being 
 done, he made free, or rather affected to make free, with 
 his host, and entered his chamber without ceremony. 
 
 Aramis was asleep, or feigned to be asleep. A large 
 hook lay open upon his night-desk ; a wax-light was still 
 burning above its silver tray. This was more than enough 
 to prove to D’Artagnan the innocence of the prelate’s 
 night, and the good intentions of his waking. The mus- 
 keteer did to the bishop precisely as the bishop had done 
 to Porthos, — he tapped him on the shoulder. Evidently 
 Aramis pretended to sleep ; for instead of waking sud- 
 denly, he who slept so lightly, required a repetition of 
 the summons. 
 
 “ Ah ! is that you % ” said he, stretching his arms. 
 “ What an agreeable surprise ! Eaitli ! sleep had made 
 me forget I had the happiness to possess you. What 
 o’clock is it ] ” 
 
 “ I do not know,” said D’Artagnan, a little embarrassed. 
 “ Early, I believe. But, you know, that devil of a mili- 
 tary habit of waking with the day sticks to me still.” 
 
 “ Do you wish that we should go out so soon ] ” asked 
 Aramis. “ It appears to me to be very early.” 
 
 “Just as you like.” 
 
 “ I thought we had agreed not to get on horseback 
 before eight.” 
 
 “ Possibly ; but I had so great a wish to see you, that 
 I said to myself, the sooner the better.” 
 
 “And my seven hours’ sleep]” said Aramis. “Take 
 care l I had reckoned upon them 5 and what I lose of them 
 I must make up.” 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 231 
 
 “ But it seems to me that formerly you were less of a 
 sleeper than that, dear friend ; your blood was alive, and 
 you were never to be found in bed.” 
 
 “And it is exactly on account of what you tell me, 
 that I am so fond of being there now.” 
 
 “ Then you confess that it is not for the sake of sleep- 
 ing that you have put me off till eight o’clock.” 
 
 “ I was afraid you would laugh at me if I told you the 
 truth.” 
 
 “ Tell me, notwithstanding.” 
 
 “ Well, from six to eight, I am accustomed to perform 
 my devotions.” 
 
 “ Your devotions 1 ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ I did not believe a bishop’s exercises were so severe.” 
 “ A bishop, my friend, must sacrifice more to appear- 
 ances than a simple clerk.” 
 
 “ Mordioux ! Aramis, that is a word which reconciles 
 me with your greatness. To appearances ! That is a 
 musketeer’s word, in good truth ! Hurrah for appear- 
 ances, Aramis ! ” 
 
 “Instead of felicitating me upon it, pardon it me, 
 D’Artagnan. It is a very mundane word which I have 
 allowed to escape me.” 
 
 “ Must I leave you, then ? ” 
 
 “ I want time for meditation, my friend.” 
 
 “Well, I will leave you; but for the sake of that poor 
 pagan called D’Artagnan, abridge them for once, I beg : 
 I thirst for speech of you.” 
 
 “ Well, D’Artagnan, I promise you that within an hour 
 and a half — ” 
 
 “ An hour and a half of devotions ! Ah ! my friend, 
 be as reasonable with me as you can. Let me have the 
 best bargain possible.” 
 
232 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Aramis began to laugh. “ Still agreeable, still young, 
 still gay/’ said he. “ You have come into my diocese to 
 set me quarrelling with grace.” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” 
 
 “ And you know well that I was never able to re- 
 sist your seductions ; you will cost me my salvation, 
 D’Artagnan.” 
 
 D’Artagnan bit his lips “Well,” said he, “I will 
 take the sin on my own head ; favor me with one simple 
 Christian sign of the cross and hurry through with one 
 pater, and we will set out.” 
 
 “ Hush ! ” said Aramis, “ we are no longer alone ; I 
 hear strangers coming up.” 
 
 66 Well, dismiss them.” 
 
 “ Impossible ; I made an appointment with them yes* 
 terday. It is the principal of the college of the Jesuits, 
 and the superior of the Dominicans.” 
 
 “ Your staff 1 Well, so be it.” 
 
 “ What are you going to do ] ” 
 
 “ I am going to wake Porthos, and wait in his company 
 till you have finished the conference.” 
 
 Aramis did not stir ; his brow remained unbent ; he be- 
 trayed himself by no gesture or word. “ Go,” said he, 
 as D’Artagnan advanced to the door. “ By the way, 
 do you know where Porthos sleeps'?” 
 
 “ No, but I can inquire.” 
 
 “ Take the corridor, and open the second door on the 
 left.” 
 
 “ Thank you ; au revoir ! ” and D’Artagnan departed 
 in the direction pointed out by Aramis. 
 
 Ten minutes had not elapsed when he came back. He 
 found Aramis seated between the superior of the Domin- 
 icans and the principal of the college of the Jesuits, ex- 
 actly in the same situation in which he had found him 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 233 
 
 formerly in the inn at Crevecoeur. This company did 
 not at all terrify the musketeer. 
 
 “ What is it ]” said Aramis, quietly. “You have, ap- 
 parently, something to say to me, my friend.” 
 
 “It is,” replied D’Artagnan, fixing his eyes upon Ara- 
 mis, — “it is that Porthos is not in his apartment.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” said Aramis, calmly ; “ are you sure ] ” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! I came from his chamber.” 
 
 “ Where can he be, then ] ” 
 
 “That is what I ask you.” 
 
 “ And have you not inquired ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, I have.” 
 
 “ And what answer did you get ] ” 
 
 “That Porthos, often going out of a morning without 
 saying anything to anybody, had probably gone out.” 
 “What did you do then]” 
 
 “ I went to the stables,” replied D’Artagnan, carelessly. 
 “What for]” 
 
 “ To see if Porthos had gone out on horseback.” 
 
 “And had he ] ” interrogated the bishop. 
 
 “ Well, there is a horse missing, — - stall No. 5, Goliath.” 
 All this dialogue, it may be easily understood, was not 
 free from a certain affectation on the part of the muske- 
 teer, and a perfect complaisance on the part of Aramis. 
 
 “ Oh ! I see how it is,” said Aramis, after having con- 
 sidered for a moment ; “ Porthos has gone out to give us 
 a surprise.” 
 
 “ A surprise ] ” 
 
 “Yes. The canal which leads from Yannes to the sea 
 abounds in teal and snipes ; that is Porthos’ favorite sport, 
 and he will bring us back a dozen for our breakfast.” 
 
 “ Do you think so ] ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “I am sure of it. Where else can he have gone] I 
 would lay a wager that he took a gun with him.” 
 
234 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ That is possible,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ Do one thing, my friend : get on horseback, and join 
 him.” 
 
 “ You are right,” said D’Artagnan ; “ I will.” 
 
 “ Do you wish me to accompany you 1 ” 
 
 “No, thank you. Porthos is easily recognizable; I 
 will inquire as I go along.” 
 
 “ Will you take an arquebuse ? ” 
 
 “ Thank you.” 
 
 “Order what horse you like to be saddled.” 
 
 “ The one I rode yesterday, on coming from Belle-Isle.” 
 “ So be it ; use my establishment as your own.” 
 
 Aramis rang, and gave orders to have the horse M. 
 d’Artagnan had chosen saddled. 
 
 D’Artagnan followed the servant charged with the 
 execution of this order. When about to pass through 
 the door, the servant stepped aside to allow M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan to pass; and at that moment he caught the 
 eye of his master. A contraction of the brow gave 
 the intelligent spy to understand that all should be 
 given to D’Artagnan that he wished. D’Artagnan got 
 into the saddle, and Aramis heard the clatter of the 
 hoofs on the pavement. An instant after, the servant 
 returned. 
 
 “ Well]” demanded the bishop. 
 
 “ Monseigneur, he has followed the course of the canal, 
 and is going towards the sea,” said the servant. 
 
 “ Very well ! ” said Aramis. 
 
 In fact, D’Artagnan, dismissing all suspicion, hastened 
 towards the ocean, constantly hoping to see on the moors 
 or on the beach the colossal form of his friend Porthos. 
 He persisted in fancying that he could trace a horse’s 
 step in every puddle. Sometimes he imagined that he 
 heard the report of a gun. This illusion lasted three 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 235 
 
 hours : during two of them he went forward in search of 
 his friend ; in the last he returned to the house. 
 
 “We must have passed each other,” said he, “and I 
 shall find the two good fellows waiting for me at table.” 
 D’Artagnan was mistaken ; he no more found Porthos 
 at the palace than he had found him on the banks of the 
 canal. Aramis was waiting for him at the top of the 
 stairs, looking very much concerned. 
 
 “ Did my people not find you, my dear D’Artagnan 1 ” 
 cried he, as soon as he caught sight of the musketeer. 
 
 “ No ; did you send any one after me ? ” 
 
 “ I am deeply concerned, my friend, deeply, to have 
 induced you to make such a useless search ; but about 
 seven o’clock the almoner of St. Paterne came here. He 
 had met Du Vallon, who was going away, and who, being 
 unwilling to disturb anybody at the palace, had charged 
 him to tell me that, fearing M. Getard would play him 
 some ill turn in his absence, he was going to take advan- 
 tage of the morning tide to cross over to Belle-Isle.” 
 
 “ But, tell me, Goliath has not crossed the four leagues 
 of sea, surely h ” 
 
 “ There are full six,” said Aramis. 
 
 “ That makes it less probable still.” 
 
 “Therefore, my friend,” said Aramis, with one of his 
 blandest smiles, “ Goliath is in the stable, well pleased, 
 I will answer for it, that Porthos is no longer on his 
 back.” 
 
 In fact, the horse had been brought back from the 
 relay by the direction of the prelate, whom no detail 
 escaped. D’Artagnan appeared as well satisfied as pos- 
 sible with the explanation. He entered upon a role of 
 dissimulation which agreed perfectly with the suspicions 
 that arose more and more strongly in his mind. He 
 breakfasted between the Jesuit and Aramis, having the 
 
236 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Dominican in front of him, and smiling particularly at 
 the Dominican, whose jolly fat face pleased him much. 
 The repast was long and sumptuous : excellent Span- 
 ish wine, fine Morbihan oysters, exquisite fish from the 
 mouth of the Loire, enormous prawns from Paimboeuf, 
 and delicious game from the moors constituted the prin- 
 cipal part of it. D’Artagnan ate much, and drank but 
 little. Aramis drank nothing, unless it was water. After 
 breakfast, — 
 
 “You offered me an arquebuse,” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ I did.” 
 
 “Lend it to me, then.” 
 
 “ Are you going shooting ? ” 
 
 “ While waiting for Porthos, it is the best thing I can 
 do, I think.” 
 
 “ Take which you like from the rack.” 
 
 “ Will you not come with me ? ” 
 
 “ I would with great pleasure ; but, alas ! my friend, 
 sporting is forbidden to bishops.” 
 
 “Ah !” said D’Artagnan, “ I did not know that.” 
 
 “ Besides,” continued Aramis, “ I shall be busy till 
 midday.” 
 
 “ I shall go alone, then! ” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ I am sorry to say you must ; but be sure to come 
 back to dinner.” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! the eating at your house is too good to 
 make me think of not coming back.” 
 
 Thereupon D’Artagnan took leave of his host, bowed 
 to the guests, and ‘took his arquebuse, but, instead of 
 shooting, went straight to the little port of Vannes. 
 He looked back to see if anybody was following him, but 
 saw no one. He chartered a little fishing-boat for twenty- 
 five livres, and set off at half-past eleven, convinced that 
 he had not been followed ; and that was true. He had 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH I) ARTAGNAN. 237 
 
 not been followed; but a Jesuit brother, stationed in the 
 top of the steeple of his church and aided by an excel- 
 lent glass, had not, since the morning, lost sight of one 
 of his steps. At a quarter to twelve Aram is was informed 
 that D’Artagnan was sailing towards Belle-Isle. 
 
 The voyage was rapid ; a good north-northeast wind 
 drove him towards the isle. As he gradually approached, 
 his eyes were searching the coast. He looked to see if, 
 upon the shore or upon the fortifications, the brilliant 
 dress and vast stature of Porthos might be standing out 
 against the slightly clouded sky. But his search was 
 in vain; he landed without having seen anything, and 
 learned from the first soldier interrogated by him that 
 M. du Vallon had not yet returned from Vannes. 
 Then, without losing an instant, D’Artagnan ordered 
 his little boat to put its head towards Sarzeau. We 
 know that the wind changes with the different hours 
 of the day : it had gone round from north-northeast to 
 southeast ; the wind, then, was almost as good for the 
 return to Sarzeau as it had been for the voyage to 
 Belle-Isle. In three hours D’Artagnan had reached 
 the Continent ; two hours more sufficed for his ride to 
 Vannes. In spite of the rapidity of his passage, what 
 D’Artagnan endured of impatience and anger during 
 that passage, only the deck of the vessel upon which he 
 stamped backward and forward for three hours could 
 relate to history. He made but one bound from the 
 quay whereon he landed to the episcopal palace. He 
 thought to terrify Aramis by the suddenness of his 
 return ; he wished to reproach him with his duplicity, 
 — with reserve, but with sufficient spirit, nevertheless, 
 to make him feel all the consequences of it, and force 
 from him a part of his secret. He hoped, in short, — 
 thanks to that force of expression which is to mysteries 
 
238 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 what the charge with the bayonet is ta redoubts, — to 
 bring the mysterious Aramis to some manifestation or 
 other. But he found in the vestibule of the palace the 
 valet de chambre , who closed the passage, while smiling 
 upon him with a sanctimonious air, 
 
 “ Monseigneur ! l ” cried D’Artagnan, endeavoring to put 
 him aside with his hand. Staggered for an instant, the 
 valet resumed his perpendicular. 
 
 “ Monseigneur 1 ” said he. 
 
 “ Yes, to be sure ; do you not know me, idiot ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; you are the Chevalier d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ Then let me pass/’ 
 
 “ It is of no use.” 
 
 “ Why of no use ? ” 
 
 “ Because his Greatness is not at home.” 
 
 “ What ! his Greatness is not at home ] where is he, 
 then?” 
 
 “ Gone.” 
 
 “ GoneT 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Whither 1 ” 
 
 “ I don’t know ; but perhaps he tells Monsieur the 
 Chevalier.” 
 
 “ And how 1 where ? in what way 1 ” 
 
 “ In this letter which he gave me for Monsieur the 
 Chevalier; ” and the valet de chambre drew a letter from 
 his pocket. 
 
 “ Give it to me, then, you rascal ! ” said D’Artagnan, 
 snatching it from his hand. “ Oh, yes,” continued he, at 
 the first line, “ yes, I understand ; ” and he read : — 
 
 Dear Friend, — An affair of the most urgent nature calls 
 me to a distant parish of my diocese. I hoped to see you again 
 before I set out ; but I lose that hope on thinking that you are 
 going, no doubt, to remain two or three days at Belle-Isle, 
 
PORTHOS SORRY HE CAME WITH D’ARTAGNAN. 239 
 
 with our dear Porthos. Amuse yourself as well as you can ; 
 hut do not attempt to hold out against him at table. This is 
 a counsel I might have given even to Athos, in his most bril- 
 liant and best days. Adieu, dear friend ; believe that I regret 
 greatly not having better and for a longer time profited by 
 your excellent company. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” cried D’Artagnan, “ I am tricked. Ah ! 
 blockhead, brute, triple fool that I am ! But let them 
 laugh best who laugh last. Oh, duped, duped, like a 
 monkey cheated with an empty nutshell ! ” and with a 
 hearty blow T bestowed upon the nose of the still grinning 
 valet de chambre , he made all haste out of the episcopal 
 palace. F uret, however good a trotter, was not ecpial to 
 present circumstances. D’Artagnan therefore took the 
 post, and chose a horse, which he made to understand, 
 with good spurs and a light hand, that stags are not the 
 most agile coursers in creation. 
 
240 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN WHICH D ? ARTAGNAN MAKES ALL SPEED, PORTHOS SNORES, 
 AND ARAMIS COUNSELS. 
 
 From thirty to thirty-five hours after the events we have 
 just related, as M. Fouquet, according to his custom, 
 having forbidden interruption, was working in the cabi- 
 net of his house at St. Maude, with which we are already 
 acquainted, a carriage drawn by four horses streaming 
 with sweat entered the court at full gallop. This carriage 
 was probably expected ; for three or four lackeys has- 
 tened to the door, which they opened. While M. Fou- 
 quet rose from his desk and ran to the window, a man 
 got painfully out of the carriage, descending with diffi- 
 culty the three steps, leaning upon the shoulders of the 
 lackeys. He had scarcely uttered his name, when the 
 lackey upon whom he was not leaning sprang up the 
 steps and disappeared in the vestibule. This man went 
 to inform his master ; but he had no occasion to knock 
 at the door, Fouquet was standing on the threshold. 
 
 “ Monseigneur, the Bishop of Vannes,” said he. 
 
 “Very well,” replied his master. 
 
 Then, leaning oyer the baluster of the staircase, of 
 which Aramis was beginning to ascend the first steps, 
 “ You, dear friend ! ” said he, “you, so soon ! ” 
 
 “ Yes ; I myself, Monsieur ! but bruised, battered, as 
 you see.” 
 
 “ Oh, my poor, dear friend ! ” said Fouquet, presenting 
 him his arm, upon which Aramis leaned, while the ser- 
 vants drew back with respect. 
 
D’ARTAGNAN, PORTHOS, AND ARAMIS. 
 
 241 
 
 “ Bah ! ” replied Aramis, “ it is nothing, since I am 
 here. The principal thing was that I should get here, 
 and here I am.” 
 
 “Speak quickly,” said Fouquet, closing the door of his 
 cabinet behind Aramis and himself. 
 
 “ Are we alone % ” 
 
 “Yes, perfectly.” 
 
 “No one can listen to us ; no one can hear us 1 ” 
 
 “ Have no fear ; nobody.” 
 
 “ Has M. du Yallon arrived ] ” 
 
 “Yes” 
 
 “ And you have received my letter % ” 
 
 “Yes. The affair is serious, apparently, since it neces- 
 sitates your presence in Paris at a moment when your 
 presence was so needed out there.” 
 
 “You are right; it cannot be more serious.” 
 
 “ Thank you ! thank you ! What is it about 1 But, 
 for God’s sake ! before anything else, take time to breathe, 
 dear friend ! You are so pale, you frighten me.” 
 
 “ I am really in great pain. But, for Heaven’s sake, 
 think nothing about me. Did M. du Yallon tell you 
 nothing, when he delivered the letter to youl” 
 
 “No. I heard a great noise ; I went to the window ; I 
 saw at the foot of the steps as it were a horseman of 
 marble ; I went down, he held the letter out to me, and 
 his horse fell down dead.” 
 
 “ But he 1 ” 
 
 “ He fell with the horse ; he was lifted up, and carried 
 to an apartment. Having read the letter, I went up to 
 him, in hopes of obtaining more ample information ; but 
 he was asleep, and after such a fashion that it was im- 
 possible to wake him. I took pity on him, and gave 
 orders that his boots should be taken off, and that he 
 should be left quite undisturbed.” 
 
 VOL. II. — 16 
 
242 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Very good; now, this is the question in hand, Mon- 
 seigneur. You have seen M. d’Artagnan in Paris, have 
 you not ] ” 
 
 “ Certainly, and think him a man of intelligence, and 
 even a man of heart, although he did bring about the 
 death of our dear friends Lyodot and D’Eymeris.” 
 
 “ Alas ! yes, I heard of that. At Tours I met the 
 courier who was bringing me the letter from Gourville 
 and the despatches from Pellisson. Have you seriously 
 considered that event, Monsieur 1 ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ And in it you perceived a direct attack upon your 
 sovereignty % ” 
 
 “ Do you believe it to be so % ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I think so.” 
 
 “ Well, I must confess that gloomy idea occurred to 
 me also.” 
 
 “ Do not blind yourself, Monsieur, in the name of 
 Heaven ! Listen attentively to me. I return to 
 
 D’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ I am all attention.” 
 
 “ Under what circumstances did you see him ]” 
 
 “ He came here for money.” 
 
 “ With what kind of order] ” 
 
 “ With an order from the king.” 
 
 “ Direct ] ” 
 
 “Signed by his Majesty.” 
 
 “ There, then ! Well, D’Artagnan has been to Belle” 
 Isle; he was disguised; he passed, for some sort of a 
 steward, charged by his master to purchase salt-mines. 
 Now, D’Artagnan has no other master than the king; he 
 came, then, sent by the king. He saw Porthos.” 
 
 “ Who is Porthos 1 ” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, I made a mistake. He saw M. du 
 
D’ARTAGNAN, PORTHOS, AND ARAMIS. 
 
 243 
 
 Yallon at Belle-Isle; and he knows, as well as you and I 
 do, that Belle-Isle is fortified.” 
 
 “ And you think that the king sent him there ]” said 
 Fouquet, thoughtfully. 
 
 “ I certainly do.” 
 
 “ And D’Artagnan, in the hands of the king, is a dan- 
 gerous instrument ] ” 
 
 “ The most dangerous imaginable.” 
 
 “ Then I formed a correct opinion of him at the first 
 glance.” 
 
 “ How t so ] ” 
 
 “ I wished to attach him to myself.” 
 
 “If you judged him to be the bravest, the most acute, 
 and the most adroit man in France, you have judged 
 correctly.” 
 
 “He must be ours, then, at any price.” 
 
 “ D’Artagnan 1 ” 
 
 “ Is not that your opinion 1 ” 
 
 “ It may be my opinion, but you will never have 
 him.” 
 
 “ Why]” 
 
 “ Because we have allowed the time to go by. He was 
 dissatisfied with the court ; we should have profited by 
 that. Since that, he has been over to England ; there he 
 powerfully assisted in the restoration, and gained a for- 
 tune ; since then he has returned to the service of the 
 king. Well, the reason of his return to the service of the 
 king is that he has been well paid for the service.” 
 
 “We will pay him still better, that is all.” 
 
 “Oh, Monsieur, excuse me; D’Artagnan has a high 
 sense of his word, and where that word is once engaged, 
 it remains inviolable.” 
 
 “What do you conclude, then]” said Fouquet, with 
 great uneasiness. 
 
244 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ That, for the present, the principal thing is to parry 
 a dangerous blow.’ 
 
 “ And how is it to be parried?” 
 
 “ Listen. D’Artagnan will come and render an ac- 
 count to the king of his mission.” 
 
 “ Oh, we have time enough to think about that.” 
 
 “ How so ? ” 
 
 “ You have a good start of him, I presume?” 
 
 “ Nearly ten hours.” 
 
 “ Well, in ten hours — ” 
 
 Aramis shook his weary head. “ Look at those clouds 
 which flit across the sky, at those swallows which cut the 
 air. D’Artagnan moves more quickly than the cloud or 
 the bird ; D’Artagnan is the wind which carries them.” 
 
 “ Nonsense ! ” 
 
 “ I tell you that man is something superhuman, Mon- 
 sieur. He is of my age, and I have known him these 
 five-and-thirty years.” 
 
 “ Well ? ” 
 
 “Well, listen to my calculation, Monsieur. I sent 
 M. du Vallon off to you at two hours after midnight. 
 M. du Vallon was eight hours in advance of me ; when 
 did M. du Vallon arrive?” 
 
 “ About four hours ago.” 
 
 “ You see, then, that I gained four upon him ; and 
 yet Porthos is a stanch horseman, and has left on the 
 road eight dead horses, whose bodies I passed one after 
 another. I rode post fifty leagues. But I have the gout, 
 the gravel, and what else I know not; so that fatigue 
 kills me. I was obliged to dismount at Tours ; since 
 that, roiling along in a carriage, half dead, sometimes 
 overturned, often drawn upon the sides and sometimes 
 on the back of the carriage, always with four spirited 
 horses at full gallop, I have arrived, — arrived, gaining 
 
D’ARTAGNAN, PORTHOS, AND ARAMIS. 245 
 
 four hours upon Porthos. But, look you, D’Artagnan does 
 not weigh three hundredweight, as Porthos does ; D’Ar- 
 tagnan has not the gout and the gravel, as I have ; he is 
 not a horseman, he is a centaur. D’Artagnan, look you, 
 set out for Belle Isle when I set out for Paris; and D’Ar- 
 tagnan, notwithstanding the ten hours’ start that I have, 
 will arrive within two hours after me.” 
 
 “ But, then, accidents ? ” 
 
 “ He never meets with any accidents.” 
 
 “ Horses may fail him.” 
 
 “ He will run as fast as a horse.” 
 
 “ Good God ! what a man ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, he is a man whom I love and admire. I love 
 him because he is good, great, and loyal ; I admire him 
 because he represents to me the culminating point of 
 human powers : but while loving and admiring him, I 
 fear him, and am on my guard against him. Now, then, 
 I resume, Monsieur. In two hours D’Artagnan will be 
 here : be beforehand with him. Go to the Louvre, and 
 see the king before he sees D’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ What shall I say to the king V 1 
 “ Nothing ; give him Belle-Isle.” 
 
 “ Oh, M. d’Herblay ! M. d’Herblay ! ” cried Fouquet, 
 “ what projects are crushed all at once ! ” 
 
 “ After one project has failed, there is always another 
 which may lead to good ; we should never despair. Go, 
 Monsieur, and go quickly.” 
 
 “ But that garrison, so carefully chosen, the king will 
 change it directly.” 
 
 “That garrison, Monsieur, was the king’s when it en- 
 tered Belle-Isle ; it is yours to-day. It will be the same 
 with all garrisons after a fortnight’s occupation. Let 
 things go on, Monsieur. Do yoh see any inconven- 
 ience in having an army at the end of a year, instead of 
 
246 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 one or two regiments ? Do you not see that your garri- 
 son of to-day will make you partisans at La Rochelle, 
 Nantes, Bordeaux, Toulouse, — everywhere they may be 
 placed ? Go to the king, Monsieur ; go ! Time flies ; and 
 D’Artagnan, while we are losing our time, is flying like an 
 arrow along the highroad.” 
 
 “ M. d’Herblay, you know that each word from you is a 
 germ which fructifies in my thoughts. I will go to the 
 Louvre.” 
 
 “ Instantly, will you not ? ” 
 
 “ I ask time only to change my dress.” 
 
 “ Remember that D’Artagnan has no need to pass 
 through St. Maude, but will go straight to the Louvre ; 
 that is cutting off an hour from the advance which 
 remains to us.” 
 
 “ D’Artagnan may have everything except my English 
 horses. I shall be at the Louvre in twenty-five minutes ; ” 
 and without losing a second, Fouquet gave orders for his 
 departure. 
 
 Aramis had only time to say to him, “ Return 
 as quickly as you go ; for I shall await you im- 
 patiently.” 
 
 Five minutes after, the superintendent was flying along 
 the road to Paris. During this time Aramis desired to 
 be shown the chamber in which Porthos was sleeping. 
 At the door of Fouquet’s cabinet he was folded in the 
 arms of Pellisson, who had just heard of his arrival, and 
 had left his office to see him. Aramis received, with that 
 frieTidly dignity which he knew so well how to assume, 
 Pellisson’s caresses, which were as respectful as they were 
 earnest ; but, all at once, stopping on the landing-place, 
 “ What is that I hear up yonder 1 ” he demanded. 
 
 There was, in fact; a hoarse, growling kind of noise, 
 like the roar of a hungry tiger or an impatient lion. 
 
D'ARTAGNAN, P ORTHOS, AND ARAMIS. 
 
 247 
 
 “ Oh, that is nothing,' ” said Pellisson, smiling. 
 
 “ Well ; but — ” 
 
 “ It is M. du Vallon snoring.” 
 
 “ Of course,” said Aramis ; “ no one but he is capable 
 of making such a noise. Allow me, Pellisson, to inquire 
 if he is in need of anything.” 
 
 “ And you will permit me to accompany you % ” 
 
 “ Oh, certainly ! ” and both entered the chamber. Por- 
 thos was stretched upon a bed, his face violet rather than 
 red, his eyes swelled, his mouth wide open. The roaring 
 which escaped from the deep cavities of his chest made 
 the panes of the windows vibrate. To those intense and 
 clearly defined muscles starting from his face, to his hair 
 matted with sweat, to the violent heaving of his chin and 
 shoulders, it was impossible to refuse a certain degree of 
 admiration. Strength carried to that point is almost 
 divinity. The herculean legs and feet of Porthos had, 
 by swelling, burst his leather boots ; all the strength of 
 his huge body was converted into the rigidity of stone. 
 Porthos moved no more than does the giant of granite 
 which reclines upon the plains of Agrigentum. Accord- 
 ing to Pellisson’s orders, his boots had been cut off, for 
 no human power could have pulled them off. Four 
 lackeys had tried in vain, pulling at them as if they were 
 capstans ; and yet all this did not awaken him. They 
 had taken off his boots in fragments, and his legs had 
 fallen back upon the bed. They had then cut off the 
 rest of his clothes, and carried him to a bath, in which 
 they let him lie a considerable time. They had put on 
 him clean linen, and placed him in a well-warmed bed, 
 — all this with an amount of exertion and movement 
 which might have roused a dead man, but which did 
 not make Porthos open an eye, or interrupt for a second 
 his formidable snoring. Aramis on his part, with his hard 
 
248 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and nervous nature, armed with extraordinary courage, 
 tried to outbrave fatigue, and employ himself with 
 Gourville and Pellisson, but he fainted in the chair in 
 which he had persisted in remaining. They took him 
 up and carried him into an adjoining room, where repose 
 upon a bed soon calmed his throbbing brain. 
 
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 IN WHICH M. FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 In the mean time Fouquet was hastening to the Louvre, 
 at the best speed of his English horses. 
 
 The king was employed with Colbert. All at once the 
 king became thoughtful. The two sentences of death he 
 had signed on mounting his throne sometimes recurred 
 to his memory ; they were two black spots which be saw 
 with his eyes open, two spots of blood which he saw 
 when his eyes were closed. “ Monsieur,” said he, all at 
 once, to the intendant, “it sometimes seems to me that 
 those two men you made me condemn were not very 
 great culprits.” 
 
 “ Sire, they were picked out from the herd of the 
 farmers of the revenue, which wanted decimating.” 
 
 “ Picked out by whom ] ” 
 
 “ By necessity, Sire,” replied Colbert, coldly. 
 
 “ Necessity ! a great word ! ” murmured the young king. 
 
 “ A great goddess, Sire.” 
 
 “ They were devoted friends of the superintendent, 
 were they not ] ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire ; friends who would have given their lives 
 for M. Fouquet.” 
 
 “ They have given them, Monsieur,” said the king. 
 
 “ That is true ; but uselessly, by good luck, — which 
 was not their intention.” 
 
 “ How much money had these men fraudulently 
 obtained] ” 
 
250 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Ten millions, perhaps ; of which six have been con- 
 fiscated from their property.” 
 
 “And is that money in my coffers ? ” said the king, 
 with a certain air of repugnance. 
 
 “It is there, Sire ; but this confiscation, while threat- 
 ening M. Fouquet, has not touched him.” 
 
 “ You conclude, then, M. Colbert — ” 
 
 “ That if M. Fouquet has raised against your Majesty 
 a troop of factious rioters to extricate his friends from 
 punishment, he will raise an army when he shall have 
 to extricate himself from punishment.” 
 
 The king darted at his confidant one of those looks 
 which resemble the ominous glare of a flash of lightning, 
 one of those looks which illuminate the darkness of the 
 deepest consciences. “ I am astonished,” said he, “ that, 
 thinking such things of M. Fouquet, you did not come to 
 give me your counsels thereupon.” 
 
 “Counsels upon what, Sire]” 
 
 “ Tell me, in the first place, clearly and precisely, what 
 you think, M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ Upon what subject, Sire ! ” 
 
 “Upon the conduct of M. Fouquet.” 
 
 “I think, Sire, that M. Fouquet, not satisfied with at- 
 tracting all the money to himself, as M. de Mazarin did, 
 and by that means depriving your Majesty of a part of 
 your power, still wishes to attract to himself all the friends 
 of easy life and pleasures, — of what idlers call poetry, and 
 politicians corruption. I think that, by holding the sub- 
 jects of your Majesty in pay, he trespasses upon the royal 
 prerogative, and cannot, if this continues so, be long in 
 relegating your Majesty among the weak and obscure.” 
 
 “ How would you designate all these projects, M. 
 Colbertl ” 
 
 “ The projects of M. Fouquet, Sire ? ” 
 
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 251 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ They are called crimes of high treason.” 
 
 “ And what is done to criminals guilty of high treason 1 ” 
 “ They are arrested, tried, and punished.” 
 
 “ You are quite sure that M. Fouquet has conceived 
 the idea of the crime you impute to him] ” 
 
 “ I can say more, Sire ; there is even a beginning of 
 the execution of it.” 
 
 “ Well, then, I return to that which I was saying, 
 M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ And you were saying, Sire — ” 
 
 “ Give me counsel.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Sire ; but, in the first place, I have 
 something to add.” 
 
 “ Speak.” 
 
 “ An evident, palpable, material proof of treason.” 
 
 “ And what is that ] ” 
 
 “ I have just learned that M. Fouquet is fortifying 
 Belle Isle-en-Mer.” 
 
 “ Ah, indeed ! ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ Are you sure ] ” 
 
 “ Perfectly. Do you know, Sire, what soldiers there 
 are at Belle-Isle ] ” 
 
 “ No, -upon my word. Do you!” 
 
 “ I am ignorant likewise, Sire ; I should therefore pro- 
 pose to your Majesty to send somebody to Belle-Isle.” 
 
 “ Who]” 
 
 “ Me, for instance.” 
 
 “And what would you do at Belle-Isle ] ” 
 
 “ Inform myself whether it is true that, after the ex- 
 ample ot the ancient feudal lords, M. Fouquet is fortifying 
 his walls.” 
 
 “ And with what purpose would he do that 1 ” 
 
252 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ With the purpose of defending himself some day 
 against his king.” 
 
 “ But if it be thus, M. Colbert,” said Louis, u we 
 must immediately do as you say ; M. Fouquet must be 
 arrested.” 
 
 “That is impossible.” 
 
 “ I thought I had already told you, Monsieur, that I 
 suppressed that word in my service.” 
 
 “ The service of your Majesty cannot prevent M. Fou- 
 quet from being superintendent-general.” 
 
 “ Well t ” 
 
 “ And in consequence of holding that post, he has for 
 him all the parliament, as he has all the army by his 
 largesses, all literature by his favors, and all the nobility 
 by his presents.” 
 
 “ That is to say, then, that I can do nothing against 
 M. Fouquet]” 
 
 “ Absolutely nothing, — at least at present, Sire.” 
 “You are an unfruitful counsellor, M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ Oh, no, Sire, for I will not confine myself to pointing- 
 out the peril to your Majesty.” 
 
 “ Come, then, where shall we begin to undermine the 
 Colossus ] Let us see ; ” and his Majesty began to laugh 
 with bitterness. 
 
 “ He has grown great by money ; kill him by money, 
 Sire.” 
 
 “ If I were to deprive him of his charge]” 
 
 “ A bad means, Sire.” 
 
 “ The good — the good, then ] ” 
 
 “ Ruin him, Sire, I tell you.” 
 
 “ But how ] ” 
 
 “ Occasions will not be wanting ; take advantage of all 
 occasions.” 
 
 “Point them out to me.” 
 
M, FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 253 
 
 “Here is one, first of all. His royal Highness Monsieur 
 is about to be married ; his nuptials must be magnificent. 
 That is a good occasion for your Majesty to demand a 
 million of M. Fouquet. M. Fouquet, who pays twenty 
 thousand livres down when he need not pay more than 
 five thousand, will easily find that million when your 
 Majesty shall demand it,.” 
 
 “ That is all very well ; I will demand it,” said Louis. 
 
 u If your Majesty will sign the order, I will have the 
 money drawn myself ; ” and Colbert pushed a paper be- 
 fore the king, and handed him a pen. 
 
 At that moment the usher opened the door and an- 
 nounced Monsieur the Superintendent. Louis turned pale. 
 Colbert let the pen fall, and drew back from the king, 
 over whom he extended his black wings like a bad angel. 
 The superintendent made his entrance like a true courtier, 
 to whom a single glance was sufficient to make him ap- 
 preciate a situation. This situation was not very encour- 
 aging for Fouquet, whatever might be the consciousness 
 of his strength. The small black eye of Colbert dilated 
 with envy, and the clear eye of Louis XIV. inflamed with 
 anger indicated a pressing danger. Courtiers are, with 
 regard to court rumors, like old soldiers, who distinguish 
 through blasts of wind and the moaning of boughs the 
 sound of the distant tread of an armed troop. They can, 
 after having listened, tell pretty nearly how many men 
 are marching, how many arms resound, how many can- 
 non roll. Fouquet had then only to interrogate the 
 silence which his arrival had produced ; he found it big 
 with menacing revelations. 
 
 The king allowed him time enough to advance as far 
 as the middle of the chamber. His adolescent modesty 
 constrained him to this momentary forbearance. Fouquet 
 boldly seized the opportunity. 
 
254 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Sire,” said he, “ I was impatient to see-your Majesty.' ’ 
 “ What for 'l ” demanded Louis. 
 
 “ To announce some good news to you.” 
 
 Colbert, with a less imposing presence and less genial- 
 ity of spirit, resembled Fouquet in many points. He had 
 the same penetration, the same knowledge of men ; he 
 had, moreover, that great power of self-restraint which 
 gives to hypocrites time to reflect and gather themselves 
 up to take a spring. He guessed that Fouquet was going 
 to meet the blow he was about to deal him. His eyes 
 sparkled. 
 
 “ What news 1 ” asked the king. Fouquet placed a roll 
 of papers on the table. 
 
 “ Let your Majesty have the goodness to cast your 
 eyes over this work,” said he. 
 
 The king slowly unfolded the roll. “ Plans 1 ” said he. 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ And what are these plans 1 ” 
 
 “ A new fortification, Sire.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the king, “ you occupy yourself with tactics 
 and strategy, then, M. Fouquet 1” 
 
 “ I occupy myself with everything that may be useful 
 to the reign of your Majesty,” replied Fouquet. 
 
 “ Beautiful drawings ! ” said the king, looking at the 
 design. 
 
 “ Your Majesty comprehends, without doubt,” said 
 Fouquet, bending over the paper; “here is the circle of 
 the walls, here are the forts, there the advanced works.” 
 
 “ And what do I see here, Monsieur ] ” 
 
 “ The sea.” 
 
 “ The sea all round 'l ” 
 
 “Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ And what is this place of which you show me the 
 
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 255 
 
 “Sire, it is Belle-Isle-en-Mer,” replied Fouquet, with 
 simplicity. 
 
 At this word, at this name, Colbert made so marked a 
 movement that the king turned round to enforce the 
 necessity of reserve. Fouquet did not appear to be the 
 least in the world concerned by the movement of Col- 
 bert, nor the king’s signal. 
 
 “ Monsieur, ” continued Louis, “you have, then, fortified 
 Belle-Isle ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire ; and I have brought the plan and the ac- 
 counts to your Majesty, ” replied Fouquet. “ I have ex- 
 pended sixteen hundred thousand livres in this operation. ” 
 “For what purpose?” replied Louis, coldly, having 
 taken the initiative from a malicious look of the intendant. 
 
 “For an aim very easy to comprehend,’ ’ replied Fou- 
 quet. “ Your Majesty was not on good terms with Great 
 Britain.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but since the restoration of King Charles II., I 
 have formed an alliance with him.” 
 
 “ That has taken place within a month’s time, your Maj- 
 esty ; but it is more than six months since the fortifica- 
 tions of Belle-Isle were begun.” 
 
 “ Then they have become useless.” 
 
 “ Sire, fortifications are never useless. I fortified Belle- 
 Isle against Messieurs Monk and Lambert, and all those 
 London citizens who were playing at soldiers. Belle-Isle 
 will be ready fortified against the Dutch, against whom 
 either England or your Majesty cannot fail to make war.” 
 The king was again silent, and looked askance at Col- 
 bert. “ Belle-Isle, I believe,” added Louis, “ belongs to 
 you, M. Fouquet ? ” 
 
 “ No, Sire.” 
 
 “ To whom, then? ” 
 
 “To your Majesty.” 
 
256 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Colbert was seized with as much terror as if a gulf had 
 opened beneath his feet. Louis started with admiration, 
 either at the genius or at the devotion of Fouquet. 
 
 “ Explain yourself, Monsieur,” said he. 
 
 “ Nothing more easy, Sire. Belle-Isle is one of my 
 estates ; I have fortified it at my own expense. But as 
 nothing in the world can oppose a subject making an 
 humble present to his king, I offer your Majesty the pro- 
 prietorship of the estate, of which you will leave me the 
 usufruct. Belle-Isle, as a place of war, ought to be occu- 
 pied by the king. Your Majesty will be able, henceforth, 
 to keep a safe garrison there.” 
 
 Colbert almost sank down upon the floor. To keep 
 himself from falling, he was obliged to hold by the col- 
 umns of the wainscoting. 
 
 “ This is a piece of great skill in the art of war that 
 you have exhibited here, Monsieur/’ said Louis. 
 
 “ Sire, the initiative did not come from me,” replied 
 Fouquet; “ many officers have suggested it to me. The 
 plans themselves have been made by one of the most dis- 
 tinguished engineers.” 
 
 “ His name ? ” 
 
 “ M. du Vallon.” 
 
 “ M. du Vallon'?” resumed Louis. “I do not know 
 him. It is much to be lamented, M. Colbert,” contin- 
 ued he, “ that I do not know the names of the men of 
 talent who do honor to my reign.” While saying these 
 words he turned towards Colbert. The latter felt him- 
 self crushed. The sweat flowed from his brow ; not a 
 single word presented itself to his lips ; he was in unut- 
 terable tortures. “ You will recollect that name,” added 
 Louis. 
 
 Colbert bowed, but was paler than his ruffles of Flemish 
 lace. 
 
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 257 
 
 Fouquet continued : “ The masonries are of Roman 
 mastic ; the architects have composed it for me after the 
 best examples of antiquity.” 
 
 “ And the cannon V 9 asked Louis. 
 
 “ Oh, Sire, that concerns your Majesty ; it did not be- 
 come me to place cannon in my own house, until your 
 Majesty had told me it was yours.” 
 
 Louis began to waver, undetermined between the 
 hatred which this so powerful man inspired him with, 
 and the pity he felt for that other man, so cast down, 
 who seemed to him the counterfeit of the former. But 
 the consciousness of his kingly duty prevailed over the 
 feelings of the man, and he stretched out his finger to 
 the paper. 
 
 “ It must have cost you a great deal of money to carry 
 these plans into execution,” said he. 
 
 “ I believe I had the honor of telling your Majesty the 
 amount ] ” 
 
 “ Repeat it, if you please ; I have forgotten it.” 
 
 “ Sixteen hundred thousand livres.” 
 
 “ Sixteen hundred thousand livres 1 You are enormously 
 rich, Monsieur.” 
 
 “It is your Majesty who is rich, since Belle-Isle is 
 yours.” 
 
 “Yes, thank you ; but however rich I may be, M. Fou- 
 quet — ” The king stopped. 
 
 “ Well, Sire 1 ” asked the superintendent. 
 
 “ I foresee the moment when I shall want money.” 
 
 “ You, Sire ] And at what moment, then 1 ” 
 “To-morrow, for example.” 
 
 “Will your Majesty do me the honor to explain 
 yourself V 9 
 
 “ My brother is going to marry the Princess of England.” 
 “Well, Sire 1 ” 
 
 VOL. IT. — 17 
 
258 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well, I ought to give the young princess a recep- 
 tion worthy of the granddaughter of Henry IV.” 
 
 “ That is but just, Sire.” 
 
 “ Then I shall want money.” 
 
 “ No doubt.” 
 
 “ I shall want — ” Louis hesitated. The sum that 
 he was going to demand was the same that he had been 
 obliged to refuse Charles II. He turned towards Colbert, 
 that he might give the blow. 
 
 “ I shall want, to-morrow — 99 repeated he, looking at 
 Colbert. 
 
 “ A million,” said the latter, bluntly, delighted to take 
 his revenge. 
 
 Fouquet turned his back on the intendant to listen to 
 the king. He did not turn round at all, but waited till 
 the king repeated, or rather murmured, a A million.” 
 
 “ Oh, Sire,” replied Fouquet, disdainfully, “a million ! 
 What will your Majesty do with a million ? ” 
 
 “ It appears to me, nevertheless — ” said Louis. 
 
 “That is not more than is spent at the nuptials of one 
 of the most petty princes of Germany.” 
 
 “ Monsieur ! ” 
 
 “ Your Majesty must have two millions at least. The 
 horses alone will run away with five hundred thousand 
 livres. I shall have the honor of sending your Majesty 
 sixteen hundred thousand livres this evening.” 
 
 “ How ! ” said the king, “ sixteen hundred thousand 
 livres 1 ” 
 
 “ Look, Sire,” replied Fouquet, without even turning 
 towards Colbert, “ I know that that wants four hundred 
 thousand livres of the two millions. But this Monsieur 
 who is intendant,” pointing over his shoulder to Colbert 
 behind him, who if possible became still paler, “ has in 
 his coffers nine hundred thousand livres of mine.” 
 
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 
 
 259 
 
 The king turned round to look at Colbert. 
 
 “ But — ” said the latter. 
 
 “Monsieur,” continued Fouquet, still speaking indi- 
 rectly to Colbert, — “ Monsieur received, a week ago, 
 sixteen hundred thousand livres ; he has paid a hundred 
 thousand livres to the Guards, seventy-five thousand livres 
 to the hospitals, twenty-five thousand to the Swiss, a 
 hundred and thirty thousand for stores, a thousand for 
 arms, ten thousand for incidental expenses. I do not err, 
 then, in reckoning upon nine hundred thousand livres 
 that are left.” Then half turning towards Colbert, like 
 a disdainful head of office towards his inferior, “ Take 
 care, Monsieur,” said he, “ that those nine hundred 
 thousand livres be remitted to his Majesty this evening? 
 in gold.” 
 
 “But,” said the king, “that will make two million 
 five hundred thousand livres.” 
 
 “ Sire, the five hundred thousand livres over may serve 
 as pocket-money for his royal Highness. You understand, 
 M. Colbert, this evening, before eight o’clock.” 
 
 With these words, bowing respectfully to the king, 
 the superintendent made his exit backward, without 
 honoring with a single look the envious man whose head 
 he had just half shaved. 
 
 Colbert tore his Flemish point to pieces in his rage, 
 and bit his lips till they bled. 
 
 Fouquet had not passed the door of the cabinet, when 
 an usher, passing by him, called out, “ A courier from 
 Bretagne for his Majesty.” 
 
 “ M. d’Herblay was right,” murmured Fouquet, pulling 
 out his watch ; “ an hour and fifty-five minutes. It was 
 time ! ” 
 
260 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 IN WHICH D’ARTAGNAN AT LAST PLACES HIS HAND UPON 
 HIS captain’s COMMISSION. 
 
 The reader guesses beforehand whom the usher named 
 in announcing the messenger from Bretagne. This mes- 
 senger was easily recognized. It was D’Artagnan, — his 
 clothes dusty, his face inflamed, his hair dripping with 
 sweat, his legs stiff ; he lifted his feet painfully the height 
 of each step, upon which resounded the ring of his bloody 
 spurs. He perceived, in the doorway through which he 
 was passing, the superintendent coming out. Fouquet 
 bowed with a smile to him who an hour before was bring- 
 ing him ruin and death. D’Artagnan found, in his good- 
 ness of heart and in his inexhaustible vigor of body, 
 enough presence of mind to remember the kind recep- 
 tion this man had given him, and bowed also, much 
 more, however, from benevolence and compassion than 
 from respect. He felt upon his lips the word which had so 
 many times been repeated to the Due de Guise : “Fly ! ” 
 But to pronounce that word would have been to betray 
 his cause ; to speak that word in the cabinet of the king 
 and before an usher, would have been to ruin himself 
 gratuitously without saving anybody. D’Artagnan, then, 
 contented himself with bowing to Fouquet, and entered. 
 
 At this moment the king was fluctuating between the 
 joy the last words of Fouquet had given him, and his 
 pleasure at the return of D’Artagnan. Without being a 
 courtier, D’Artagnan had a glance as sure and rapid as 
 
D’ARTAGNAN RECEIVES HIS COMMISSION. 261 
 
 if he had been one. He read, on his entrance, heart-con- 
 suming humiliation on the countenance of Colbert. He 
 even heard the king say these words to him : “ Ah, M. 
 Colbert, you have, then, nine hundred thousand livres 
 belonging to the superintendent 1 ” Colbert, choking, 
 bowed, but made no reply. All this scene entered into 
 the mind of D’Artagnan through his eyes and ears at 
 once. 
 
 The first word of Louis XI V. to his musketeer, as if he 
 wished it to be in contrast with what he had just been 
 saying, was a kind “ Good-day ; ” his second word was 
 to send away Colbert. 
 
 The latter left the king’s cabinet livid and tottering, 
 while D’Artagnan twisted up the ends of his mustache. 
 
 “I love to see one of my servants in this disorder,” 
 said the king, admiring the martial stains upon the 
 clothes of his envoy. 
 
 “I thought, Sire, my presence at the Louvre was suffi- 
 ciently urgent to excuse my coming thus before you.” 
 
 “ You bring me great news, then, Monsieur 1 ” asked the 
 king, smiling. 
 
 “ Sire, the thing is this, in two words : Belle-Isle is 
 fortified, admirably fortified. Belle-Isle has a double 
 enceinte , a citadel, two detached forts ; its port contains 
 three corsairs, and the side batteries only wait for their 
 cannon.” 
 
 ‘‘I know all that, Monsieur,” replied the king. 
 
 • “ What ! your Majesty knows all thatH’ replied the 
 musketeer, stupefied. 
 
 “ I have the plan of the fortifications of Belle-Isle,” 
 said the king. 
 
 “ Your Majesty has the plan % ” 
 
 “ Here it is.” 
 
 “It is really it, Sire ; and I saw a similar one on the 
 
262 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 spot.” The brow of D’Artagnan became clouded. “ Ah ! 
 I understand all. Your Majesty has not trusted to me 
 alone, but has sent some other person,” said he, in a 
 reproachful tone. 
 
 “ Of what importance is the manner, Monsieur, in which 
 I have learned what I know, so that I know it ? ” 
 
 “Be it so, Sire,” replied the musketeer, without seek- 
 ing even to conceal his dissatisfaction; “but I must be 
 permitted to say to your Majesty that it is not worth 
 while to make me use such speed, to risk twenty times 
 breaking my neck, if you are to salute me with such in- 
 telligence on my arrival. Sire, when people are not 
 trusted or are deemed insufficient, they should not be 
 employed ; ” and D’Artagnan, with a movement quite 
 military, stamped with his foot, and left upon the floor 
 dust stained with blood. 
 
 The king looked at him, inwardly enjoying his first 
 triumph. “ Monsieur,” said he, at the expiration of a 
 minute, “ not only is Belle-Isle known to me, but, still 
 further, Belle-Isle belongs to me.” 
 
 “ That is well, that is well, Sire ! I ask no more,” replied 
 D’Artagnan. “ My discharge ! ” 
 
 “ What ! your discharge 1 ” 
 
 “ Certainly ! I am too proud to eat the bread of the 
 king without gaining it, or rather by gaining it badly. 
 My discharge, Sire ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, oh ! ” 
 
 “ My discharge, or I shall take it.” 
 
 “ You are angry, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ I have reason, mordioux ! I am thirty-two hours in 
 the saddle, I ride night and day, I perform prodigies of 
 speed, I arrive stiff as the corpse of a man who has been 
 hanged ; and another arrives before me ! Come, Sire, I 
 am a fool ! My discharge, Sire ! ” 
 
D’ARTAGNAN RECEIVES HIS COMMISSION. 
 
 263 
 
 “ M. d’Artagnan,” said Louis, resting his white hand 
 upon the dusty arm of the musketeer, “ what I have just 
 told you will not at all affect what I promised you. A 
 promise given must be fulfilled ; ” and the young king, 
 going straight to his table, opened a drawer and took out 
 a folded paper. “ Here is your commission of captain of 
 Musketeers ; you have won it, M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 D’Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and looked at it 
 twice. He could scarcely believe his eyes. 
 
 “ And this commission is given you,” continued the 
 king, “ not only on account of your journey to Belle-Isle, 
 but also for your brave intervention at the Place de Greve. 
 There, likewise, you served me valiantly.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said D’Artagnan, his self-command being un- 
 able to prevent a certain redness mounting up to his 
 eyes, “ you know that also, Sire ^ ” 
 
 “ Yes, I know it.” 
 
 The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible 
 judgment, when it was his object to read a conscience. 
 “You have something to say,” said he to the musketeer, 
 “ something to say which you do not say. Come, speak 
 freely, Monsieur ; you know that I told you, once for all, 
 that you are to be quite frank with me.” 
 
 “ Well, Sire ! what I have to say is this, that I would 
 prefer being made captain of Musketeers for having 
 charged a battery at the head of my company or taken a 
 city, than for causing two wretches to be hanged.” 
 
 “ Is this quite true that you tell me 1 ” 
 
 “And why should your Majesty suspect me of dissimu- 
 lation, I ask 1 ” 
 
 “ Because I know you well, Monsieur ; you cannot re- 
 pent of having drawn your sword for me.” 
 
 “ Well, in that your Majesty is mistaken, and greatly. 
 Yes, I do repent of having drawn my sword, on account of 
 
264 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 the results that action produced ; the poor men who were 
 hanged, Sire, were neither your enemies nor mine, and 
 they could not defend themselves.” 
 
 The king preserved silence for a moment. “ And 
 your companion, M. d’ Art agnail, does he partake of your 
 repentance % ” 
 
 “ My companion '1 ” 
 
 “ Yes ; you were not alone, 1 have been told.” 
 
 “ Alone, where 1 ” 
 
 “ At the Place de Greve.” 
 
 “ No, Sire, no ! ” said D’Artagnan, blushing at the idea 
 that the king might have a suspicion that he, D’Artagnan, 
 had wished to appropriate to himself the glory that be- 
 longed to Raoul ; “ no, mordioux ! and as your Majesty 
 says, I had a companion, and a good companion too.” 
 
 “ A young man % ” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire, a young man. Oh ! your Majesty must 
 accept my compliments ; you are as well informed of 
 things out of doors as of things within. It is M. Colbert 
 who makes all these fine reports to the king.” 
 
 “ M. Colbert has said nothing but good of you, M. 
 d’Artagnan, and he would have met with a bad reception 
 if he had come to tell me anything else.” 
 
 “That is fortunate.” 
 
 “ But he also said much good of that young man.” 
 “And with justice,” said the musketeer. 
 
 “ In short, it appears that this young man is a hero,” 
 said Louis, in order to quicken the sentiment which he 
 mistook for envy. 
 
 “ A hero ! Yes, Sire,” repeated D’Artagnan, delighted 
 on his part to direct the king’s attention to Raoul. 
 
 “ Do you know his name 1 ” 
 
 “Well, I think — ” 
 
 “ You know him, then ] n 
 
D’ARTAGNAN RECEIVES HIS COMMISSION. 
 
 265 
 
 “ I have known him nearly five-and-twenty years, She." 
 
 “ Why, he is scarcely twenty-five years old ! " cried the 
 king. 
 
 “ Well, then, Sire, I have known him ever since his 
 birth." 
 
 “ Do you affirm that % " 
 
 “ Sire," said D’Artagnan, “ your Majesty questions me 
 with a mistrust in which I recognize another character 
 than your own. M. Colbert, who has so well informed 
 you, has he then forgotten to tell you that this young 
 man is the son of my most intimate friend 1 " 
 
 “ The Vicomte de Bragelonne ] " 
 
 “Certainly, Sire. The 'father of the Vicomte de Bra- 
 gelonne is M. le Comte de la Fere, who so powerfully as- * 
 sisted in the restoration of King Charles II. Bragelonne 
 is of a valiant race, Sire." 
 
 “ Then he is the son of that nobleman who came to me, 
 or rather to M. de Mazarin, on the part of King Charles 
 II., to offer us his alliance ? " 
 
 “Exactly, Sire." 
 
 “ And the Comte de la Fere is also a hero, is he not ? " 
 
 “ Sire, he is a man who has drawn his sword more 
 times for the king your father, than there are at present 
 days in the happy life of your Majesty." 
 
 It was Louis XIV. who now bit his lip in his turn. 
 
 “ That is well, M. d’Artagnan, very well ! And M. le 
 Comte de la Fere is your friend, you say % " 
 
 “For about forty years; yes, Sire. Your Majesty 
 may see that I do not speak to you of yesterday." 
 
 “ Would you be glad to see this young man, M, 
 d’Artagnan ] " 
 
 “ Delighted, Sire." 
 
 The king touched his bell, and an usher appeared. 
 
 “ Call M. de Bragelonne," said the king. 
 
266 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BHAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Ah ! he is here]” said D’Artagnan. 
 
 “ He is on guard to-day, at the Louvre, with the coni' 
 pany of the gentlemen of Monsieur the Prince.” 
 
 The king had scarcely ceased speaking, when Raoul 
 presented himself, and on seeing D’Artagnan smiled on 
 him with that charming smile which is found only upon 
 the lips of youth. 
 
 “ Come, come,” said D’Artagnan, familiarly, to Raoul, 
 “ the king will allow you to embrace me ; only tell his 
 Majesty you thank him.” 
 
 Raoul bowed so gracefully that Louis, to whom all 
 superior qualities were pleasing when they did not imply 
 anything against his own, admired his beauty, strength, 
 and modesty. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said the king, addressing Raoul, “ I have 
 asked Monsieur the Prince to be kind enough to give you 
 up to me ; I have received his reply, and you belong to 
 me from this morning. Monsieur the Prince was a good 
 master, but I hope you will not lose by the change.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, Raoul, be satisfied ; the king has some good 
 in him,” said D’Artagnan, who had fathomed the char- 
 acter of Louis, and who played with his self-love within 
 certain limits; always observing, be it understood, the 
 proprieties, and flattering even when he appeared to be 
 bantering. 
 
 “ Sire,” said Bragelonne, with a voice soft and musical, 
 and with the natural and easy elocution he inherited 
 from his father, — “ Sire, it is not from to-day only that 
 I belong to your Majesty.” 
 
 “ Oh ! I know,” said the king; “you mean your enter- 
 prise of the Place de Greve. That day you were truly 
 mine, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Sire, it is not of that day I would speak ; it would 
 not become me to refer to so paltry a service in the 
 
D’ARTAGNAN RECEIVES HIS COMMISSION. 2G7 
 
 presence of a man like M. d’Artagnan. I would speak 
 of a circumstance which created an epoch in my life, and 
 which consecrated me, from the age of sixteen, to the 
 devoted service of your Majesty.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the king, “ and what is that circumstance 1 
 Tell me, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ This is it, Sire. When I was setting out on my first 
 campaign, — that is to say, to join the army of Monsieur the 
 Prince, — M. le Comte de la Fere came to conduct me as 
 far as St. Denis, where the remains of King Louis XIII. 
 await, upon the lowest steps of the funereal basilica, a suc- 
 cessor, — whom God will not send him, I hope, for many 
 years. Then he made me swear, upon the ashes of our 
 masters, to serve royalty, represented by you, — incarnate 
 in you, Sire, — to serve it in word, in thought, and in 
 deed. I swore ; and God and the dead were witnesses to 
 my oath. During ten years, Sire, I have not so often as 
 I desired had occasion to keep it. I am a soldier of your 
 Majesty, and nothing else ; and on calling me nearer 
 to you, I do not change my master, I only change my 
 garrison.” v 
 
 Raoul was silent, and bowed. Louisf still listened after 
 he had done speaking. 
 
 “ Mordioux ! ” cried D’Artagnan, “ that is well spoken, 
 is it not, your Majesty ! A good race ! a noble race ! ” 
 
 “ Yes,” murmured the agitated king, without, however, 
 daring to manifest his emotion, for it had no other cause 
 than the contact with a nature eminently noble, — “ yes, 
 Monsieur, you say truly ; wherever you were, you were 
 the king’s. But in changing your garrison, believe me, 
 you will find an advancement of which you are worthy.” 
 Raoul saw that this ended what the king had wished 
 to say to him ; and with the perfect tact which charac- 
 terized his refined nature, he bowed and retired. 
 
268 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Is there anything else, Monsieur, of which you have 
 to inform me ? ” said the king, when he found himself 
 again alone with D’Artagnan. 
 
 “Yes, Sire ; and I kept that news for the last, for it is 
 sad, and will clothe European royalty in mournitig.” 
 
 “ What do you tell me ? ” 
 
 “ Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word, 
 echoed from the palace, struck my ear.” 
 
 “ In truth you terrify me, M. d’Artagnan ! ” 
 
 “ Sire, this word was uttered to me by an outrider, who 
 wore crape on his arm.” 
 
 “ My uncle, Gaston of Orleans, perhaps ? ” 
 
 “ Sire, he has rendered his last sigh.” 
 
 “ And I was not told of it ! ” cried the king, whose 
 royal susceptibility saw an insult in the absence of this 
 intelligence. 
 
 “ Oh, do not be angry, Sire!” said D’Artagnan. “Nei- . 
 ther the couriers of Paris, nor the couriers of the whole 
 world, can travel like your servant. The courier from 
 Blois will not be here these two hours ; and he rides well, 
 
 I assure you, seeing that I passed him only on the other 
 side of Orleans.” ' 
 
 “My uncle Gaston,” murmured Louis, pressing his 
 hand to his brow, and compressing in those three words 
 all that his memory recalled of that name and all his 
 mingled feelings. 
 
 “ Eh ! yes, Sire, it is thus,” said D’Artagnan, philo- 
 sophically replying to the royal thought, “ that the past 
 flies away.” 
 
 “ That is true, Monsieur, that is true ; but there re- 
 mains for us, thank God ! the future, and we will try to 
 make it not too dark.” 
 
 “ I feel confidence in your Majesty on that head,” said 
 D’Artagnan, bowing; “and now — ” 
 
O’ARTAGNAN RECEIVES HIS COMMISSION. 269 
 
 “ You are right, Monsieur ; I had forgotten the hun- 
 dred and ten leagues you have just ridden. Go, Mon- 
 sieur, take care of one of the best of soldiers ; and when 
 you have rested a little, come and place yourself at my 
 orders.” 
 
 “ Sire, absent or present, I always am so.” 
 
 D’Artagnan bowed and retired. Then, as if he had 
 only come from Fontainebleau, he quickly traversed the 
 Louvre to rejoin Bragelonne. • 
 
270 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE PBAGFI.ONKE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A LOVER AND A MISTRESS. 
 
 While the wax-lights were burning in the castle of Blois 
 around the inanimate body of Gaston of Orleans, that last 
 representative of the past ; while the people of the city 
 were composing his epitaph, which was far from being a 
 panegyric ; while Madame the dowager, no longer remem- 
 bering that in her young days she had loved that sense- 
 less corpse to such a degree as to flee from the paternal 
 palace fcr his sake, was making, within twenty paces of the 
 funeral apartment, her little calculations of interest and 
 her little sacrifices of pride, — other interests and other 
 prides were in agitation in all the parts of the castle into 
 which a living soul could penetrate. Neither the lugu- 
 brious sound of the bells, nor the voices of the chanters, 
 nor the splendor of the wax- lights through the windows, 
 nor the preparations for the funeral, had the power to di- 
 vert the attention of two persons, placed at a window of 
 the inner court, — a window which we are already ac- 
 quainted with, and which lighted a chamber forming 
 part of what were called the little apartments. For the 
 rest, a joyous beam of sunlight, — for the sun appeared 
 to care very little for the loss France had just suffered, — 
 a sunbeam, we say, descended upon them, drawing per- 
 fumes from the neighboring flowers, and animating the 
 walls themselves. These two persons, so occupied, not by 
 the death of the duke, but by the conversation which was 
 the consequence of that death, — these two persons were a 
 young woman and a young man. The latter personage — 
 
A LOVER AND A MISTRESS. 
 
 27 ! 
 
 a man of from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, with 
 a mien sometimes lively and sometimes sly, making good 
 use of two immensely large eyes, shaded with long eye- 
 lashes — was short of stature and brown of skin ; he smiled 
 with an enormous but well-furnished mouth, and his 
 pointed chin, which appeared to enjoy a mobility which 
 Nature does not ordinarily grant to that portion of the 
 countenance, approached from time to time very lovingly 
 towards his companion, who, we must say, did not always 
 draw back so rapidly as strict propriety might require. 
 The young girl, — we know her, for we have already seen 
 her, at that very same window, by the light of that same 
 sun, — the young girl presented a singular mixture of 
 slyness and reflection. She was charming when she 
 laughed, beautiful when she became serious ; but let us 
 hasten to say she was more frequently charming than 
 beautiful. The two persons appeared to have attained 
 the culminating point of a discussion half bantering, 
 half serious. 
 
 “ Now, M. Malicorne,” said the young girl, “ does it, at 
 length, please you that we should talk reasonably ” 
 
 “ You believe that that is very easy, Mademoiselle 
 Aure,” replied the young man. “ To do what we like, 
 when we can only do what we can — ” 
 
 “ Good ! there he is, bewildered in his phrases.” 
 
 “ Who, I i ” 
 
 “ Yes, you ; leave that lawyers 9 logic, my dear .’ 9 
 “ Another impossibility ; I am a clerk, Mademoiselle de 
 Montalais.” 
 
 “ And I am a lady, M. Malicorne.” 
 
 “ Alas ! I know it well, and you overwhelm me by the 
 distance ; so I will say no more to you.” 
 
 “'Well, but, no, I don’t overwhelm you ; say what you 
 have to tell me, — say it, I insist upon it.” 
 
272 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well, I obey you.” 
 
 “ That is truly fortunate.” 
 
 “ Monsieur is dead.’’ 
 
 “Ah, peste! there’s news! And where do you come 
 from, to be able to tell us that 'S ” 
 
 “ I come from Orleans, Mademoiselle.” 
 
 “ And is that all the news you bring ] ” 
 
 “ Oh, no ; I come to tell you that Madame Henrietta of 
 England is coming to marry his Majesty’s brother.” 
 
 “ Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your 
 news of the last century. Now, mind, if you persist in 
 this bad habit of laughing at people, I will have you 
 turned out.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” 
 
 “ Yes ; for really you exasperate me.” 
 
 “ There, there ! Patience, Mademoiselle ! ” 
 
 “ You want to make yourself of consequence ; I know 
 well enough why.” 
 
 “Tell me, and I will answer you frankly yes, if the 
 thing be true.” 
 
 “ You know that I am anxious to have that commission 
 of lady of honor, which I have been foolish enough to ask 
 of you, and you do not use your influence.” 
 
 “ Who, I?” Malicorne cast down his eyes, clasped 
 his hands, and assumed his cunning air. “And what 
 credit can the poor clerk of a public prosecutor have, 
 pray 1 ” 
 
 “Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year 
 for nothing, M. Malicorne.” 
 
 “ A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais.” 
 
 “ Your father is not in the secrets of Monsieur the 
 Prince for nothing.” 
 
 “An advantage which is confined to lending Mon- 
 seigneur money.” 
 
A LOVER AND A MISTRESS. 
 
 273 
 
 “ In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow 
 in the province for nothing ? ” 
 
 “ You flatter me.” 
 
 “Who? I?” 
 
 “ Yes, you.” 
 
 “ How so ? ” 
 
 “ Since I maintain that I have no influence, and you 
 maintain that I have.” 
 
 “ Well, then, my commission ? ” 
 
 “ Well, your commission'? ” 
 
 “ Shall I have it, or shall I not ? ” 
 
 “ You shall have it.” 
 
 “Ay, but when ? ” 
 
 “ When you like.” 
 
 “ Where is it, then ? ” 
 
 “ In my pocket.” 
 
 “ How ! in your pocket ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; ” and with a smile Malicorne drew from his 
 pocket a letter, upon which Montalais seized as a prey, 
 and which she read with avidity. 
 
 As Montalais read, her face brightened. “Malicorne,” 
 exclaimed she, after having read it, “ in truth, you are a 
 good lad.” 
 
 “ What for, Mademoiselle 1 ” 
 
 “ Because you might have been paid for this commission, 
 and you have not been.” She burst into a loud laugh, 
 thinking to put the clerk out of countenance ; but Mali- 
 corne sustained the attack bravely. 
 
 “ I do not understand you,” said he. It was now Mon- 
 talais who was disconcerted in her turn. “ I have declared 
 my sentiments to you,” continued Malicorne. “You 
 have told me three times, laughing all the while, that 
 you did not love me; you have kissed me once without 
 laughing, and that is all I want.” 
 
 VOL. II. — 18 
 
274 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ All?” said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a 
 tone through which wounded pride was visible. 
 
 “ Absolutely all, Mademoiselle,” replied Malicorne. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” and this monosyllable indicated as much 
 anger as the young man might have expected gratitude. 
 He shook his head calmly. 
 
 “ Listen, Montalais,” said he, without heeding whether 
 that familiarity pleased his mistress or not ; “ let us not 
 dispute about that.” 
 
 “ And why not ? ” 
 
 “ Because during the year in which I have known you, 
 you might have had me turned out of doors twenty times 
 if I did not please you.” 
 
 “ Indeed ; and on what account should I have had you 
 turned out ? ” 
 
 “ Because I have been sufficiently impertinent for that.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, that ’s true.” 
 
 “ You see plainly that you are forced to avow it,” said 
 Malicorne. 
 
 “ M. Malicorne ! ” 
 
 “ Don’t let us be angry ; if you have retained me, then, 
 it has not been without cause.” 
 
 “It is not, at least, because I love you,” cried Montalais. 
 
 “ Granted. I will even say that, at this moment, 1 am 
 certain that you execrate me.” 
 
 “ Oh, you have never spoken so truly.” 
 
 “ Well, on my part, I detest you.” 
 
 “ Ah, I will remember that.” 
 
 “Do! You find me brutal and foolish; on my part I 
 find you with a harsh voice, and your face distorted with 
 anger. At this moment you would allow yourself to be 
 thrown out of that window rather than allow me to kiss 
 the tip of your finger ; I would precipitate myself from 
 the top of the balcony rather than touch the hem of your 
 
A LOVER AND A MISTRESS. 
 
 275 
 
 robe. But in five minutes you will love me, and I shall 
 adore you. Oh, it is just so ! ” 
 
 “ I doubt it.” 
 
 “ And I swear it.” 
 
 “ Coxcomb ! ” 
 
 “ And then, that is not the true reason. You stand in 
 need of me, Aure, and I of you. When it pleases you to 
 be gay, I make you laugh ; when it suits me to be loving, 
 I look at you. I have given you a commission of lady of 
 honor which you wished for ; you will give me, presently, 
 something I wish for.” 
 
 “ I shall f ” 
 
 “ Yes, you will. But at this moment, my dear Aure, I 
 declare to you that I wish for absolutely nothing ; so be 
 at ease.” 
 
 “ You are a frightful man, Malicorne ; I was going to 
 rejoice at getting this commission, and thus you take 
 away all my joy.” 
 
 “Good; there is no time lost, — you will rejoice when 
 I am gone.” 
 
 “ Go, then ; and after — ” 
 
 “ So be it ; but, in the first place, a piece of advice.” 
 
 “ What is it ^ ” 
 
 “ Keep your good humor ; you are ugly when you pout.” 
 a Boor ! ” 
 
 “ Come, let us tell the truth to each other, while we 
 are about it.” 
 
 “ Oh, Malicorne ! Bad-hearted man ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, Montalais ! Ungrateful girl ! ” 
 
 The young man leaned his elbow upon the window- 
 frame. Montalais took a book and opened it. Malicorne 
 stood up, brushed his hat with his sleeve, and smoothed 
 down his black doublet. Montalais, though pretending 
 to read, looked at him out of the comer of her eye. 
 
276 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Good ! ” cried she, quite furious ; “ he" has assumed 
 his respectful air, and he will sulk for a week.” 
 
 “ A fortnight, Mademoiselle,” said Malicorne, bowing. 
 Montalais raised her little clenched fist. “ Monster ! ” 
 said she ; “ oh, if I were a man ! ” 
 
 “ What would you do to me 'l ” 
 
 “ I would strangle you.” 
 
 “Ah! very well, then,” said Malicorne; “I believe I 
 begin to desire something.” 
 
 “ And what do you desire, Monsieur Demon ? — that 1 
 should lose my soul from anger ! ” 
 
 Malicorne w’as twirling his hat respectfully between his 
 fingers; but all at once he let fall his hat, seized the 
 young girl by the shoulders, pulled her towards him, 
 and applied to her lips two other very warm lips for a 
 man pretending to so much indifference. Aure would 
 have cried out, but the cry was stifled in the kiss. 
 Nervous and irritated, the young girl pushed Malicorne 
 against the wall. 
 
 “ Good ! ” said Malicorne, philosophically ; “ that *s 
 enough for six weeks. Adieu, Mademoiselle ! Accept 
 my very humble salutation ; ” and he made three steps 
 towards the door. 
 
 “Well! no, you shall not go!” cried Montalais, 
 stamping with her little foot. “ Stay where you are ! 
 I order you ! ” 
 
 “ You order me ] ” 
 
 “ Yes ; am I not mistress ? ” 
 
 “Of my heart and soul, without doubt.” 
 
 “ A pretty property, in faith ! The soul is silly and 
 the heart hard.” 
 
 “Beware, Montalais, I know you,” said Malicorne; 
 “you are going to fall in love with your humble servant.” 
 “ Well, yes ! ” said she, hanging round his neck with 
 
A LOVER AND A MISTRESS. 
 
 277 
 
 childish indolence rather than with loving abandonment, 
 
 — “ well, yes ! for I must thank you, at least.” 
 
 “ And for what % ” 
 
 “ For the commission ; is it not my whole future ? ” 
 
 “ And all mine.” 
 
 Montalais looked at him. “ It is frightful,” said she, 
 “that one can never guess whether you are speaking 
 seriously or not.” 
 
 “ I cannot speak more seriously. I was going to Paris, 
 
 — you are going there, — we are going there.” 
 
 “ And so it is for that motive only you have served me, 
 selfish fellow ! ” 
 
 “ What would you have me say, Aure 1 I cannot live 
 without you.” 
 
 “ Well, in truth, it is just so with me ; you are, never- 
 theless, it must be confessed, a very bad-hearted young 
 man.” 
 
 “ Aure, my dear Aure, take care ! if you take to call- 
 ing names again, you know the effect they produce upon 
 me, and I shall adore you ; ” and so saying, Malicorne 
 drew the young girl a second time towards him. But at 
 that instant a step resounded on the staircase. The young 
 people were so close that they would have been surprised 
 in each other’s arms if Montalais had not violently pushed 
 Malicorne, who backed against the door, just then open- 
 ing. A loud cry, followed by angry reproaches, was im- 
 mediately heard. It was Madame de Saint-Remy who 
 uttered the cry and proffered the angry words. The 
 unlucky Malicorne almost crushed her between the wall 
 and the door through which she was coming. 
 
 “ It is again that good-for-nothing ! ” cried the old lady. 
 “ Always here ! ” 
 
 “ Ah, Madame ! ” replied Malicorne, in a respectful 
 tone; “it is eight long days since I was here,” 
 
278 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IN WHICH AT LENGTH THE TRUE HEROINE OF THIS 
 HISTORY APPEARS. 
 
 Behind Madame de Saint-Remy came up Mademoiselle 
 de la Valliere. She heard the explosion of maternal 
 anger; and as she divined the cause of it, she entered 
 the room trembling, and perceived the unlucky Mali- 
 corne, whose woful countenance would have softened or 
 set laughing whoever might have observed it coolly. He 
 had promptly intrenched himself behind a large chair, as if 
 to avoid the first attacks of Madame de Saint-Remy. He 
 had no hopes of prevailing with words, for she spoke louder 
 than he, and without stopping ; but he reckoned upon 
 the eloquence of his gestures. The old lady would neither 
 listen to nor see anything ; Malicorne had long been one 
 of her antipathies. But her anger was too great not to 
 overflow from Malicorne to his accomplice. Montalais 
 had her turn. 
 
 “ And you, Mademoiselle, — you may be certain that 
 I shall inform Madame of what is going on in the apart- 
 ment of one of her ladies of honor.” 
 
 “ Oh, dear mother ! ” cried Mademoiselle de la Valliere, 
 “ for mercy’s sake, spare — 19 
 
 “Hold your tongue, Mademoiselle, and do not uselessly 
 trouble yourself to intercede for unworthy subjects. That 
 a virtuous girl like you should be subjected to a bad 
 example is, certainly, a misfortune great enough ; but 
 
THE TRUE HEROINE APPEARS. 
 
 279 
 
 that you should sanction it by your indulgence is what 
 I will not allow.” 
 
 “ But, in truth,” said Montalais, rebelling again, “I do 
 not know under what pretence you treat me thus. I am. 
 doing no harm, I suppose ? ” 
 
 “ And that great good-for-nothing, Mademoiselle,” re- 
 sumed Madame de Saint-Remy, pointing to Malicorne, 
 “is he here to do any good, I ask you"? ” 
 
 “ He is here for neither good nor harm, Madame ; he 
 comes to see me, — that is all.” 
 
 “ That is all very well, all very well ! ” said the old 
 lady. “ Her royal Highness shall be informed of it, and 
 she will judge.” 
 
 “At all events,” replied Montalais, “I do not see 
 why it should be forbidden that M. Malicorne should 
 have intentions towards me, if his intentions are hon- 
 orable.” 
 
 “ Honorable intentions with such a face ! ” cried Ma- 
 dame de Saint-Remy. 
 
 “ I thank you, in the name of my face, Madame,” said 
 Malicorne. 
 
 “ Come, my daughter, come ! ” continued Madame de 
 Saint-Remy ; “ we will go and inform Madame that at the 
 very moment when she is weeping for her husband, at the 
 moment when we are all weeping for a master in this old 
 castle of Blois, the abode of grief, there are people who 
 amuse themselves and make merry.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” exclaimed both the accused, with one voice. 
 
 “ A maid of honor ! a maid of honor ! ” cried the old 
 lady, lifting her hands towards heaven. 
 
 “ Well, that is where you are mistaken, Madame,” said 
 Montalais, highly exasperated ; “ I am no longer a maid 
 of honor, — of Madam e’s, at least.” 
 
 “ Have you given in your resignation, Mademoiselle ] 
 
280 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 That is well ! I cannot but applaud such a determina- 
 tion, and I do applaud it.” 
 
 “ I do not give in my resignation, Madame ; I take 
 another service, — that is all.” 
 
 “ In the bourgeoisie or in the robe ? ” asked Madame de 
 Saint-Remy, disdainfully. 
 
 “ Please to learn, Madame, that I am not a girl to serve 
 either bourgeoises or robines ; and that, instead of the 
 miserable court at which you vegetate, I am going to 
 reside in a court almost royal.” 
 
 “ Ah ! a royal court ! ” said Madame de Saint-Remy, 
 forcing a laugh, — “ a royal court! What think you of 
 that, my daughter?” and she turned round towards 
 Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, whom she would by main 
 force have dragged away from Montalais, and who, in- 
 stead of obeying the impulse of Madame de Saint-Remy, 
 looked first at her mother and then at Montalais with 
 her beautiful conciliating eyes. 
 
 “ I did not say a royal court, Madame,” replied Mon- 
 talais, “ because Madame Henrietta, of England, who is 
 about to become the wife of his royal Highness Monsieur, 
 is not a queen. I said almost royal, and I spoke cor- 
 rectly, since she will be sister-in-law to the king.” 
 
 A thunderbolt falling upon the castle of Blois would 
 not have astonished Madame de Saint-Remy as did this 
 last sentence of Montalais. 
 
 “ What do you say of her royal Highness Madame 
 Henrietta?” stammered the old lady. 
 
 “ I say I am going to belong to her household, as maid 
 of honor ; that is what I say.” 
 
 “ As maid of honor ! ” cried at the same time Madame 
 de Saint-Remy with despair, and Mademoiselle de la Yah 
 liere with delight. 
 
 Yes, Madame, as maid of honor.” 
 
THE TRUE HEROINE APPEARS. 
 
 281 
 
 The old lady’s head dropped as if the blow had been 
 too severe for her; but almost immediately recovering 
 herself, she launched a last projectile at her adversary. 
 “ Oh ! ” said she, “ I have heard of many of these sorts 
 of promises beforehand, which often lead people to flatter 
 themselves with wild hopes, and at the last moment, 
 when the time comes to keep the promises and have the 
 hopes realized, they are surprised to see the great influ- 
 ence upon which they reckoned reduced to smoke.” 
 
 “Oh, Madame, the influence of my patron is beyond 
 question, and his promises are as good as acts.” 
 
 “ And would it be indiscreet to ask you the name of 
 this powerful patron 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, mon Dieu ! no ; it is that gentleman there,” said 
 Montalais, pointing to Malicorne, who during all this 
 scene had preserved the most imperturbable coolness and 
 the most comic dignity. 
 
 “Monsieur ! ” exclaimed Madame de Saint-Remy, with 
 an explosion of hilarity, “ Monsieur is your patron ! Is 
 the man whose influence is so powerful and whose prom- 
 ises are as good as acts, M. Malicorne 1 ” 
 
 Malicorne bowed. 
 
 As to Montalais, her sole reply was to draw the com- 
 mission from her pocket, and show it to the old lady. 
 “ Here is the commission,” said she^ 
 
 At once all was over. As soon as she had cast a 
 rapid glance over this fortunate brevet, the good lady 
 clasped her hands, an unspeakable expression of envy and 
 despair contracted her countenance, and she was obliged 
 to sit down to avoid fainting. Montalais was not mali- 
 cious enough to rejoice extravagantly at her victory, or to 
 overwhelm the conquered enemy, particularly when that 
 enemy was the mother of her friend ; she used, then, 
 but did not abuse, her triumph. Malicorne was less 
 
282 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 generous ; he assumed noble attitudes in his arm-chair, 
 and stretched himself out with a familiarity which two 
 hours earlier would have drawn upon him threats of a 
 caning. 
 
 “Maid of honor to the* young Madame ! ” repeated 
 Madame de Saint-Remy, still but half convinced. 
 
 “Yes, Madame; and through the patronage of M. 
 Malicorne, moreover.” 
 
 “ It is incredible ! ” repeated the old lady. “ Is it not 
 incredible, Louise'?” But Louise did not reply; she was 
 depressed, thoughtful, almost afflicted. Passing one hand 
 over her beautiful brow, she sighed heavily. 
 
 “ Well, but, Monsieur,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, 
 all at once, “ how did you manage to obtain this post ? ” 
 
 “ I asked for it, Madame.” 
 
 “ Of whom ! ” 
 
 “ One of my friends.” 
 
 “ And have you friends sufficiently powerful at court to 
 give you such proofs of their influence ] ” 
 
 “ It appears so.” 
 
 “ And may one ask the name of these friends ? ” 
 
 “ I did not say I had many friends, Madame ; I said I 
 had one friend.” 
 
 “ And that friend is called — ” 
 
 “ Madame, you go too far ! When one has a friend as 
 powerful as mine, he does not publish his name in that 
 fashion in open day, in order that he may be stolen from 
 him.” 
 
 “ You are right, Monsieur, to be silent as to the name 
 of that friend ; for I think it would be pretty difficult for 
 you to tell it.” 
 
 “ At all events,” said Montalais, “ if the friend does 
 not exist, the commission does ; and that cuts short the 
 question.” 
 
THE TRUE HEROINE APPEARS. 
 
 283 
 
 “ Then I conceive,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, with 
 the gracious smile of a cat who is going to scratch, “ when 
 I found Monsieur here just now — ” 
 
 “ Weill” 
 
 “ He brought you your commission.” 
 
 “ Exactly, Madame ; you have guessed rightly.” 
 
 “ Well, then, nothing can be more moral or proper.” 
 
 “ I think so, Madame.” 
 
 “ And I have been wrong, as it appears, in reproaching 
 you, Mademoiselle.” 
 
 “ Very wrong, Madame; but I am so accustomed to 
 your reproaches, that I pardon you these.” 
 
 “In that case let us be gone, Louise ; we have nothing 
 further to do but to retire. Well ! ” 
 
 “Madame!” said La Valliere, starting, “did you 
 speak ] ” 
 
 “ You do not appear to listen, my child.” 
 
 “No, Madame, I was thinking.” 
 
 “ About what h ” 
 
 “ A thousand things.” 
 
 “ You bear me no ill-will, at least, Louise ?” cried Mon- 
 talais, pressing her hand. 
 
 “ And why should I, my dear Aure h ” replied the girl, 
 in a voice soft as a flute. 
 
 “ Dame ! ” resumed Madame de Saint-Remy ; “ if she 
 did bear you a little ill-will, poor girl, she could not be 
 much blamed.” 
 
 “ And why should she bear me ill-will, good heavens ! ” 
 
 “ It appears to me that she is of as good a family, and 
 as pretty as you.” 
 
 “ Mother ! mother ! ” cried Louise. 
 
 “ Prettier a hundred times, Madame, — of a better 
 family, no ; but that does not tell me why Louise should 
 bear me ill-will.” 
 
284 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be 
 buried alive at Blois, when you are going to shine at 
 Paris'? ” 
 
 “ But, Madame, it is not I who prevent Louise follow 
 ing me thither ; on the contrary, I should certainly be 
 most happy if she came there.” 
 
 “ But it appears that M. Malicorne, who is all-powerful 
 at court — ” 
 
 “ Ah ! so much the worse, Madame ! ” said Malicorne ; 
 “ every one for himself in this poor world.” 
 
 “ Malicorne ! ” said Montalais. Then stooping towards 
 the young man * “ Engage Madame de Saint-Remy, either 
 in disputing with her or making up with her ; I must 
 speak to Louise; ” and at the same time a soft pressure 
 of the hand recompensed Malicorne for the obedience 
 which was to follow. 
 
 Malicorne went grumbling towards Madame de Saint- 
 Remy ; while Montalais said to her friend, throwing one 
 arm round her neck : “ What is the matter, say ] Is it 
 true that you would not love me if I were to shine, as 
 your mother says ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! ” said the young girl, with difficulty restrain- 
 ing her tears ; “ on the contrary, I rejoice at your good 
 fortune.” 
 
 “ Rejoice ! why, one would say you are ready to 
 cry ! ” 
 
 “ Do people never weep but from envy 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh ! yes, I understand. I am going to Paris, and that 
 word Paris recalls to your mind a certain cavalier — ” 
 
 “ Aure ! ” 
 
 “ A certain cavalier who formerly lived near Blois and 
 who now resides at Paris.” 
 
 “ In truth, I know not what ails me, but I feel stifled.” 
 
 “ Weep, then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile 1 ” 
 
THE TRUE HEROINE APPEARS. 
 
 285 
 
 Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling 
 down one after the other, illumined like diamonds. 
 
 “ Come, confess ! ” said Montalais. 
 
 “ What shall I confess ? ” 
 
 “ What makes you weep ; people don’t weep without 
 a cause. I am your friend ; whatever you would wish 
 me to do, I will do. Malicorne is more powerful than 
 you would think. Do you wish to come to Paris'?” 
 
 “ Alas ! ” sighed Louise. 
 
 “ Do you wish to come to Paris ? ” 
 
 “ To remain here alone in this old castle, T who have 
 enjoyed the sweet habit of listening to your songs, of 
 pressing your hand, of running about the park with you 1 
 Oh, how dull I shall be, how quickly I shall die ! ” 
 
 “ Do you wish to come to Paris'?” 
 
 Louise breathed another sigh. 
 
 “ You do not answer me.” 
 
 “ What would you that I should answer you ? ” 
 
 “ Yes or no ; that is not very difficult, I think.” 
 
 “ Oh ! you are very fortunate, Montalais ! ” 
 
 “ That is to say you would like to be in my place.” 
 Louise was silent. 
 
 “ Little obstinate thing ! ” said Montalais ; “ did ever 
 any one keep her secrets from her friend thus? But 
 confess that you would like to come to Paris; confess 
 that you are dying with the wish to see Raoul again.” 
 
 “ I cannot confess that.” 
 
 “ Then you are wrong.” 
 
 “Why?” 
 
 “ Because — Do you see this commission ? ” 
 
 “ To be sure I do.” 
 
 “Well, I would have procured for you one like it.” 
 
 “ By whose means ? ” 
 
 “ Malicorne’s.” 
 
286 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Aure, do you tell the truth? Is that possible? 99 
 “ Dame ! Malicorne is there ; and what he has done for 
 me, he must do for you.” 
 
 Malicorne had heard his name pronounced twice ; he 
 was delighted at having an opportunity to get through 
 with Madame de Saint-Remy, and he turned round : 
 “ What is that, Mademoiselle ? ” 
 
 “ Come hither, Malicorne!” said Montalais, with an 
 imperious gesture. Malicorne obeyed. 
 
 “ A commission like this ! ” said Montalais. 
 
 “ How so?” 
 
 “ A commission like this ; that is plain enough.” 
 
 “ But — ” 
 
 “ I want one ; I must have one ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, you must have one ! ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ It is impossible, is it not, M. Malicorne ? ” said Louise, 
 with her sweet, soft voice. 
 
 “ Dame ! if it is for you, Mademoiselle — ” 
 
 “ For me. Yes, M. Malicorne, it would be for me.” 
 
 “ And if Mademoiselle de Montalais asks it at the same 
 time — ” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle de Montalais does not ask it, she de- 
 mands it.” 
 
 “ Well, we will endeavor to obey you, Mademoiselle.” 
 
 “ And you will have her appointed ? ” 
 
 “ We will try.” 
 
 “ No evasive reply. Louise de la Valliere shall be 
 maid of honor to Madame Henrietta within a week.” 
 
 “ How you go on ! ” 
 
 “ Within a week, or else — v 
 “Well! or else — ” 
 
 u You may take back your commission, M. Malicorne ,* 
 I will not leave my friend.” 
 
THE TRUE HEROINE APREARS. 
 
 287 
 
 “ Dear Montalais ! ” 
 
 “ Very well, keep your commission ; Mademoiselle de 
 la Valliere shall be a maid of honor .’ 1 
 “ Is that true % ” 
 
 “ Quite true.” 
 
 “ I may then hope to go to Paris % ” 
 
 “ Depend upon it.” 
 
 “ Oh, M. Malicorne, what goodness ! ” cried Louise, 
 clapping her hands and bounding with joy. 
 
 “ Little dissembler ! ” said Montalais, “ try again to 
 make me believe you are not in love with Raoul.” 
 Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of 
 replying, ran and kissed her mother. “ Madame,” said 
 she, u do you know that M. Malicorne is going to have 
 me appointed maid of honor ] ” 
 
 “ M. Malicorne is a prince in disguise,” replied the old 
 lady ; “ he is all-powerful.” 
 
 “ Would you also like to be maid of honor ] ” asked 
 Malicorne of Madame de Saint-Remy. “ While I am 
 about it, I might as well get everybody appointed ; ” and 
 upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite dis- 
 concerted, as Tallemant des Reaux would say. 
 
 “ Humph ! ” murmured Malicorne, as he descended the 
 stairs, — “ humph ! there is another thousand livres that 
 I must pay ; but I must get through as well as I can. My 
 friend Manicamp does nothing for nothing.” 
 
288 
 
 THE VI COMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MALICORNE AND MANICAMP. 
 
 The introduction of these two new personages into this 
 history, and that mysterious affinity of names and senti- 
 ments, merit some attention on the part of the historian 
 and the reader. We will then enter into some details 
 concerning M. Malicorne and M. de Manicamp. Mali- 
 corne, we know, had made the journey to Orleans in 
 search of the commission destined for Mademoiselle de 
 Montalais, the arrival of which had produced such a great 
 sensation at the castle of Blois. At that moment M. de 
 Manicamp was at Orleans. A singular personage was 
 this M. de Manicamp ; a very intelligent young fellow, 
 always poor, always needy, although he dipped his hand 
 freely into the purse of M. le Comte de Guiche, one of 
 the best'furnished purses of the period. M. le Comte de 
 Guiche had had as the companion of his boyhood this 
 Manicamp, a poor gentleman vassal, born of the house 
 of Grammont. M. de Manicamp, by his intelligence, had 
 created himself a revenue in the opulent family of the 
 celebrated marshal. From his infancy he had, by a cal- 
 culation much in advance of his age, lent his name and 
 his complaisance to the follies of the Comte de Guiche. 
 If his noble companion had stolen some fruit destined for 
 Madame la Marechale, if he had broken a mirror or put 
 out a dog’s eye, Manicamp declared himself guilty of 
 the crime committed, and received the punishment, which 
 was not made the milder for falling upon the innocent. 
 
MALICORNE AND MANICAMP. 
 
 289 
 
 But this system of abnegation was profitable; instead of 
 wearing such mean habiliments as his paternal fortunes 
 entitled him to, he was able to appear brilliant, superb, 
 like a young noble of fifty thousand livres a year. 
 
 It was not that he was mean in character or humble 
 in spirit ; no, he was a philosopher, or rather he had the 
 indifference, the apathy, the extravagance which banish 
 from man every feeling of the hierarchical world. His 
 sole ambition was to spend money. But in this respect 
 the worthy M. de Manicamp was a gulf. Three or four 
 times every year regularly he drained the Comte de 
 Guiche ; and when the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly 
 drained, when he had turned out his pockets and his 
 purse before him, and declared that it would be at least 
 a fortnight before paternal munificence would refill those 
 pockets and that purse, Manicamp lost all his energy : 
 he went to bed, remained there, ate nothing, and sold his 
 fine clothes, under the pretence that, remaining in bed, 
 he did not want them. During this prostration of mind 
 and strength the purse of the Comte de Guiche was get- 
 ting full again, and when once filled, overflowed into that 
 of Manicamp, who bought new clothes, dressed himself 
 again, and recommenced the same life he had followed 
 before. This mania of selling his new clothes for a quar- 
 ter of what they were worth had rendered our hero quite 
 celebrated in Orleans, a city where generally — why, we 
 should be puzzled to say — he came to pass his days of 
 penitence. Provincial debauchees, fops of six hundred 
 livres a year, shared the leavings of his opulence. 
 
 Among the admirers of these splendid toilettes, our 
 friend Malicorne was conspicuous ; he was the son of a 
 syndic of the city, of whom M. le Prince de Conde, always 
 needy like a Conde, often borrowed money at enormous 
 interest. M. Malicorne kept the paternal money-chest ; 
 
 VOL. II. — 19 
 
290 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 that is to say, in those times of easy morals he had made 
 for himself, by following the example of his father, and 
 lending at high interest for short terms, a revenue of 
 eighteen hundred livres, without reckoning six hundred 
 other livres furnished by the generosity of the syndic ; so 
 that Malicorne was the king of the gay youth of Orleans, 
 having twenty-four hundred livres to scatter, squander, 
 and waste on follies of every kind. But, quite in con- 
 trast to Manicamp, Malicorne was terribly ambitious. He 
 loved from ambition, he spent money from ambition, and 
 he would have ruined himself from ambition. 
 
 Malicorne had determined to rise, at whatever price it 
 might cost ; and for this, at whatever price it did cost, he 
 had given himself a mistress and a friend. The mistress, 
 Mademoiselle de Montalais, was cruel, as regarded the 
 highest favors of love ; but she was of a noble family, 
 and that was sufficient for Malicorne. The friend had no 
 friendship, but he was the favorite of the Comte de Guiche, 
 himself the friend of Monsieur the king’s brother ; and 
 that was sufficient for Malicorne. Only, in the chapter 
 of charges, Mademoiselle de Montalais cost per annum , in 
 ribbons, gloves, and sweets, a thousand livres ; Mani- 
 camp cost — money lent, never returned — from twelve to 
 fifteen hundred livres per annum : so that there was 
 nothing left for Malicorne. Ah, yes, we are mistaken ; 
 there was left the paternal strong-box. He employed a 
 mode of proceeding, upon which he preserved the most 
 profound secrecy, and which consisted in advancing to 
 himself, from the coffer of the syndic, half a dozen years, 
 that is to say, fifteen thousand livres, swearing to himself 
 — observe, quite to himself — to repay this deficiency as 
 soon as an opportunity should present itself. The oppor- 
 tunity was expected to be the concession of a good post 
 in the household of Monsieur, when that household should 
 
MALICORNE AND MANICAMP. 
 
 29 L 
 
 be established at the period of his marriage. This period 
 had arrived, and the household was at last about to be 
 established. 
 
 A good post in the family of a prince of the blood, 
 when it is given by the influence and on the recommen- 
 dation of such a friend as the Comte de Guiche, is worth 
 at least twelve thousand livres per annum; and by the 
 means which M. Malicorne had taken to make his reve- 
 nues fructify, twelve thousand livres might rise to twenty 
 thousand. Then, when once an incumbent of this post, 
 he would marry Mademoiselle de Montalais. Mademoi- 
 selle de Montalais, of a family which the woman’s side 
 ennobles, not only would be dowered, but would ennoble 
 Malicorne. But in order that Mademoiselle de Montalais, 
 who had not a large patrimonial fortune, although an 
 only daughter, might be suitably dowered, it was neces- 
 sary that she should belong to some great princess as 
 prodigal as the dowager Madame was covetous; and in 
 order that the wife should not be on one side while the 
 husband was on the other, — a situation which presents 
 serious inconveniences, particularly with characters like 
 those of the future consorts, — Malicorne had conceived 
 the idea of making the central point of union the house- 
 hold of Monsieur the king’s brother. Mademoiselle de 
 Montalais would be maid of honor to Madame. M. 
 Malicorne would be officer to Monsieur. 
 
 It is plain that the plan was formed by a clear head ; 
 it is plain, also, that it had been bravely executed. Mali- 
 corne had asked Manicamp to ask the Comte de Guiche 
 for a commission of maid of honor; and the Comte de 
 Guiche had asked this commission of Monsieur, who had 
 signed it without hesitation. The moral plan of Mali- 
 corne, — for we may well suppose that the combinations 
 of a mind as active as his were not confined to the present, 
 
‘292 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 but extended to the future, — the moral plan of Mali- 
 corne, we say, was this : to obtain entrance into the 
 household of Madame Henrietta for a woman devoted to 
 himself, who was intelligent, young, handsome, and in- 
 triguing; to learn, by means of this woman, all the 
 feminine secrets of the young household ; while he, 
 Malieorne, and his friend Manicamp should between 
 them know all the male secrets of the young com- 
 munity. By these means a rapid and splendid fortune 
 might be acquired. Malieorne was a vile name, — he 
 who bore it had too much wit to conceal this truth 
 from himself, — but an estate might be purchased ; and 
 Malieorne of some place, or even Malieorne itself, quite 
 short, would sound nobly in the ear. 
 
 It was not improbable that a most aristocratic origin 
 might be found for this name of Malieorne ; might it not 
 come from some estate where a bull with fatal horns had 
 caused some great misfortune, and baptized the soil with 
 the blood it had spilt? It is true, this plan presented 
 itself bristling with difficulties ; but the greatest of all 
 was Mademoiselle de Montalais herself. Capricious, va- 
 riable, sly, giddy, free, prudish, a virgin armed with claws, 
 Erigone stained with grapes, she sometimes overturned, 
 with a single dash of her wffiite fingers or with a single 
 puff from her laughing lips, the edifice which had em- 
 ployed the patience of Malieorne a month to establish. 
 
 Love aside, Malieorne was happy ; but this love which 
 he could not help feeling, he had the strength carefully 
 to conceal, persuaded that at the least relaxing of the 
 ties by wdiich he had bound his Protean sweetheart, the 
 demon would overthrow him and laugh at him. He 
 humbled his mistress by disdaining her. Burning with 
 desire when she advanced to tempt him, he had the art 
 to appear like ice, persuaded that if he opened his arms 
 
MALIC OR NE AND MANICAMP. 
 
 293 
 
 she would run away laughing at him. On her side, 
 
 [ Montalais believed that she did not love Malicorne ; while, 
 on the contrary, she did love him. Malicorne repeated 
 to her so often his protestations of indifference, that she 
 finished, sometimes, by believing him ; and then she be- 
 lieved she detested him. If she tried to bring him back 
 by coquetry, Malicorne played at coquetry better than 
 she could. But what made Montalais hold to Malicorne 
 inseparably was that Malicorne always came cram-full 
 of fresh news brought from the court and the city ; 
 that he always brought to Blois a fashion, a secret, or 
 a perfume ; that he never asked for a meeting, but, on 
 the contrary, required to be supplicated to receive the 
 favors he burned to obtain. On her side, Montalais 
 was no miser with stories. By her means Malicorne 
 learned all that passed in the family of the dowager 
 Madame ; and he related to Manicamp tales that made 
 him ready to die with laughing, which the latter out 
 of idleness took ready-made to M. de Guiche, who car- 
 ried them to Monsieur. 
 
 Such, in short, was the woof of petty interests and 
 petty conspiracies which united Blois with Orleans, and 
 Orleans with Paris ; and which was about to bring into 
 the last-named city, where she was to produce so great 
 a revolution, the poor little La Yalliere, who was far from 
 suspecting, as she returned joyfully, leaning on the arm 
 of her mother, for what a strange future she was reserved. 
 As to the good man, Malicorne, — we speak of the syndic 
 of Orleans, — he did not see more clearly into the present 
 than others did into the future ; and had no suspicion, 
 as he walked every day, between three and five o’clock, 
 after his dinner, upon the Place Ste. -Catherine, in his 
 gray coat, cut after the fashion of Louis XIII., and his 
 cloth shoes with great knots of ribbon, that it was he 
 
294 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 who paid for all those bursts of laughter, all those stolen 
 kisses, all those whisperings, all that ribbonry, and all 
 those bubble projects which formed a chain of forty-five 
 leagues in length, from the palais of Blois to the Palais- 
 Royal. 
 
MANICAMP AND MALICORNE. 
 
 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MANICAMP AND MALICORNE. 
 
 Malicorne left Blois, as we have said, and went to 
 find his friend Manicamp, then in temporary retreat in 
 the city of Orleans. It was just at the moment when 
 that young nobleman was employed in selling the last 
 piece of decent clothing he had left. He had, a fortnight 
 before, extorted from the Comte de Guiche a hundred 
 pistoles, all he had to assist in equipping him properly to 
 go and meet Madame, on her arrival at Havre. He had 
 drawn from Malicorne, three days before, fifty pistoles, the 
 price of the commission obtained for Montalais. He had 
 then no expectations of anything else, having exhausted 
 all his resources, with the exception of selling a handsome 
 suit of cloth and satin, all embroidered and laced with 
 gold, which had been the admiration of the court. But 
 to be able to sell this suit, the last he had left, — as we 
 have been forced to confess to the reader, — Manicamp 
 had been obliged to take to his bed. No more fire, no 
 more pocket-money, no more walking-money ; nothing but 
 sleep to take the place of banquets, companies, and balls. 
 It has been said, “ He who sleeps, dines;” but it has 
 not been said, He who sleeps, plays ; or, He who sleeps, 
 dances. Manicamp, reduced to this extremity of neither 
 playing nor dancing for a week at least, was consequently 
 very sad ; he was expecting a usurer, and saw Malicorne 
 enter. A cry of distress escaped him. 
 
296 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Eh ! what ! ” said he, in a tone whioli nothing can 
 describe, “ is that you again, dear friend ] ” 
 
 “ Humph ! you are very polite ! ” said Malicorne. 
 
 “ Ay ; but, look you, I was expecting money, and in- 
 stead of the money, I see you come.” 
 
 “ And suppose I brought you some money ]” 
 
 “ Oh, then it is quite another thing ! You are very 
 welcome, my dear friend ! ” and he held out his hand, 
 not for the hand of Malicorne, but for his purse. 
 Malicorne pretended to be mistaken, and gave him his 
 hand. 
 
 “ And the money ] ” said Manicamp. 
 
 “My dear friend, if you wish to have it, earn it.” 
 
 “ What must be done for it ] ” 
 
 “ Earn it, parbleu ! ” 
 
 “And in what way]” 
 
 “ Oh, it is hard, I warn you ! ” 
 
 “ The devil ! ” 
 
 “ You must get out of bed, and go immediately to 
 M. le Comte de Guiche.” 
 
 “ I get up ! ” said Manicamp, stretching himself in his 
 bed voluptuously ; “ oh, no, thank you ! ” 
 
 “You have, then, sold all your clothes]” 
 
 “No; I have one suit left, — the handsomest even, — 
 but I expect a purchaser.” 
 
 . “ And the hose ] ” 
 
 “Well, if you look, you can see them on that chair.” 
 “Very well; since you have some hose and a doublet 
 left, put your legs into the first and your back into the 
 other, have a horse saddled, and set off.” 
 
 “ Not I.” 
 
 “ And why not ] ” 
 
 “ Morbleu ! don’t you know, then, that M. de Guiche 
 is at Eltampes ] ” 
 
MANICAMP AND MALICORNE. 
 
 297 
 
 “ No ; I thought he was at Paris. You will have then 
 only fifteen leagues to go, instead of thirty.” 
 
 “ You are a wonderfully clever fellow ! If I were to 
 ride fifteen leagues in these clothes, they would never 
 be fit to put on again ; and instead of selling them for 
 thirty pistoles, I should be obliged to take fifteen for 
 them.” 
 
 “ Sell them for what you like, but I must have a second 
 commission of maid of honor.” 
 
 “ Good ! For whom 1 Is Montalais doubled, then h ” 
 
 “ Vile fellow ! It is you who are doubled ; you swallow 
 up two fortunes, — mine and that of M. le Comte de 
 Guiche.” 
 
 “ You should say that of M. le Comte de Guiche and 
 yours.” 
 
 “That is true, — honor where it is due; but I return 
 to my commission.” 
 
 “And you are wrong.” 
 
 “ Prove me that.” 
 
 “ My friend, there will be only twelve maids of honor 
 for Madame ; I have already obtained for you what 
 twelve hundred women are trying for, and for that I was 
 forced to employ diplomacy.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, I know you have been quite heroic, my dear 
 friend.” 
 
 “We know what we are about,” said Manicamp. 
 
 “ To whom do you tell that ] When I am king, I 
 promise you one thing.” 
 
 “ What 1 To call yourself Malicorne I. ? ” 
 
 “ No ; to make you superintendent of my finances. But 
 that is not the question now.” 
 
 “ Unfortunately.” 
 
 “ The present affair is to procure for me a second place 
 of maid of honor.” 
 
298 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 “My friend, if you were to promise me lieaven I would 
 not disturb myself at this moment. ,, 
 
 Malicorne chinked the money in his pocket. “ There 
 are twenty pistoles here,” said he. 
 
 “ And what would you do with twenty pistoles, mon 
 Lieu! 11 
 
 “Well,” said Malicorne, a little angrily, “suppose I 
 were only to add them to the five hundred you already 
 owe me ? ” 
 
 “You are right,” replied Manicamp, stretching out his 
 hand again, “ and in that point of view I can accept them. 
 Give them to me.” 
 
 “ One moment. What the devil ! it is not only hold- 
 ing out your hand that will do ; if I give you the twenty 
 pistoles, shall I have my commission 1 ” 
 
 “To be sure you shall.” 
 
 “Soon?” 
 
 “ To-day.” 
 
 “ Oh, take care, M. de Manicamp ! You undertake 
 much, and I do not ask all that. Thirty leagues in one 
 day is too much, and you would kill yourself.” 
 
 “ I think nothing impossible when obliging a friend.” 
 
 “ You are quite heroic.” 
 
 “ Where are the twenty pistoles ? ” 
 
 “ Here they are,” said Malicorne, showing them. 
 
 “ That is well.” 
 
 “Yes; but, my dear M. Manicamp, you would con 
 sume them in nothing but post-horses.” 
 
 “No, no ; make yourself easy on that head.” 
 
 “ Pardon me ; why, it is fifteen leagues from this place 
 to Etampes.” 
 
 “ Fourteen.” 
 
 “Well, fourteen be it. Fourteen leagues make seven 
 posts, at twenty sous the post, seven livres ; seven livres 
 
MANICAMP AND MALICORNE. 
 
 299 
 
 the courier, fourteen ; as many for coming back, twenty- 
 eight; as much for bed and supper, — that makes sixty 
 of the livres which this accommodation would cost 
 you.” 
 
 Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed, 
 and fixing his two great eyes upon Malicorne, “ You are 
 right,” said he ; “I could not return before to-morrow ; ” 
 and he took the twenty pistoles. 
 
 “ Now, then, be off ! ” 
 
 “ Well, as I cannot be back before to-morrow, we have 
 time.” 
 
 “ Time for what 1 ” 
 
 “ Time to play.” 
 
 “ What do you wish to play with ? ” 
 
 “ Your twenty pistoles, pardieu !” 
 
 “ No ; you always win.” 
 
 “ I will wager them, then.” 
 
 “ Against what ^ ” 
 
 “ Against twenty others.” 
 
 “ And what shall be the object of the wager ? ” 
 
 “This. We have said it was fourteen leagues to 
 Etampes? ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ And fourteen leagues back ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Consequently twenty-eight leagues.” 
 u Doubtless.” 
 
 “ Well, for these twenty-eight leagues you cannot allow 
 less than fourteen hours 1 ” 
 
 “ That is agreed.” 
 
 u One hour to find the Comte de Guiclie.” 
 
 “ Go on.” 
 
 “ And an hour to persuade him to write a letter to 
 Monsieur.” 
 
300 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Just so.” 
 
 “ Sixteen hours in all.” 
 
 “ You reckon as well as M. Colbert.” 
 
 “ It is now twelve o’clock.” 
 
 “ Half-past.” 
 
 “ Humph ! you have a fine watch.” 
 
 “ What were you saying ? ” said Malicorne, putting his 
 watch back into his fob. 
 
 “ Ah ! true ; I was offering to lay you twenty pistoles 
 against these you have lent me, that you will have the 
 Comte de Guiche’s letter in — ” 
 
 “ How soon ? ” 
 
 “ In eight hours.” 
 
 “ Have you a winged horse ? ” 
 
 “That is my affair. Will you wager ? ” 
 
 “ I shall have the count’s letter in eight hours ? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ Signed ] ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “In hand?” 
 
 “ In hand.” 
 
 “Well, be it so ; I wager,” said Malicorne, curious' to 
 know how this seller of clothes would get through. 
 
 “ Is it agreed ? ” 
 
 “ It is.” 
 
 “ Pass me the pen, ink, and paper.” 
 
 “ Here they are.” 
 
 “ Thank you.” 
 
 Manicamp raised himself with a sigh, and leaning | 
 on his left arm, in his best hand traced the following 
 lines : — 
 
 An order for a place of maid of honor to Madame, which 
 M. le Comte de Guiche will take upon him to obtain at sight. 
 
 De Manicamp. 
 
 
 
MANIC AMP AND MALICORNE. 
 
 301 
 
 This painful task accomplished, he stretched hirnself 
 at full length again. 
 
 “ Well ! ” asked Malicorne, “ what does this mean ? ” 
 
 “ That means that if you are in a hurry to have the 
 letter from the Comte de Guiche for Monsieur, I have 
 won my wager.” 
 
 “ How the devil is that?” 
 
 “ That is transparent enough, I think ; you take that 
 paper.” 
 
 “Well?” 
 
 “ And you set out instead of me.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” 
 
 “ You put your horses to their best speed.” 
 
 “ Good ! ” 
 
 “In six hours you will be at Etampes; in seven 
 hours you have the letter from the count, and I shall 
 have won my wager without having stirred from my 
 bed, — which suits me and you too at the same time, 
 I am very sure.” 
 
 “ Decidedly, Manicamp, you are a great man.” 
 
 “ I know that.” 
 
 “ I am to start, then, for Etampes ? ” 
 
 “ Directly.” 
 
 “ I am to go to the Comte de Guiche with this order ? ” 
 “ He will give you a similar one for Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I am to go to Paris.” 
 
 “ You will go and find Monsieur with the Comte de 
 Guiche’s order.” 
 
 “ Monsieur will approve? ” 
 
 “ Instantly.” 
 
 “ And I shall have my commission?” 
 
 “ You shall.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” 
 
 “Well, I hope I behave properly?” 
 
802 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Admirably.” 
 
 “ Thank you.” 
 
 “ You do as you please, then, with the Comte de 
 Guiche, my dear Manicamp ? ” 
 
 “ Except making money of him, — everything.” 
 
 “ Diable ! the exception is annoying ; but then, if in- 
 stead of asking him for money, you were to ask — ” 
 
 “ What 1 ” 
 
 “ Something important.” 
 
 “ W 7 hat do you call important ] ” 
 
 “ Well, suppose one of your friends asked you to ren- 
 der him a service ] ” 
 
 “ I would not render it to him.” 
 
 “ Selfish fellow ! ” 
 
 “ Or at least I would ask him what service he would 
 render me in exchange.” 
 
 * Ah ! that is fair. Well, that friend speaks to you.” 
 v 1 What ! you, Malicorne ! ” 
 
 “ Yes ; it is I.” 
 
 (i Ah ! you are rich, then ] ” 
 
 “ I have still fifty pistoles left.” 
 
 “ Exactly the sum I want. Where are those fifty 
 pistoles'? ” 
 
 “ Here,” said Malicorne, slapping his pocket. 
 
 “ Then speak, my friend ; what do you want 1 ” 
 Malicorne took up the pen, ink, and paper again, and 
 presented them all to Manicamp. “ Write !” said he. 
 
 “ Dictate ! ” 
 
 “ An order for a place in the household of Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Manicamp, laying down the pen, “ a place 
 in the household of Monsieur for fifty pistoles 1 ” 
 
 “ You mistook me, my friend ; you did not hear 
 plainly.” 
 
MANICAMP AND MALICORNE. 
 
 303 
 
 44 What did you say, then ] ” 
 
 44 I said five hundred.” 
 
 • 4 And the five hundred ? ” 
 
 “ Here they are.” 
 
 Manicamp devoured the rouleau with his eyes ; but this 
 time Malicorne held it at a distance. 44 Eh ! what do you 
 say to that ? Five hundred pistoles.” 
 
 44 I say it is for nothing, my friend,” said Manicamp, 
 taking up the pen again, 44 and you will wear out my 
 credit. Dictate ! ” 
 
 Malicorne continued : — 
 
 44 Which my friend the Comte de Guiche will obtain from 
 Monsieur for my friend Malicorne.” 
 
 44 There you are ! ” said Manicamp. 
 
 44 Pardon me, you have forgotten to sign.” 
 
 44 Ah ! that is true. The five hundred pistoles ] ” 
 
 44 Here are two hundred and fifty of them.” 
 
 44 And the other two hundred and fifty ? ” 
 
 44 When I shall be in possession of my place.” 
 Manicamp made a face. 
 
 4 4 In that case give me the recommendation back 
 again.” 
 
 44 What for?” 
 
 44 To add two words to it.” 
 
 44 Two words ? ” 
 
 44 Yes; two words only.” 
 
 44 What are they]” 
 
 44 4 In haste.’ ” 
 
 Malicorne returned the recommendation ; Manicamp 
 added the words. 
 
 44 Good ! ” said Malicorne, taking back the paper. 
 Manicamp began to count the pistoles. 44 There are 
 twenty wanting,” said he. 
 
304 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 “ How SO ]” 
 
 “ The twenty I have won.” 
 
 “ In what way 1 ” 
 
 “ By wagering that you would have the letter from the 
 Comte de Guiche in eight hours.” 
 
 “ That ? s fair ; ” and he gave him the twenty pistoles. 
 
 Manicamp began to take up his gold by handfuls, and 
 pour it down in cascades upon his bed. 
 
 “ This second place,” murmured Malicorne, while dry- 
 ing his paper, “ which, at the first glance, appears to cost 
 me more than the first, but — ” 
 
 He stopped, took up the pen in his turn, and wrote to 
 Montalais : — 
 
 Mademoiselle, — Announce to your friend that her com- 
 mission will not be long in arriving. I am setting out to get 
 it signed ; that will he eighty-six leagues I shall have gone for 
 the love of you. 
 
 Then with his cunning smile, resuming his broken solil- 
 oquy, “ This place,” said he, “at the first glance, appears 
 to cost me more than the first ; but the benefit will be, I 
 hope, in proportion to the expense, and Mademoiselle de 
 la Valliere will bring me back more than Mademoiselle 
 de Montalais, or else — or else my name is not Malicorne. 
 Farewell, Manicamp ! ” and he left the room. 
 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 
 
 When Malicorne arrived at Etampes, he was informed 
 that the Comte de Guiche had just set out for Paris. He 
 took a two hours 7 rest, and then prepared to continue his 
 journey. He reached Paris during the night, and alighted 
 at a small hotel which he had frequented in his previous 
 journeys to the capital, and at eight o 7 clock the next 
 morning presented himself at the Hotel Grammont. 
 Malicorne arrived just in time ; for the Comte de Guiche 
 was on the point of taking leave of Monsieur before set- 
 ting out for Havre, where the elite of the French nobility 
 had gone to await Madame 7 s arrival from England. Mal- 
 icorne pronounced the name of Manicamp, and was imme- 
 diately admitted. He found the Comte de Guiche in the 
 courtyard of the Hotel Grammont, inspecting his horses, 
 which his trainers and equerries were passing in review 
 before him. The count, in the presence of his trades- 
 people and of his servants, was engaged in ’praising or 
 blaming, as the case seemed to deserve, the appointments, 
 horses, and harness which were submitted to his inspec- 
 tion, when, in the midst of this important occupation, the 
 name of Manicamp was announced. 
 
 “ Manicamp ! ” he exclaimed; “let him enter by all 
 means ; ” and he advanced a few steps towards the door. 
 
 Malicorne slipped through the half-open door, and 
 looking at the Comte de Guiche, who was surprised to see 
 a face which he did not recognize instead of the one he 
 vol. ii. — 20 
 
306 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 expected, said : “ Forgive me, Monsieur the Count, but I 
 believe a mistake has been made. M. Manicamp himself 
 was announced to you, instead of which it is only an 
 envoy from him.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said De Guiche, rather coldly ; “ and what do 
 you bring me ? ” 
 
 “ A letter, Monsieur the Count.” Malicorne handed 
 him the document, and narrowly watched the count’s 
 face, who, as he read it, began to laugh. 
 
 “ What ! ” he exclaimed, “ another maid of honor? Are 
 all the maids of honor in France, then, under his protec- 
 tion ?” Malicorne bowed. “ Why does he not come him- 
 self?” De Guiche inquired. 
 
 “He is confined to his bed.” 
 
 “ The deuce ! he has no money, then, I suppose,” said 
 De Guiche, shrugging his shoulders. “But what does he 
 do with his money?” 
 
 Malicorne made a movement to indicate that upon this 
 subject he was as ignorant as the count himself. 
 
 4 ‘Then why does he not make use of his credit?” 
 continued De Guiche. 
 
 “ With regard to that, I think — ” 
 
 “ What ? » 
 
 “ That Manicamp has credit with no one but yourself, 
 Monsieur the Count.” 
 
 “ He will not be at Havre, then ? ” 
 
 Whereupon Malicorne made another movement. 
 
 “ It seems to be impossible, and yet every one will be 
 there.” 
 
 “ I trust, Monsieur the Count, that he will not neglect 
 so excellent an opportunity.” 
 
 “ He should be at Paris by this time.” 
 
 “ He will take the cross road, to make up for lost time.” 
 
 “ Where is he now ? ” 
 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 307 
 
 “ At Orleans.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said De Guiche, bowing, “ you seem to 
 me a man of very good taste.” 
 
 Malicorne wore Manicamp’s clothes. He bowed in re- 
 turn, saying, “ You do me very great honor, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Whom have I the pleasure of addressing ? ” 
 
 “ My name is Malicorne, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ M. de Malicorne, what do you think of these pistol- 
 holsters 1 ” 
 
 Malicorne was a man of great readiness, and immedi- 
 ately understood the situation. Besides, the “ de ” which 
 De Guiche had prefixed to Malicorne’s name raised him to 
 the rank of the person with whom he was conversing. He 
 looked at the holsters with the air of a connoisseur, and 
 said, without hesitation, “ Somewhat heavy, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ You see,” said De Guiche to the saddler, “ this gentle- 
 man, who is a man of taste, thinks your holsters heavy, 
 — a complaint I had already made.” The saddler was 
 full of excuses. 
 
 “ And what do you think,” asked De Guiche, “ of this 
 horse, which is a purchase I have just made 1 ” 
 
 “ To look at him, he seems perfect, Monsieur the Count ; 
 but I must mount him before I give you my opinion.” 
 
 “ Do so, M. de Malicorne, and ride him round the court 
 two or three times.” 
 
 The courtyard of the hotel was so arranged that when- 
 ever there was any occasion for it, it could be used as a 
 riding-school. Malicorne, with perfect ease, arranged the 
 curb and snaffle-reins, placed his left hand on the horse’s 
 mane, and with his foot in the stirrup raised himself to 
 the saddle. At first he made the horse walk the whole 
 circuit of the courtyard at a foot-pace ; next at a trot ; 
 lastly at a gallop. He then drew up close to the count, 
 dismounted, and threw the bridle to a groom standing by. 
 
308 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Well,” said the count, “ what do you think of it, M. 
 de Malicorne ? ” 
 
 “This horse, Monsieur the Count,” said Malicorne, “is 
 of the Mecklenburg breed. In looking to see whether the 
 bit suited his mouth, I saw that he was rising seven, the 
 very age when the training of a war-horse should begin. 
 The fore-hand is light. A horse which holds his head 
 high, it is said, never tires his rider’s hand. The withers 
 are rather low. The drooping of the hind-quarters would 
 almost make me doubt the purity of its German breed, 
 and I think there is English blood in him. He stands 
 well on his legs, but he trots high, and may cut himself, 
 which requires attention to be paid to his shoeing. He 
 is tractable ; and as I made him turn round and change 
 his feet, I found him quick and ready in doing so.” 
 
 “ Well said, M. de Malicorne,” exclaimed the count 5 
 “you are a judge of horses, I perceive ; ” then, turning 
 toward the new arrival again, he continued : “ You are 
 most becomingly dressed, M. de Malicorne. That is not 
 a provincial cut, I presume. Such a style of dress is not 
 to be met with at Tours or Orleans.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur the Count ; my clothes were made at 
 Paris.” 
 
 “ There is no doubt of that. But let us resume our 
 own affair. Manicamp wishes, then, for the appointment 
 of a second maid of honor.” 
 
 “ You perceive what he has written, Monsieur the 
 Count.” 
 
 “For whom was the first appointment?” 
 
 Malicorne felt the color rise in his face, as he answered 
 hurriedly, “ A charming maid of honor, Mademoiselle de 
 Montalais.” 
 
 “ Ah ! you are acquainted with her? ” 
 
 “We are affianced, or nearly so.” 
 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 309 
 
 “ That is quite another thing, then ; a thousand com- 
 pliments,” exclaimed De Guiche, upon whose lips a cour- 
 tier’s jest was already flitting, but to whom the word 
 “ affianced,” applied by Malicorne to Mademoiselle de 
 Montalais, recalled the respect due to women. 
 
 “ And for whom is the second appointment destined ? ” 
 inquired De Guiche ; 61 is it for any one to whom Manicamp 
 may happen to be affianced *1 In that case I pity her, poor 
 girl ! for she will have a sad fellow for a husband.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur the Count ; the second appointment is 
 for Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere.” 
 
 “ Unknown,” said De Guiche. 
 
 “Unknown'? yes, Monsieur,” said Malicorne, smiling 
 in his turn. 
 
 “ Very good. I will speak to Monsieur about it. By 
 the by, she is of gentle birth 1 ” 
 
 “ She belongs to a very good family, and is maid of 
 honor to Madame the Dowager.” 
 
 “ Very well. Will you accompany me to Monsieur ] ” 
 
 “ Most certainly, if I may be permitted the honor.” 
 
 “ Have you your carriage 1 ” 
 
 “ No ; I came here on horseback.” 
 
 “ Dressed as you are V 9 
 
 “ No, Monsieur ; I posted from Orleans, and changed 
 my travelling suit for the one I have on, in order to 
 present myself to you.” 
 
 “ True, you have already told me you came from Or- 
 leans ; ” saying which he crumpled Manicamp’s letter in 
 his hand, and thrust it in his pocket. 
 
 “ Monsieur,” said Malicorne, timidly, “ I do not think 
 you have read all.” 
 
 “ Not read all, do you say V 1 
 
 “ No ; there were two letters in the same envelope.” 
 
 “ Oh ! are you sure ? ” 
 
310 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Quite sure.” 
 
 “ Let us look, then,” said the count, as he opened the 
 letter again. 
 
 “ Ah ! you are right,” he said, opening the paper which 
 he had not yet read. 
 
 “I suspected it,” he continued; “ another application 
 for an appointment under Monsieur. This Manicamp is 
 a perfect gulf ; he is carrying on a trade in it.” 
 
 “ No, Monsieur the Count ; he wishes to make a present 
 of it.” 
 
 “ To whom 1 ” 
 
 “ To myself, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Why did } r ou not say so at once, my dear M. de 
 Mauvaisecorne ? ” 
 
 “ Malicorne, Monsieur the Count.” 
 
 “ Forgive me ; it is the Latin which bothers me, — 
 that terrible habit of derivations. Why the deuce are 
 young men of family taught Latin ? Mala and mauvaise , 
 — you understand it is the same thing. You will forgive 
 me, I trust, M. de Malicorne.” 
 
 “ Your kindness affects me much, Monsieur ; but it is 
 a reason why I should make you acquainted with one 
 circumstance without any delay.” 
 
 “'What is it, Monsieur 
 
 “ That I was not born a gentleman. I am not without 
 courage, and not altogether deficient in ability; but my 
 name is Malicorne simply.” 
 
 “ You appear to me, Monsieur,” exclaimed the count, 
 looking at the astute face of his companion, “to be a 
 most agreeable man. Your face pleases me, M. Malicorne ; 
 and you must possess some indisputably excellent qualities 
 to have pleased that egotistical Manicamp. Be candid, 
 and tell me whether you are not some saint descended 
 upon the earth.” 
 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 311 
 
 “ Why sot” 
 
 “ For the simple reason that he makes you a pres- 
 ent of anything. Did you not say that he intended to 
 make you a present of some appointment in the king’s 
 household ] ” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, Monsieur the Count ; but if I 
 succeed in obtaining the appointment, you, and not he, 
 will have bestowed it on me.” 
 
 “ Besides, he will not have given it to you for nothing, 
 I suppose. Stay, I have it ! — there is a Malicorne at 
 Orleans, who lends money to the prince.” 
 
 “ I think that must be my father, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Ah ! the prince has the father, and that terrible de- 
 vourer of a Manioamp has the son. Take care, Monsieur ! 
 I know him. He will fleece you completely.” 
 
 “ The only difference is that I lend without interest,” 
 said Malicorne, smiling. 
 
 “ I was correct in saying that you were a saint, or that 
 you very much resembled one. M. Malicorne, you shall 
 have the post you want, or I will forfeit my name.” 
 
 “ Ah ! Monsieur the Count, what a debt of gratitude 
 shall I not owe you ! ” said Malicorne, enraptured. 
 
 “ Let us go to the prince, my dear M. Malicorne ; ” 
 and De Guiche proceeded towards the door, desiring 
 Malicorne to follow him. 
 
 At the very moment they were about to cross the 
 threshold, a young man appeared on the other side. He 
 was from twenty-four to twenty-five years of age, of pale 
 complexion, thin lips, bright eyes, and brown hair and 
 eyebrows. “ Good-day,” he said, suddenly, almost push- 
 ing De Guiche back into the courtyard again. 
 
 “Ah! is that you, De Wardes? What! and booted, 
 spurred, and whip in hand too ] ” 
 
 “The most befitting costume for a man about to set 
 
312 
 
 THE VI COMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 off for Havre. There will be no one left in Paris to- 
 morrow ; ” and the new-comer saluted Malicorne with 
 great ceremony, whose handsome dress gave him the 
 appearance of a prince in rank. 
 
 “ M. Malicorne/’ said De Guiche to his friend. De 
 Wardes bowed. 
 
 “M. de Wardes,” said De Guiche to Malicorne, who 
 bowed in return. “By the by, De Wardes,” continued 
 De Guiche, “ you who are on the watch for this sort of 
 thing, can you tell us what appointments are still vacant 
 at the Court, or rather in the prince’s household ? ” 
 
 “ In the prince’s household,” said De Wardes, looking 
 up with an air of consideration ; “ let me see, — that of 
 the master of the horse is vacant, I believe.” 
 
 “ Oh,” exclaimed Malicorne, “ there is no question of 
 such a post as that, Monsieur ; my ambition is not nearly 
 so exalted.” 
 
 De Wardes had a more penetrating observation than 
 De Guiche, and he understood Malicorne immediately. 
 “The fact is,” he said, looking at him from head to foot, 
 “ a man must be either a duke or a peer to fill that post.” 
 
 “ All I solicit,” said Malicorne, “ is a very humble ap- 
 pointment ; I am of little importance, and I do not rank 
 myself above my position.” 
 
 “M. Malicorne, whom you see here,” said De Guiche 
 to De Wardes, “is a very excellent fellow, whose only 
 misfortune is that of not being of gentle birth. But as 
 far as I am concerned, you know, I attach little value to 
 those who have gentle birth alone to boast of.” 
 
 “Assuredly,” said De Wardes; “ but will you allow me 
 to remark, my dear count, that, without rank of some 
 sort, one can hardly. hope to belong to his royal Highness’s 
 household.” 
 
 “ You are right,” said the count ; “ the etiquette is very 
 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 313 
 
 strict with regard to such matters. The deuce ! we never 
 thought of that.’’ 
 
 “ Alas ! a sad misfortune for me, Monsieur the Count ! ” 
 said Malicorne, changing color slightly. 
 
 “ Yet not without remedy, I hope/’ returned De Guiche. 
 “ The remedy is found easily enough,” exclaimed De 
 Wardes ; “ you can be created a gentleman, my dear 
 Monsieur. His Eminence the Cardinal Mazarin did 
 nothing else from morning till night.” 
 
 “ Hush, hush, De Wardes ! ” said the count ; “ no jests 
 of that kind ; it ill becomes us to turn such matters into 
 ridicule. Letters of nobility, it is true, are purchasable ; 
 but that is a sufficient misfortune without the nobles 
 themselves laughing at it.” 
 
 “ Upon my word, De Guiche, you’re quite a Puritan, 
 as the English say.” 
 
 At this moment the Yicomte de Bragelonne was an- 
 nounced by one of the servants in the courtyard, in pre- 
 cisely the same manner as he would have done in a salon. 
 
 “ Come here, my dear Raoul. What ! you, too, booted 
 and spurred ! You are setting off, then ? ” 
 
 Bragelonne approached the group of young men, and 
 saluted them with that quiet and serious manner which 
 was peculiar to him. His salutation was principally ad- 
 dressed to De Wardes, with whom he was unacquainted, 
 and whose features, on perceiving Raoul, had assumed 
 a strange sternness of expression. “ I have come, De 
 Guiche,” he said, “to ask your companionship. We set 
 off for Havre, I presume. ’ 
 
 “This is admirable, this is delightful! We shall have 
 a capital journey. M. Malicorne, M. de Bragelonne — 
 ah ! M. de Wardes, let me present you.” The young 
 men saluted each other in a restrained manner. Their 
 natures seemed, from the very beginning, disposed to 
 
314 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 take exception to each other. De Wardes was pliant, 
 subtle, and full of dissimulation ; Raoul was calm, grave, 
 and upright. “ Decide between us, — between De Wardes 
 and myself, Raoul.” 
 
 “ Upon what subject ? ” 
 
 “ Upon the subject of noble birth.” 
 
 “ Who can be better informed on that subject than a 
 Grammont ? ” 
 
 “No compliments ; it is your opinion I ask.” 
 
 “ At least inform me of the subject under discussion.” 
 
 “ De Wardes asserts that the distribution of titles is 
 abused ; I, on the contrary, maintain that a title is use- 
 less as regards the man on whom it is bestowed.” 
 
 “ And you are correct,” said Bragelonne, quietly. 
 
 “ But, Monsieur the Viscount,” interrupted De Wardes, 
 with a kind of obstinacy, “ I affirm that it is I who am 
 correct.” 
 
 “ What was your opinion, Monsieur *? ” 
 
 “ I was saying that everything possible is done in 
 France at the present moment to humiliate men of 
 family.” 
 
 “ And by whom ” asked Raoul. 
 
 “By the king himself. He surrounds himself with 
 people who cannot show four quarterings.” 
 
 “ Nonsense ! ” said De Guiche ; “ where could you pos- 
 sibly have seen that, De Wardes 1 ? ” 
 
 “ One example will suffice,” he returned, directing his 
 look fully upon Raoul. 
 
 “ State it, then.” 
 
 “Do you know who has just been nominated captain- 
 general of the Musketeers, — an appointment more valu- 
 able than a peerage, for it gives precedence over all the 
 marshals of France 1 ” 
 
 Raoul’s color mounted in his face ; for he saw the 
 
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT. 315 
 
 object De Wardes had in view. “ No ; who has been 
 appointed 1 In any case it must have been very recently, 
 for the appointment was vacant a week ago ; a proof of 
 which is that the king refused Monsieur, who solicited 
 the post for one of his proteges” 
 
 “Well, the king refused it to Monsieur’s protege in 
 order to bestow it upon the Chevalier d’Artagnan, a 
 younger brother of some Gascon family, who has been 
 trailing his sword in the antechambers during the last 
 thirty years.” 
 
 “ Pardon me if I interrupt you, Monsieur, ” said Raoul, 
 darting a stern glance at De Wardes; “but you give me 
 the impression of being unacquainted with the gentleman 
 of whom you are speaking.” 
 
 “ I unacquainted with M. d’Artagnan % Can you tell 
 me, Monsieur, who does know him]” 
 
 “ Those who do know him, Monsieur,” replied Raoul, 
 with still greater calmness and sternness of manner, “ are 
 in the habit of saying that if he is not as good a gentle- 
 man as the king, — which is not his fault, — he is the 
 equal of all the kings of the earth in courage and loyalty. 
 Such is my opinion, Monsieur ; and I thank Heaven I 
 have known M. d’Artagnan from ray birth.” 
 
 De Wardes was about to reply, when De Guiche in« 
 terrupted him. 
 
316 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 
 
 The discussion was becoming full of bitterness. De 
 Quiche perfectly understood the whole matter ; for there 
 was in De Bragelonne’s look something instinctively hos- 
 tile, while in that of De Wardes there was something 
 like a determination to offend. Without inquiring into 
 the different feelings which actuated his two friends, 
 De Guiche resolved to ward off the blow which he felt 
 was on the point of being dealt by one or the other of 
 them, and perhaps by both. “ Gentlemen,” he said, 
 “ we must take leave of one another ; I must pay a 
 visit to Monsieur. Let us fulfil our appointments. You, 
 De Wardes, will accompany me to the Louvre, and you, 
 Raoul, will remain here master of the house ; and as all 
 that is done here is under your advice, you will bestow 
 the last glance upon my preparations for departure.” 
 Raoul, with the air of one who neither seeks nor fears 
 a quarrel, bowed his head in token of assent, and seated 
 himself upon a bench in the sun. “ That is well,” said 
 De Guiche ; “ remain where you are, Raoul, and tell them 
 to show you the two horses I have just purchased. You 
 will give me your opinion, for I only bought them on 
 condition that you ratified the purchase. By the by, 
 I have to beg your pardon for having omitted to inquire 
 after the Comte de la Fere.” While pronouncing these 
 latter words, he closely observed De Wardes, in order to 
 perceive what effect the name of Raouls father would 
 produce upon him. 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 
 
 317 
 
 “ I thank you/’ answered the young man, “ the count 
 is very well.” 
 
 A gleam of deep hatred passed into De Wardes’ eyes. 
 De Guiche, who appeared not to notice the ominous ex- 
 pression, went up to Raoul, and grasping him by the hand 
 said, “ It is agreed, then, Bragelonne, is it not, that you 
 will rejoin us in the courtyard of the Palais-Royal 1 ” He 
 then signed to De Wardes, who had been engaged in 
 balancing himself, first on one foot, then on the other, 
 to follow him. “We are going,” said he; “ come, M. 
 Malicorne.” 
 
 That name made Raoul start ; for it seemed to him 
 that he had heard it pronounced before, but he could not 
 remember on what occasion. While trying to do so, half 
 dreamingly, yet half irritated at his conversation with De 
 Wardes, the three young men went on their way towards 
 the Palais-Royal, where Monsieur was residing. Malicorne 
 learned two things, — the first, that the young men had 
 something to say to each other ; and the second, that he 
 ought not to walk in the same line with them, and there- 
 fore he walked behind. 
 
 “ Are you mad 1 ” said De Guiche to his companion, as 
 soon as they had left the Hotel de Grammont ; “ you at- 
 tack M. d’Artagnan, and that, too, before Raoul.” 
 
 “ Well,” said De Wardes, “what then ? ” 
 
 “ What do you mean by ‘ what then ’ ? ” 
 
 “ Well, is there any prohibition against attacking M. 
 d’Artagnan ” 
 
 “ But you know very well that M. d’Artagnan was one 
 of those celebrated and redoubtable four men who were 
 called the Musketeers.” 
 
 “ That may be ; but I do not perceive why that should 
 prevent me from hating M. d’Artagnan.” 
 
 “ What cause has he given you V 7 
 
318 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Me 1 personally, none.'' 
 
 “ Why hate him, then ! ” 
 
 “ Ask my dead father that question.” 
 
 “ Really, my dear De Wardes, you surprise me. M. 
 d’Artagnan is not one to leave unsettled any enmity he 
 may have to arrange, without completely clearing his 
 account. Your father, I have heard, on his side carried 
 matters with a high hand. Moreover, there are no en- 
 mities so bitter that they may not be washed away by 
 blood, by a good sword-thrust loyally given.” 
 
 “ Listen to me, my dear De Guiche. This inveterate 
 dislike existed between my father and M. d’Artagnan ; 
 and when I was quite a child he acquainted me with 
 the reason for it, and it is a particular legacy which he 
 has left me as part of my inheritance.” 
 
 “ And does this hatred concern M. d’Artagnan alone V* 
 “As for that, M. d’Artagnan was so intimately asso- 
 ciated with his three friends, that some portion of the full 
 measure of my hatred for him must inevitably fall to 
 their lot ; and that hatred is of such a nature that when- 
 ever the opportunity occurs, they shall have no occasion 
 to complain of their portion.” 
 
 De Guiche had kept his eyes fixed on De Wardes, and 
 shuddered at the bitter manner in which the young man 
 smiled. Something like a presentiment flashed across 
 his mind. He knew that the time had passed away for 
 home thrusts between gentlemen, but that the feeling of 
 hatred treasured up in the heart, instead of being dif- 
 fused abroad, was none the less hatred ; that a smile was 
 sometimes as full of sinister meaning as a threat ; and, 
 in a word, that to the fathers who had hated with their 
 hearts and fought with their strength, would now suc- 
 ceed the sons, who themselves also would indeed hate 
 with their hearts, but would no longer encounter their 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 
 
 319 
 
 enemies save by the means of intrigue or treachery. As, 
 therefore, it certainly was not Raoul whom he could sus- 
 pect either of intrigue or of treachery, it was on Raoul’s 
 account that De Guiche trembled. 
 
 However, while these gloomy forebodings cast a shade 
 of anxiety over De Quiche’s countenance, De Wardes had 
 resumed entire mastery over himself. “ At all events,” 
 he observed, “ I have no personal ill-will towards M. de 
 Bragelonne ; I do not even know him.” 
 
 “ In any case,” said De Guiche, with a certain amount 
 of sternness in his tone, “ do not forget one circumstance, 
 — that Raoul is my most intimate friend ; ” a remark at 
 which De Wardes bowed. 
 
 The conversation terminated there, although De Guiche 
 tried his utmost to draw out De Wardes’ secret from him ; 
 but doubtless that young gentleman had determined to 
 say nothing further, and he remained impenetrable. De 
 Guiche therefore promised himself a more satisfactory 
 result with Raoul. 
 
 In the mean time they had reached the Palais-Royal, 
 which was surrounded by a crowd of lookers-on. Mon- 
 sieur’s household awaited his orders to mount their 
 horses, and form part of the escort of the ambassadors 
 to whom had been intrusted the care of bringing the 
 young princess to Paris. 
 
 The brilliant display of horses, arms, and liveries af- 
 forded some compensation in those times, thanks to the 
 kindly feelings of the people and to the traditions of deep 
 devotion to their sovereigns, for the enormous expenses 
 charged upon the taxes. Mazarin had said, “ Let them 
 sing, provided they pay;” while Louis XIV.’s remark 
 was, “ Let them look.” Sight had replaced the voice ; the 
 people could still look, but they could no longer sing. 
 
 M. de Guiche left De Wardes and Malicorne at the foot 
 
320 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 of the grand staircase, while he himself, who shared the 
 favor of Monsieur with the Chevalier de Lorraine, who 
 always smiled at him most affectionately though he could 
 not endure him, went straight to the prince’s apartments, 
 and found him engaged in admiring himself in the glass 
 and putting rouge on his face. In a corner of the room 
 the Chevalier de Lorraine was extended full length upon 
 some cushions, having just had his long blond hair curled, 
 with which he was playing after the manner of a woman. 
 
 The prince turned round as the count entered, and 
 perceiving who it was, said : “ Ah ! is that you, Quiche 1 
 Come here, and tell me the truth.” 
 
 “ You know, my Lord, it is one of my defects to speak 
 the truth.” 
 
 “ Fancy, Quiche, how that wicked chevalier has an- 
 noyed me.” 
 
 The chevalier shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 “Why, how is that]” inquired De Quiche. “That is 
 not customary with Monsieur the Chevalier.” 
 
 “ Well, He pretends,” continued the prince, “that Ma- 
 demoiselle Henrietta is better looking as a woman than I 
 am as a man.” 
 
 “ Do not forget, my Lord,” said De Quiche, frowning 
 slightly, “that you required me to speak the truth.” 
 
 “Certainly,” said the prince, almost trembling. 
 
 “Well, and I shall tell it you ” 
 
 “ Do not be in a hurry, Guiche !” exclaimed the prince ; 
 “you have plenty of time. Look at me attentively, and 
 try to recollect Madame. Besides, here is her portrait ; 
 look at it ; ” and he held out to him a miniature of the 
 finest possible execution. 
 
 De Guiche took it, and looked at it for a long time 
 attentively. “ Upon my honor, my Lord, this is indeed 
 a most lovely face.” 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 
 
 321 
 
 “ But look at me, Count, look at me ! ” said the prince, 
 endeavoring to direct upon himself the attention of the 
 count, who was completely absorbed in contemplation of 
 the portrait. 
 
 “ It is wonderful,” murmured De Guiche. 
 
 “ Beally, one would almost imagine you had never seen 
 this little girl before.’ 5 
 
 “ It is true, my Lord, I have seen her ; but it was five 
 years ago, and there is a great difference between a child 
 of twelve years and a young girl of seventeen.’ 5 
 “ Well, what is your opinion] Speak out ! 55 
 “ My opinion is that the portrait must be flattering, 
 my Lord.” 
 
 “ Of that,” said the prince, triumphantly, “ there can 
 be no doubt ; but let us suppose that it is not flattering, 
 what would your opinion be ] ” 
 
 “ My Lord, your Highness is exceedingly happy to have 
 so charming a bride.” 
 
 “ Very well ; that is your opinion of her, but now of me.” 
 “My opinion, my Lord, is that you are far too hand- 
 some for a man.” 
 
 The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing. The 
 prince understood how severe towards himself this opin- 
 ion of the Comte de Guiche was, and he looked somewhat 
 displeased, saying, “My friends are not over-indulgent.” 
 De Guiche looked at the portrait again, and after a few 
 seconds of contemplation, returned it with apparent un- 
 willingness to Monsieur, saying, “ Most decidedly, my 
 Lord, 1 should rather prefer to look ten times at your 
 Highness than to look at Madame once again.” 
 
 Doubtless the chevalier detected some mystery in these 
 words, which were incomprehensible to the prince, for he 
 exclaimed, “Very well; get married yourself.” 
 
 Monsieur continued rouging himself; and when he had 
 VOL. II. — 21 
 
322 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 finished, looked at the portrait again, once more turned 
 to admire himself in the glass, and smiled, and no doubt 
 was satisfied with the comparison. “ You are very kind 
 to have come,” he said to De Guiche ; “ I feared you 
 would leave without coming to bid me adieu.” 
 
 “ Your Highness knows me too well to believe me 
 capable of so great a disrespect.” 
 
 Besides, I suppose you have something to ask from 
 me before leaving Paris 1 ” 
 
 “ Your Highness has indeed guessed correctly, for I 
 have a request to make.” 
 
 “ Very good ; what is it 1 ” 
 
 The Chevalier de Lorraine immediately became all eyes 
 and ears, for he regarded every favor conferred upon an- 
 other as a robbery committed against himself. And as 
 De Guiche hesitated, the prince said : “ If it be money, 
 nothing could be more fortunate, for I am tremendously 
 rich ; the superintendent of the finances has sent me 
 fifty thousand pistoles.” 
 
 “ I thank your Highness ; but it is not an affair of 
 money.” 
 
 “ What is it, then 1 Tell me.” 
 
 “ The appointment of a maid of honor.” 
 
 “ Tiidieu ! Guiche, what a patron you have become ! ” 
 said the prince, disdainfully ; “ you never speak of any- 
 thing else now but young misses.” 
 
 The Chevalier de Lorraine smiled, for he knew very 
 well that nothing displeased the prince more than to show 
 any interest in ladies. “ My Lord,” said the count, “ it 
 is not I who am directly interested in the person of whom 
 I have just spoken ; I am acting on behalf of one of my 
 friends.” 
 
 “ Ah ! that is different ; what is the name of the young 
 lady in whom your friend is Interested! ” 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 
 
 323 
 
 “ Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere ; 
 she is already maid of honor to the dowager princess.’ ’ 
 
 “ Why, she is lame,” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, 
 stretching himself on his cushions. 
 
 “ Lame,” repeated the prince, “ and Madame to have 
 her constantly before her eyes ? Most certainly not ! 
 It may be dangerous for her when in an interesting 
 condition.” 
 
 The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing. 
 
 “ Chevalier,” said De Guiche, “your conduct is ungen- 
 erous ; while I am soliciting a favor, you do me all the 
 mischief you can.” 
 
 “Forgive me, Count,” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, 
 somewhat uneasy at the tone in which the count had 
 emphasized his words ; “ but I had no intention of doing 
 so, and I begin to believe that I have mistaken one young 
 lady for another.” 
 
 “ There is no doubt of it, Monsieur; and I do not hes- 
 itate to declare that such is the case.” 
 
 “ Do you attach much importance to it, Guiche ? ” in- 
 quired the prince. 
 
 “ I do, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Well, you shall have it ; but ask me for no more 
 appointments, for there are none to give away.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” exclaimed the chevalier, “ midday already ; 
 that is the hour fixed for the departure.” 
 
 “You dismiss me, Monsieur ?” inquired De Guiche. 
 
 “ Beally, Count, you treat me very ill to-day,” replied 
 the chevalier, affectionately. 
 
 “ For heaven’s sake, Count, for heaven’s sake, Cheva- 
 lier,” said Monsieur, “ do not quarrel so ! Do you not see 
 how you are distressing me? ” 
 
 “My signature? ” said De Guiche. 
 
 “ Take a blank appointment from that drawer, and give 
 
324 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 it to me.” Do Guiche handed the prince the document 
 indicated, and at the same time presented him with a pen 
 already dipped in ink ; whereupon the prince signed. 
 “ Here,” he said, returning him the appointment ; “but 
 I give it on one condition.” 
 
 “ Name it.” 
 
 “ That you will make friends with the chevalier.” 
 
 “Willingly,” said De Guiche; and he held out his 
 hand to the chevalier with an indifference amounting to 
 contempt. 
 
 “ Adieu, Count ! ” said the chevalier, without seeming 
 in any way to have noticed his slight ; “ adieu, and bring 
 us back a princess who will not chatter with her own 
 portrait too much.” 
 
 “Yes, set off and lose no time. By the by, who 
 accompany you 1 ” 
 
 “ Bragelonne and De Wardes.” 
 
 “ Both excellent and fearless companions.” 
 
 “Too fearless,” said the chevalier ; “ endeavor to bring 
 them both back, Count.” 
 
 “Bad heart, bad heart!” murmured De Guiche; “he 
 scents mischief everywhere, and before any one else ; ” 
 and taking leave of the prince, he went out. As soon as 
 he reached the vestibule, he waved in the air the paper 
 which the prince had signed. Malicorne hurried forward, 
 and received it trembling with delight. But after having 
 received it, De Guiche observed that he still awaited 
 something further. 
 
 “ Patience, Monsieur ! ” he said to Malicorne ; “ the 
 
 Chevalier de Lorraine was there, and I feared an utter 
 failure if I asked too much at once. Wait until I return. 
 Adieu ! ” 
 
 “Adieu, Monsieur the Count; a thousand thanks!” 
 said Malicorne. 
 
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 
 
 325 
 
 “ Send Manicamp to me. By the way, Monsieur, is it 
 true that Mademoiselle de la Valliere is lame? ” 
 
 As De Guiche said this, a horse drew up behind him ; 
 and on turning round he noticed that Bragelonne, who 
 had just at that moment entered the courtyard, turned 
 suddenly pale. The poor lover had heard the remark, 
 which however was not the case with Malicorne, for he 
 was already beyond the reach of the count’s voice. 
 
 “ Why is Louise’s name spoken here ? ” Eaoul asked 
 himself; “oh! let not De Wardes, who stands smiling 
 yonder, even say a word about her in my presence.” 
 
 “ Now, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Comte de Guiche, 
 “ forward ! ” 
 
 At this moment the prince, who had completed his 
 toilet, appeared at the window, and was immediately 
 saluted by the acclamations of the whole escort ; and ten 
 minutes afterwards, banners, scarfs, and plumes were 
 fluttering and w T aving in the air, as the cavalcade galloped 
 away. 
 
326 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AT HAVRE. 
 
 This brilliant and gay company, animated with such 
 varied feelings, arrived at Havre four days after their 
 departure from Paris. It was about five o’clock in the 
 afternoon, and no intelligence had yet been received of 
 Madame. They were soon engaged in quest of apart- 
 ments ; but the greatest confusion immediately ensued 
 among the masters, and violent quarrels among their at- 
 tendants. In the midst of all this disorder the Comte de 
 Guiche fancied that he recognized Manicamp. It was, in- 
 deed, Manicamp himself ; but as Malicorne had taken 
 possession of his very best costume, he had not been able 
 to get any other than a suit of violet velvet trimmed with 
 silver. De Guiche recognized him as much by his dress 
 as by his features, for he had very frequently seen Mani- 
 camp in this violet suit, which was his last resource. 
 Manicamp presented himself to the count under an arch 
 of torches, which set fire to rather than illuminated the 
 gate by which Havre is entered, and which is situated 
 close to the tower of Francis I. The count, remarking 
 the woe-begone expression of Manicamp’s face, could not 
 resist laughing. “Well, my poor Manicamp,” he ex- 
 claimed, “ how violet you look ! Are you in mourning h ” 
 “Yes,” replied Manicamp, “I am in mourning.” 
 
 “For whom, or for whatl” 
 
 “For my blue and gold suit, which has disappeared, 
 and in the place of which I could find nothing but this ; 
 
AT HAVRE. 
 
 327 
 
 and I was even obliged to economize, in order to get 
 possession of it.” 
 
 “ Indeed ? ” 
 
 “ It is singular you should be astonished at that, since 
 you leave me without any money.” 
 
 “ At all events, here you are, and that is the principal 
 thing.” 
 
 “ By the most horrible roads.” 
 
 “ Where are you lodging?” 
 
 “ Lodging? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “ I am not lodging anywhere.” 
 
 De Guiche began to laugh. “Well, where do you in- 
 tend to lodge ? ” 
 
 “Where you lodge.” 
 
 “But I don’t know where that is.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by saying you don’t know ? ** 
 
 “ Why, how is it likely I should know where I am to 
 stay ? ” 
 
 “ Have you not secured a hotel ? ” 
 
 “I?” 
 
 “Yes, you or the prince.” 
 
 “Neither of us has thought of it. Havre is of consid- 
 erable size, I suppose ; and provided I can get a stable for 
 a dozen horses, and a suitable house in a good quarter — ” 
 “ Oh, there are some very excellent houses.” 
 
 “ Well, then — ” 
 
 “But not for us.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by saying not for us ? — for whom, 
 then?” 
 
 “ For the English, of course.” 
 
 “ For the English ? ” 
 
 “ Yes ; the houses are all taken.” 
 
 “ By whom ? ” 
 
328 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ By the Duke of Buckingham.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon ! ” said De Guiche, whose atten- 
 tion this name had awakened. 
 
 “ Yes, my friend, by the Duke of Buckingham. His 
 Grace has been preceded by a courier, who arrived here 
 three days ago, and immediately secured all the houses 
 fit for habitation which the town possesses.” 
 
 “ Come, come, Manicamp, let us understand each other .’ 5 
 “Well, what I have told you is clear enough, it seems 
 to me.” 
 
 “But surely Buckingham does not occupy the whole 
 of Havre ? ” 
 
 “He certainly does not occupy it, since he has not yet 
 landed; but when once landed, he will occupy it.” 
 
 “ Oh ! oh ! ” 
 
 “ It is quite clear you are not acquainted with the 
 English ; they have a perfect rage for monopolizing 
 everything.” 
 
 “ That may be ; but a man who has the whole of one 
 house contents himself with that, and does not require 
 two.” 
 
 “ Yes ; but two men ? ” 
 
 “ Be it so ; for two men two houses, or four, or six, or 
 ten, if you like ; but there are a hundred houses at Havre.” 
 “Yes, and all the hundred are let.” 
 
 “ Impossible ! ” 
 
 “ What an obstinate fellow you are ! I tell you Buck- 
 ingham has hired all the houses surrounding the one 
 which her Majesty the Queen-dowager of England and 
 the princess her daughter will inhabit.” 
 
 “ Well, now, he is an extraordinary man,” said De 
 Wardes, caressing his horse's neck. 
 
 “ Such is the case, however, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ You are quite sure of it, M. de Manicamp V 1 and as 
 
AT HAVRE, 
 
 329 
 
 he put this question he looked slyly at De Guiche, as 
 though to sound him upon the degree of confidence to be 
 placed in his friend’s state of mind. 
 
 Meanwhile the night had closed in, and the torches, 
 pages, attendants, squires, horses, and carriages blocked 
 up the gate and the square ; the torches were reflected in 
 the channel, which the rising tide was gradually filling, 
 while on the other side of the jetty might be perceived 
 groups of curious lookers-on, consisting of sailors and 
 townspeople, who seemed anxious to miss nothing of the 
 spectacle. 
 
 Amid all this hesitation, Bragelonne, as though a per- 
 fect stranger to the scene, remained on his horse some- 
 what in the rear of De Guiche, and watched the rays of 
 light reflected in the water, inhaling with delight the sea- 
 breezes, and listening to the waves which broke noisily 
 upon the pebbles and the sea-weed of the strand, dashing 
 the spray into the air with a roar which echoed in the 
 distance. 
 
 “ But really,” exclaimed De Guiche, “ what could have 
 been Buckingham’s motive for securing such a supply of 
 lodgings 1” 
 
 “ Yes,” demanded De Wardes ; “ what reason has he ? ” 
 “ A very excellent one,” replied Manicamp. 
 
 “You know what it is, then]” 
 
 “ I fancy I do.” 
 
 “Tell us, then.” 
 
 “ Bend your head down towards me.” 
 
 “ What ! can it not be said except in secrecy 
 “You shall judge of that yourself.” 
 
 “ Very well.” De Guiche bent down. 
 
 “ Love,” said Manicamp. 
 
 “ I do not understand you at all.” 
 
 “Say, rather, you cannot understand me yet.” 
 
330 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELOiNNE. 
 
 “ Explain yourself.” 
 
 “ Very well! it is quite certain, Monsieur the Count, 
 that his royal Highness will be the most unfortunate of 
 husbands. ” 
 
 “ What do you mean ] The Duke of Buckingham — ” 
 
 “ That name brings ill omen to princes of the house of 
 France.’ 1 
 
 “ And so the duke — ” 
 
 “ Is madly in love with the young Madame, so the 
 rumor runs, and will have no one approach her but 
 himself.” 
 
 De Guiche colored. “ Thank you, thank you,” said he 
 to Manicamp, grasping his hand. Then, recovering him- 
 self, he added, “For heaven’s sake, Manicamp, be careful 
 that this design of Buckingham’s does not reach the ears 
 of any Frenchman here ; for if so, the sun of this country 
 will shine on swords which do not fear English steel.” 
 
 “ After all,” said Manicamp, “ I have had no satisfac- 
 tory proof given me of the love in question, and it may 
 be no more than an idle tale.” 
 
 “No, no,” said De Guiche, “it must be the truth;” 
 and despite his command over himself, he clenched his 
 teeth. 
 
 “ Well,” said Manicamp, “ after all, what does it mat- 
 ter to you? What does it matter to me whether the 
 prince is to be what the late king was ? Buckingham the 
 father for the queen, Buckingham the son for the young 
 princess.” 
 
 “Manicamp ! Manicamp ! ” 
 
 “ It is a fact ; or, at least, everybody says so.” 
 
 “ Silence ! ” said the count. 
 
 “But why silence]” said De Wardes; “ it is a highly 
 creditable circumstance for the French nation. Are not 
 you of my opinion, M. de Bragelonne]” 
 
AT HAVRE. 
 
 331 
 
 “ To what circumstance do you allude 1 ” inquired 
 Bragelonne, with an abstracted air. 
 
 “ That the English should render homage to the beauty 
 of our queens and our princesses.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, but I have not been paying attention to 
 what has passed ; will you oblige me by explaining ? ” 
 
 “ There is no doubt it was necessary that Buckingham 
 the father should come to Paris, in order that his Majesty 
 King Louis XIII. should perceive that his wife was one 
 of the most beautiful women of the French Court ; and it 
 seems necessary, at the present time, that Buckingham 
 the son should consecrate, in his turn, by the devotion of 
 his worship, the beauty of a princess who has French 
 blood in her veins. It will henceforth confer a title of 
 beauty to have inspired love across the sea.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” replied Bragelonne, “ I do not like to 
 hear such matters treated so lightly. Gentlemen as we 
 are, we should be careful guardians of the honor of our 
 queens and our princesses. If we jest at them, what will 
 our servants do % ” 
 
 “Ah, Monsieur/’ said De Wardes, whose ears tingled 
 at the remark, “how am I to understand that'?” 
 
 “ In any way you choose, Monsieur,” replied Bragelonne, 
 coldly. 
 
 “ Bragelonne, Bragelonne ! ” murmured De Guiche. 
 
 “M. de Wardes ! ” exclaimed Manicamp, noticing that the 
 young man had spurred his horse close to the side of Raoul. 
 
 “Messieurs, Messieurs,” said De Guiche, “do not sec 
 such an example in public, in the street too. De Wardes, 
 you are wrong.” 
 
 “ Wrong ! in what way, may I ask you *1 ” 
 
 “ You are wrong, Monsieur, because you are always 
 speaking ill of some one or something ” replied Raoul, 
 with undisturbed composure. 
 
332 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Be indulgent, Raoul ! ” said De Guiche, in an undertone. 
 
 “ Pray do not think of fighting,” said Manicamp, “ before 
 you have rested yourselves ; for in that case you will not 
 be .able to do much.” 
 
 “ Come, come,” said De Guiche, “ forward, Messieurs ! ” 
 and breaking through the horses and attendants, he 
 cleared the way for himself through the crowd towards 
 the centre of the square, followed by the whole caval- 
 cade. A large gateway leading to a courtyard was open. 
 De Guiche entered this courtyard ; and Bragelonne, De 
 Wardes, Manicamp, and three or four other gentlemen 
 followed him. A sort of council of war was held, and the 
 means to be employed for saving the dignity of the em- 
 bassy were deliberated upon. Bragelonne was of opinion 
 that the right of priority should be respected, while De 
 Wardes suggested that the town should be sacked. This 
 latter proposition appeared to Manicamp somewhat rash, 
 he proposing instead that they should sleep on the matter. 
 This was the wisest thing to do ; but, unhappily, to follow 
 his advice, two things only were wanting, — namely, a 
 house and beds. 
 
 De Guiche considered for a while, and then said aloud, 
 “ Let him who loves me, follow me ! ” 
 
 “ The attendants also % ” inquired a page who had 
 approached the group. 
 
 “ Every one ! ” exclaimed the impetuous young man. 
 “ Manicamp, show us the way to the house destined for 
 her royal Highness’s residence.” 
 
 Without in any way divining the count’s project, his 
 friends followed him, accompanied by a crowd of people, 
 whose acclamations and delight seemed a happy omen for 
 the successof the still uncomprehended project which these 
 ardent young men were pursuing. The wind was blowing 
 stiffly from the harbor, and moaning in fitful gusts. 
 
AT SEA. 
 
 333 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 The following day was somewhat more calm, although 
 the wind still continued to blow. The sun had, however, 
 risen through a bank of reddened clouds, tingeing with its 
 crimson rays the crests of the black waves. Watch was 
 impatiently kept from the different look-outs. Towards 
 eleven o’clock in the morning a ship, with sails full set, 
 was signalled ; two others followed at the distance of 
 about half a knot. They approached like arrows shot 
 from the bow of a sturdy archer ; and yet the sea ran so 
 high that their speed took nothing from the rolling of the 
 billows in which the vessels were plunging first in one 
 direction and then in another. The English fleet was 
 soon recognized by the lines of the ships and by the 
 color of their pennants ; the one which had the princess 
 on board and carried the admiral’s flag preceded the 
 others. 
 
 The rumor now spread that the princess was arriving- 
 The entire French Court ran to the harbor, while the 
 quays and jetties were soon covered with crowds of 
 people. Two hours afterward, the other vessels had 
 overtaken the flag-ship ; and the three, not venturing 
 perhaps to enter the narrow entrance of the harbor, 
 cast anchor between Havre and La Heve. When this 
 manoeuvre had been accomplished, the vessel which bore 
 the admiral saluted France with twelve discharges of 
 cannon, which were returned, shot for shot, from Fort 
 Francis I. Immediately afterward a hundred boats were 
 
334 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 launched ; they were draped with the richest fabrics, 
 and were destined for the conveyance of the French 
 nobility to the vessels at anchor. But when it was ob- 
 served that even inside the harbor the boats were tossed 
 to and fro, and that beyond the jetty the waves rose 
 mountains high, dashing upon the strand with a terrible 
 uproar, it was easily seen that not one of those frail boats 
 would be able to make a fourth part of the distance be- 
 tween the shore and the vessels at anchor without being 
 swamped. A pilot-boat, however, notwithstanding the 
 wind and the sea, was getting ready to leave the harbor 
 to place itself at the disposal of the English admiral. 
 
 De Guiche, who had been looking among the different 
 boats for one stronger than the others, which might offer 
 a chance of reaching the English vessels, perceiving the 
 pilot-boat getting ready to start, said to Raoul : “ Do you 
 not think, Raoul, that intelligent and vigorous men like 
 us ought to be ashamed to retreat before the brute force 
 of wind and waves'?” 
 
 “ That is precisely the reflection I was silently making 
 to myself,” replied Bragelonne. 
 
 “ Shall we get into that boat, then, and push off] Will 
 you come, De Wardes] ” 
 
 “ Take care, or you will get drowned,” said Manicamp. 
 
 “And for no purpose,” said De Wardes ; “ for with the 
 wind dead against you, as it will be, you will never reach 
 the vessels.” 
 
 “ You decline, then ] ” 
 
 “ Assuredly I do. I would willingly risk and lose my 
 life in an encounter with men,” he said, glancing at 
 Bragelonne ; “ but as to fighting with oars against waves, 
 I have no taste for that.” 
 
 “ And for myself,” said Manicamp, “ even were I to 
 succeed in reaching the ships, I should not be indifferent 
 
AT SEA. 
 
 335 
 
 to the loss of the only good dress which I have left, — 
 since salt water would splash and spoil it.” 
 
 “ You, then, decline also ] ” exclaimed De Guiche. 
 
 “ Decidedly I do ; I beg you to understand that most 
 distinctly.” 
 
 “But,” exclaimed De Guiche, “look, De Wardes, — 
 look, Manicamp, look ! Yonder the princesses are gazing 
 at us from the poop of the admiral’s vessel.” 
 
 “ An additional reason, my dear fellow, why we should 
 not make ourselves ridiculous by taking a bath while they 
 are looking on.” 
 
 “Is that your last word, Manicamp] ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ And yours, De Wardes ] ” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Then I will go alone.” 
 
 “Not so,” said Baoul, “for I shall accompany youj I 
 thought that was understood.” 
 
 The fact is, that while Baoul, unimpassioned, had coolly 
 measured the risk to be run, and had seen how imminent 
 the danger was, he was yet willing to accept a peril from 
 which De Wardes had recoiled. 
 
 The boat was about to set off when De Guiche called 
 to the pilot. “ Holloa, the boat ! ” said he ; “ we want two 
 places;” and wrapping five or six pistoles in paper he 
 threw them from the quay into the boat. 
 
 “ It seems you are not afraid of salt water, young gen- 
 tlemen,” said the skipper. 
 
 “We are afraid of nothing,” answered De Guiche. 
 
 “ Come along, then ! ” 
 
 The pilot came alongside ; and the two young men, one 
 after the other, with equal agility jumped into the boat. 
 “ Courage, my men ! ” said De Guiche. “ There are twenty 
 pistoles left in this purse ; and as soon as we reach the 
 
336 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 admiral’s vessel they are yours.” The sailors bent them- 
 selves to their oars, and the boat bounded over the crest 
 of the waves. 
 
 The interest taken in this hazardous expedition was 
 universal ; the whole population of Havre crowded on the 
 jetties, and every look was directed towards the boat. At 
 one moment the frail craft remained suspended upon the 
 crest of the foaming waves, then suddenly glided down- 
 ward towards the bottom of a roaring abyss, where it 
 seemed utterly lost. Nevertheless, at the end of an hour’s 
 struggling with the waves, it reached the spot where the 
 admiral’s vessel was anchored, and from the side of which 
 two boats had already been despatched to their aid. 
 
 Upon the quarter-deck of the flag-ship, sheltered by a 
 canopy of velvet and ermine, which was suspended by 
 stout supports, Madame Henrietta, the queen-dowager, 
 and the young princess — with the admiral, the Duke 
 of Norfolk, standing beside them — watched with alarm 
 this slender boat, at one moment carried to the heavens, 
 and the next buried beneath the waves, against whose 
 dark sail the noble figures of the two French gentlemen 
 stood forth in relief like two luminous apparitions. The 
 crew, leaning against the bulwarks and clinging to the 
 shrouds, cheered the courage of the two daring young 
 men, the skill of the pilot, and the strength of the sailors. 
 They were received at the side of the vessel with a shout 
 of triumph. The Duke of Norfolk, a handsome young 
 man, from twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age, 
 advanced to meet them. De Guiche and Bragelonne 
 lightly mounted the ladder on the starboard side, and, 
 conducted by the Duke of Norfolk, approached to offer 
 their homage to the princesses. Respect, and yet more 
 a certain apprehension for which he could not account, 
 had hitherto restrained the Comte de Guiche from look- 
 
AT SEA. 
 
 337 
 
 in g at the young princess attentively, who however had 
 observed him immediately, and had asked her mother, 
 “ Is not that Monsieur in the boat yonder'?” Madame 
 Henrietta, who knew Monsieur better than her daughter 
 did, had smiled at the mistake her vanity had led her 
 into, and had answered, “ No ; it is only M. de Guiehe, his 
 favorite.” The princess, at this reply, had been obliged 
 to check an instinctive tenderness of feeling which the 
 courage displayed by the count had awakened. 
 
 At the very moment the princess had put this question 
 to her mother, De Guiehe had at last summoned courage 
 to raise hie eyes to her, and could compare the original 
 with the portrait he had so lately seen. No sooner had 
 he remarked her fair face, her eyes so full of animation, 
 her beautiful brown hair, her expressive lips, and that 
 gesture, so eminently royal, which seemed to thank and 
 to encourage him at one and the same time, than he was 
 for a moment so overcome with emotion that had it not 
 been for Raoul, on whose arm he leaned, he would have 
 tottered. His friend’s amazed look and the encouraging 
 gesture of the queen restored De Guiehe to his self- 
 possession. In a few words he explained his mission, told 
 how he had become the envoy of his royal Highness, and 
 saluted, according to their rank and the reception they 
 gave him, the admiral and the different English noblemen 
 who were grouped around the princesses. 
 
 Raoul was then presented, and was most graciously re- 
 ceived. The part that the Comte de la Fere had taken 
 in the restoration of King Charles II. was known to all ; 
 and, more than that, it was the count who had been 
 charged with the negotiation of the marriage by reason 
 of which the granddaughter of Henry IY. was now re- 
 turning to France. Raoul spoke English perfectly, and 
 constituted himself his friend’s interpreter with the young 
 vol. n. — 22 
 
338 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 English noblemen, who were indifferently acquainted with 
 the French language. 
 
 At this moment a young man came forward, of ex- 
 tremely handsome features, whose dress and arms were 
 remarkable for their rich magnificence. He approached 
 the princesses, who were engaged in conversation with the 
 Dukeof Norfolk, and in a voice which ill concealed his impa- 
 tience, said, “My ladies, it is now time to go ashore.” 
 
 The young princess rose from her seat at this invita- 
 tion, and was about to take the hand which the young- 
 nobleman had extended to her with an eagerness which 
 arose from a variety of motives, when the admiral ad- 
 vanced between them, observing: “A moment, if you 
 please, my Lord Buckingham. It is not possible for 
 ladies to disembark just now, the sea is too rough ; but 
 it is probable the wind may abate towards four o’clock, 
 and the landing will not be effected, therefore, until this 
 evening.” 
 
 “ Allow me, my Lord,” said Buckingham, with an irri- 
 tation of manner which he did not seek to disguise. “ You 
 detain these ladies, and you have no right to do so. One 
 of them, alas ! now belongs to France, and you perceive 
 that France claims them by the voice of her ambassa- 
 dors ; ” and at the same moment he indicated Baoul and 
 De Guiche, whom he saluted. 
 
 “ I cannot suppose that it enters into the intentions of 
 these gentlemen to expose the lives of the princesses,” 
 replied the admiral. 
 
 “ My Lord, these gentlemen arrived here safely, not- 
 withstanding the wind ; allow me to believe that the 
 danger will not be greater for these ladies when the wind 
 will be in their favor.” 
 
 “ These gentlemen are very courageous,” said the ad- 
 miral. “ You may have observed that there was on shore 
 
AT SEA. 
 
 ‘dod 
 
 a great number of persons who did not venture to ac- 
 company them. Moreover, the desire which they had to 
 pay their homage with the least possible delay to Madame 
 and her illustrious mother induced them to brave the sea, 
 which is very tempestuous to-day, even for sailors. These 
 gentlemen, however, whom I recommend as an example 
 for my officers to follow, can hardly be so for these ladies.” 
 
 Madame glanced at the Comte de Guiche, and per- 
 ceived that his face was burning with confusion. This 
 look had escaped Buckingham, who had eyes for nothing 
 but watching Norfolk, of whom he was evidently very 
 jealous, and seemed anxious to remove the princesses from 
 the deck of a vessel where the admiral reigned supreme. 
 
 “ In that case,” returned Buckingham, “I appeal to 
 Madame herself.” 
 
 “ And I, my Lord,” retorted the admiral, “ appeal to 
 my own conscience, and to my own sense of responsibility. 
 I have undertaken to convey Madame safe and sound to 
 France, and I shall keep my promise.” 
 
 “ Yet, sir — ” continued Buckingham. 
 
 “ My Lord, permit me to remind you that I alone com- 
 mand here.” 
 
 “Are you aware what you are saying, my Lord 1 ” 
 replied Buckingham, haughtily. 
 
 “ Perfectly so, and I repeat it. I alone command here : 
 all yield obedience to me ; the sea and the winds, the 
 ships and men too.” 
 
 This remark was made in a dignified and authoritative 
 manner. Raoul observed its effect upon Buckingham, 
 who trembled from head to foot, and leaned against one 
 of the poles of the canopy to prevent himself from fall- 
 ing ; his eyes became bloodshot, and the hand which he 
 did not need for his support wandered towards the hilt 
 of his sword. 
 
340 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “My Lord,” said the queen, “permit me to observe 
 that I agree in every particular with the advice of the 
 Duke of Norfolk ; even if the heavens, instead of being 
 clouded as they are at the present moment, were perfectly 
 serene and propitious, we could afford to bestow a few 
 hours upon the officer who has conducted us so success- 
 fully, and with such extreme attention, to the French 
 coast, where he is to take leave of us.” 
 
 Buckingham, instead of replying, seemed to seek coun- 
 sel from the expression of Madame’s face. She, however, 
 half concealed beneath the curtains of velvet and gold 
 which sheltered her, had not listened to the dispute, 
 having been occupied in watching the Comte de Guiche, 
 who was conversing with Baoul. This was a fresh blow 
 for Buckingham, who fancied he perceived in Madame 
 Henrietta’s look a deeper feeling than that of curiosity. 
 He withdrew, almost tottering in his gait, and nearly 
 stumbled against the mainmast. 
 
 “ The duke has not acquired a steady footing yet,” said 
 the queen-mother, in French ; “and that is doubtless his 
 reason for wishing to find himself on firm land again.” 
 The young man, overhearing this remark, turned sud- 
 denly pale, and letting his hands fall in great discourage- 
 ment by his side, retired, mingling in one sigh his old 
 affection and his new hatreds. The admiral, however^ 
 without taking any further notice of Buckingham’s ill- 
 humor, led the princesses into the quarter-deck cabin, 
 where dinner was served with a magnificence worthy in 
 every respect of his guests. The admiral seated himself 
 at the right hand of the princess, and placed the Comte 
 de Guiche on her left. This was the place Buckingham 
 usually occupied; and when he entered the cabin, how 
 profound was his unhappiness at seeing himself banished 
 by etiquette from the presence of the lady to whom he 
 
AT SEA. 
 
 341 
 
 
 owed respect, to a position inferior to that which by his 
 rank he was entitled to occupy. De Guiche, on the 
 other hand, paler still perhaps from happiness than his 
 rival was from anger, seated himself tremblingly next 
 the princess, whose silken robe, as it lightly touched 
 him, caused a tremor of inconceivable happiness to pass 
 through his whole frame. 
 
 The repast finished, Buckingham darted forward to 
 hand Madame Henrietta from the table ; but this time 
 it was De Guiche’s turn to give the duke a lesson. 
 “Have the goodness, my Lord/’ said he, “from this 
 moment not to interpose between her royal Highness 
 and myself. From this moment, indeed, her royal High- 
 ness belongs to France ; and when her royal Highness 
 honors me by touching my hand, it is the hand of his 
 royal Highness Monsieur, the brother of the King of 
 France, that she touches.” 
 
 And saying this, he presented his hand to Madame 
 Henrietta with such marked timidity, and at the same 
 time with a nobleness of mien so intrepid, that a murmur 
 of admiration rose from the English, while a groan of 
 despair escaped from Buckingham’s lips. 
 
 Baoul, who loved, comprehended it all. He fixed upon 
 his friend one of those profound looks which a friend or a 
 mother can alone extend, either as a protector or a guar- 
 dian, over the child or the friend about to stray from the 
 right path. 
 
 About two o’clock in the afternoon the sun shone forth, 
 the wind subsided, the sea became smooth as a crystal 
 mirror, and the fog which had shrouded the coast disap- 
 peared like a veil withdrawn from before it. The smil- 
 ing hills of France then appeared to the view, with their 
 numerous white houses rendered more conspicuous by the 
 bright green of the trees or the clear blue sky. 
 
342 
 
 THE V1C0MTE HE BKAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYII. 
 
 THE TENTS. 
 
 The admiral, as has been seen, had determined to pay no 
 further attention to Buckingham’s threatening glances 
 and fits of passion. In fact, from the moment they 
 left England he had gradually and quietly accustomed 
 himself to it. De Guiche had not yet in any way re- 
 marked the animosity which appeared to influence that 
 young nobleman against him, but he felt instinctively 
 that there could be no sympathy between himself and the 
 favorite of Charles II. The queen-mother, with greater 
 experience and calmer judgment, perceived the exact posi- 
 tion of affairs, and as she discerned its danger was pre- 
 pared to meet it whenever the proper moment should 
 arrive. That moment came. Quiet had been everywhere 
 restored, except in Buckingham’s heart, and he in his im- 
 patience addressed himself to the princess in a low voice : 
 u For heaven’s sake, Madame, I implore you to hasten 
 your disembarkation. Do you not perceive how that fop- 
 pish Duke of Norfolk is killing me with his attentions 
 and devotions to you 1 ” 
 
 Henrietta heard this remark. She smiled, and with- 
 out turning her head towards him, but giving only to the 
 tone of her voice that inflection of gentle reproach and 
 languid impertinence with which coquetry so well knows 
 how to give compliance while yet seeming to utter a pro- 
 hibition, she murmured, “ I have already told you, my 
 Lord, that you must have taken leave of your senses.” 
 
THE TENTS. 
 
 348 
 
 Not a single detail, we have already said, escaped 
 Raoul’s attention : he had heard both Buckingham’s en- 
 treaty and the princess’s reply ; he had observed Buck- 
 ingham draw back, had heard his deep sigh, and saw him 
 pass his hand across his face. He understood everything, 
 and trembled as* he reflected on the position of affairs, 
 and the state of the minds of those about him. At last 
 the admiral, with studied delay, gave the final directions 
 for the departure of the boats. Buckingham heard the 
 directions given with such an exhibition of delight that 
 a stranger would almost have imagined the young man’s 
 reason was affected. At the command of the Duke of 
 Norfolk, a large boat or barge, decked with flags and 
 capable of holding twenty rowers and fifteen passengers, 
 was slowly lowered from the side of the admiral’s vessel. 
 This truly royal barge was carpeted with velvet, and deco- 
 rated with coverings embroidered with the arms of Eng- 
 land and with garlands of flowers ; for at that time the 
 language of allegory was freely employed even on the 
 occasion of a political alliance. 
 
 No sooner was the barge afloat — the rowers, with oars 
 uplifted, awaiting, like soldiers presenting arms, the em- 
 barkation of the princess — than Buckingham ran forward 
 to the ladder to take his place in it. But the queen 
 stopped him. u My Lord,” she said, “it is hardly be- 
 coming that you should allow my daughter and myself 
 to land, without having previously ascertained that our 
 apartments are properly prepared. I beg your Lordship 
 to be good enough therefore to precede us to Havre, and 
 to make sure that everything is in proper order on our 
 arrival.” 
 
 This was a fresh disappointment for the duke, and still 
 more so since it was so unexpected. He stammered, 
 colored violently, but could not reply He had thought 
 
344 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 he might be able to keep near the princess during the 
 passage to the shore, and by this means to enjoy to the 
 very last moment the brief period which fortune still re- 
 served for him. The order, however, was explicit; and 
 the admiral, who heard it given, immediately called out, 
 “ Launch the ship’s gig!” The order w*as executed with 
 that celerity which distinguishes every manoeuvre on 
 board a man-of-war. 
 
 Buckingham, in utter hopelessness, cast a look of de- 
 spair at the princess, of supplication towards the queen, 
 and directed a glance full of anger towards the admiral. 
 The princess pretended not to notice him, while the 
 queen turned aside her head, and the admiral laughed 
 outright, at the sound of which Buckingham seemed 
 ready to spring upon him. 
 
 The queen- mother rose, and, with a tone of authority, 
 said, “ Pray, set off, sir ! ” 
 
 The young duke hesitated, looked around him, and 
 with a last effort, half choked by contending emotions, 
 said, “ And you, Messieurs, M. de Guiclie and M. de 
 Bragelonne, do not you accompany me ? ” 
 
 De Guiche bowed and said, “ Both M. de Bragelonne 
 and myself await her Majesty’s orders ; whatever may be 
 the commands she imposes on us, we shall obey them.” 
 Saying this, he looked towards the princess, who cast 
 down her eyes. 
 
 “ Your Grace will remember,” said the queen, “ that 
 M. de Guiche is here to represent Monsieur; it is he who 
 will do the honors of France, as you have done those of 
 England. His presence, then, cannot be dispensed with ; 
 besides, we owe him this slight favor for the courage he 
 displayed in venturing to seek us in such terrible weather.” 
 
 Buckingham opened his lips as if about to speak ; but 
 whether thoughts or expressions failed him, not a syllable 
 
TIIE TENTS. 
 
 345 
 
 escaped them ; and turning away, as though he were out 
 of his mind, he leaped from the vessel into the boat. 
 The sailors were just in time to catch hold of him and to 
 steady themselves, for his weight and the rebound had 
 almost upset the boat. 
 
 “Surely my Lord is mad,” said the admiral aloud to 
 Raoul. 
 
 “ I am uneasy on my Lord's account,” replied Bragelonne. 
 
 While the boat was moving towards the shore, the duke 
 kept his eyes immovably fixed upon the admiral’s ship, 
 like a miser torn away from his coffers, or like a mother 
 separated from her child, about to be led away to death. 
 No one, however, acknowledged his signals, his gesticula- 
 tions, or his pitiful gestures. In very anguish of mind 
 he sank down on a seat, burying his hands in his hair ; 
 while the boat, impelled by the exertions of the heedless 
 sailors, flew over the waves. On his arrival he was in 
 such a state of apathy that had he not been received at 
 the harbor by the messenger whom he had directed to 
 precede him as quartermaster, he would hardly have been 
 able to ask his way. Having once, however, reached the 
 house which had been set apart for him, he shut himself 
 up like Achilles in his tent. 
 
 The barge bearing the princesses quitted the admiral’s 
 vessel at the very moment Buckingham had landed. It 
 was followed by another boat, filled with officers, court- 
 iers, and zealous friends. The whole population of Havre, 
 having hastily embarked in fishing-boats or flat-boats or 
 long Norman pinnaces, set off*t.o meet the royal barge. 
 The cannon from the forts fired salutes, which were re- 
 turned by the flag-ship and the two other vessels, and 
 the clouds of flame from the belching mouths of the 
 cannon floated in white vapor over the waves, and then 
 disappeared in the azure of the sky. 
 
346 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 The princess landed at the steps of the quay. Bands 
 of gay music greeted her arrival, and accompanied every 
 step she took. While she was passing through the centre 
 of the town, and treading beneath her dainty feet the 
 richest carpets and the gaj r est flowers which had been 
 strewn upon the ground, De Guiche and Raoul, escaping 
 from their English friends, hastened rapidly through the 
 town and towards the place intended for the residence of 
 the princess. 
 
 “ Let us hurry forward,” said Raoul to De Guiche; ‘‘for 
 if I read Buckingham’s character aright, he will create 
 some disturbance when he learns the result of our 
 deliberations of yesterday.” 
 
 “ Never fear ! ” said the count. “ De Wardes is there, 
 w T ho is determination itself ; while Manicamp is the very 
 personification of gentleness.” 
 
 De Guiche was not, however, the less diligent on that 
 account, and five minutes afterward they were in sight of 
 the Hotel de Ville. The first thing w T hich struck them 
 was the number of persons assembled in front of the 
 square. “ Good ! ” said De Guiche ; “ our apartments, I 
 see, are prepared.” 
 
 In fact, in front of the Hotel de Ville, upon the wide 
 open space before it, eight of the most gorgeous tents had 
 been raised, surmounted by the flags of France and Eng- 
 land united. The hotel was surrounded by tents, as by 
 a girdle of variegated colors ; ten pages and a dozen 
 mounted troopers, who had been given to the ambassa- 
 dors for an escort, mounted guard before the tents. It 
 had a singularly curious effect, almost fairy-like in its 
 appearance. These improvised tents had been constructed 
 during the night-time. Fitted up, within and without, 
 with the richest materials that De Guiche had been able 
 to procure in Havre, they completely encircled the Hotel 
 
THE TENTS. 
 
 347 
 
 de Yille, — that is to say, the abode of the princess. They 
 were joined one to another by silken ropes, guarded by 
 sentinels; so that Buckingham’s plans were completely 
 subverted, if those plans had really been to reserve for 
 himself and his Englishmen the approaches to the Hotel 
 de Yille. The only passage which gave access to the 
 steps of the hotel, and which was not closed by this 
 silken barricade, was guarded by two tents, resembling 
 two pavilions, the doorways of both of which opened on 
 this entrance. These two tents were destined for De 
 Guiche and Raoul; in whose absence they were always 
 to be occupied, that of De Guiche by De Wardes, and 
 that of Raoul by Manicamp. Around these two tents, 
 and the six others, a hundred officers, gentlemen, and 
 pages, dazzling in their display of silk and gold, thronged 
 like bees around a hive. Every one of them, their swords 
 by their sides, was ready to obey the slightest sign either 
 of De Guiche or Bragelonne, the leaders of the embassy. 
 
 At the very moment when the two young men ap- 
 peared at the end of one of the streets leading to the 
 square, they perceived crossing the square, at full gal- 
 lop, a young man on horseback, whose costume was of 
 surprising richness. He pushed hastily through the 
 crowd of curious lookers-on, and at the sight of these 
 unexpected erections uttered a cry of anger and dismay. 
 It was Buckingham, who had awakened from his stupor, 
 in order to adorn himself with a resplendent costume, 
 and to await the arrival of the princess and the queen- 
 mother at the Hotel de Yille. At the entrance to the 
 tents the soldier barred his passage, and his further 
 progress was arrested. Buckingham, completely infu- 
 riated, raised his whip ; but his arm was seized by two 
 of the officers. Of the two guardians of the tent, only 
 one was there. De Wardes was inside the Hotel de Yille. 
 
348 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 engaged in attending to the execution of some orders 
 given by De Guiche. At the noise made by Bucking- 
 ham, Manicamp, who was indolently reclining upon the 
 cushions at the doorway of one of the two tents, rose with 
 his usual indifference, and perceiving that the disturbance 
 continued, made his appearance from underneath the cur- 
 tains. “ What is the matter,” he said, in a gentle tone 
 of voice, “ and who is it making this disturbance 1 ” 
 
 It so happened that at the moment he began to speak 
 silence had just been restored, and although his voice 
 was very soft and gentle in its tone, every one heard 
 his question. Buckingham turned round, and looked 
 at the tall, thin figure and the listless countenance 
 of his questioner. Probably the personal appearance of 
 Manicamp, who was moreover dressed very plainly as we 
 have said, did not inspire him with much respect, for he 
 replied disdainfully, “Who may you be, Monsieur ? ” 
 Manicamp, leaning on the arm of a gigantic trooper, as 
 firm as the pillar of a cathedral, replied in the same tran- 
 quil tone, “And you, Monsieur 
 
 “ I am his Grace the Duke of Buckingham. I have 
 hired all the houses which surround the Hotel de Ville, 
 where my business is ; and as these houses are let, they 
 belong to me ; and as I hired them in order to preserve 
 the right of free access to the Hotel de Ville, you have no 
 right to prevent my passage.” 
 
 “But who prevents you from passing, Monsieur?” 
 inquired Manicamp. 
 
 “Your sentinels.” 
 
 “Because you wish to pass on horseback, Monsieur, 
 and orders- have been given to let only persons pass on 
 foot.” 
 
 “ No one has any right to give orders here, except my- 
 self,” said Buckingham. 
 
THE TENTS, 
 
 349 
 
 “How so, Monsieur V 1 inquired Manicamp, with his 
 soft voice ; “ will you do me the favor to explain this 
 enigma to me ^ ” 
 
 “ Because, as I have told you, I have hired all the 
 houses looking on the square.” 
 
 “ We are very well aware of that, since nothing but the 
 square itself has been left for 118.” 
 
 “You are mistaken, Monsieur; the square belongs to 
 me, as well as the houses in it.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, Monsieur, but you are mistaken there. 
 In our country, we say, The highway belongs to the king ; 
 therefore this square is his Majesty’s ; and consequently, 
 as we are the king’s ambassadors, the square belongs to 
 us.” 
 
 “ I have already asked you who you are, Monsieur,” 
 exclaimed Buckingham, exasperated at the coolness of his 
 interlocutor. 
 
 “ My name is Manicamp,” replied the young man, in a 
 voice whose tones were as harmonious and sweet as the 
 notes of an iEolian harp. 
 
 Buckingham shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, 
 and said, “ When I hired these houses which surround 
 the Hotel de Ville, the square was unoccupied. These 
 barracks obstruct my sight ; let them be removed ! ” 
 
 A hoarse and angry murmur passed through the crowd 
 of listeners at these words. De Guiche arrived at this 
 moment ; he pushed through the crowd which separated 
 him from Buckingham, and followed by Baoul arrived 
 on the scene of action from one side, just as De Wardes 
 arrived from the other. “ Pardon me, my Lord,” said he ; 
 “but if you have any complaint to make, have the good- 
 ness to address it to me, inasmuch as it was I who sup- 
 plied the plans for the construction of these tents.” 
 “Moreover, I would beg you to observe, Monsieur, 
 
350 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 that the term * barrack ’ is objected to,” added Manicamp, 
 graciously. 
 
 “ You were saying, Monsieur — ” continued De Guiche, 
 
 “ I was saying, Monsieur the Count,” resumed Buck- 
 ingham, in a tone of anger still perceptible, although in 
 some measure moderated by the presence of an equal, “ I 
 was saying that it is impossible for these tents to remain 
 where they are.” 
 
 “ Impossible ! ” exclaimed De Guiche, “ and for what 
 reason ? ” 
 
 “Because they annoy me.” 
 
 A movement of impatience escaped De Guiche, but a 
 warning glance from Baoul restrained him. 
 
 “You should the less object to them, Monsieur, on ac- 
 count of the abuse of priority you have permitted yourself 
 to exercise.” 
 
 “ Abuse ! ” 
 
 “ Most assuredly. You commission a messenger, who 
 hires in your name the whole of the town of Havre, with- 
 out considering the members of the French Court who 
 would be sure to arrive here to meet Madame. Your 
 Grace will admit that this is hardly friendly conduct in 
 the representative of a friendly nation.” 
 
 “ The right of possession belongs to him who is first on 
 the spot.” 
 
 “Not in France, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Why not in France? ” 
 
 “Because France is a country where politeness is 
 observed.” 
 
 “ Which means — ” exclaimed Buckingham, in so vio- 
 lent a manner that those who were present drew back, 
 expecting an immediate collision. 
 
 “ Which means, Monsieur,” answered De Guiche, turn- 
 ing pale, “ that I have caused these tents to be raised as 
 
THE TENTS. 
 
 351 
 
 habitations for myself and my friends, as a shelter for the 
 ambasssadors of France, as the only place of refuge which 
 your unreasonableness has left us in the town ; and that 
 I and those who are with me shall remain in them, at 
 least until a force more powerful and more authoritative 
 than your own shall dismiss me from them.” 
 
 “ In other words, until we are overruled, as the lawyers 
 say,” observed Manicamp, blandly. 
 
 “ I know an authority, Monsieur, which I trust will be 
 such as you wish for,” said Buckingham, placing his hand 
 on the hilt of his sword. 
 
 At this moment, and as the goddess of Discord, inflam- 
 ing the minds of all, was about to direct their swords 
 against one another, Baoul gently placed his hand on 
 Buckingham’s shoulder. “ One word, my Lord ! ” he said. 
 
 “ My right, my right, first of all ! ” exclaimed the fiery 
 young man. 
 
 “ It is precisely upon that point I wish to have the 
 honor of addressing a word to you,” said Raoul. 
 
 “ Very well, Monsieur, but let your remarks be brief.” 
 
 “ One question is all I would ask ; you can hardly 
 expect me to be briefer.” 
 
 ‘‘Speak ! I am listening.” 
 
 “Are you, or is the Duke of Orleans, going to marry 
 the granddaughter of Henry IV. ? ” 
 
 “What do you mean?” exclaimed Buckingham, re- 
 treating a few steps, quite bewildered. 
 
 “ Have the goodness to answer me,” persisted Raoul, 
 calmly. « 
 
 “ Do you mean to ridicule me, Monsieur ? ” demanded 
 Buckingham. 
 
 “ Your question is a sufficient answer for me. You 
 admit, then, that it is not you who are going to marry the 
 princess.” 
 
352 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “You know it perfectly well, Monsieur, I should 
 imagine.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, but your conduct has been such 
 as to leave it not altogether certain.” 
 
 “ Proceed, Monsieur ; what do you mean to intimate ? ” 
 Raoul approached the duke. “ Are you aware, my 
 Lord,” he said, lowering his voice, “ that your extrava- 
 gances very much resemble the excesses of jealousy ? 
 These jealous fits with respect to any woman are not 
 becoming in one who is neither her lover nor her hus- 
 band ; and I am sure you will admit that my remark 
 applies with still greater force when the lady in question 
 is a princess of royal blood.” 
 
 “Monsieur,” exclaimed Buckingham, “do you mean 
 to insult Madame Henrietta'?” 
 
 “ Be careful, my Lord,” replied Bragelonne, coldly, “ for 
 it is you who insult her. A little while since, when on 
 board the admiral’s ship, you annoyed the queen, and 
 exhausted the admiral’s patience. I was observing you, 
 my Lord ; and at first I concluded you were not in pos- 
 session of your senses, but I have since surmised the real 
 character of your madness.” 
 
 “ Monsieur ! ” exclaimed Buckingham. 
 
 “ One moment more, for I have yet another word to 
 add. I trust I am the only one of my companions who 
 has guessed it.” 
 
 “ Are you aware, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, trem- 
 bling with mingled feelings of anger and uneasiness, — 
 “ are you aware that you are using language towards me 
 which requires to be checked % ” 
 
 “ Weigh your words well, my Lord ! ” said Raoul, haugh- 
 tily. “My nature is not such that its outbursts need 
 checking; while you, on the contrary, are descended 
 from a race whose passions are suspected by all true 
 
THE TENTS. 
 
 353 
 
 Frenchmen. T repeat, therefore, for the second time, be 
 careful 1 ” 
 
 “ Careful of what, may I ask 1 Do you presume to 
 threaten me?” 
 
 “ I am the son of the Comte de la Fere, my Lord 
 Buckingham, and I never threaten, because I strike first. 
 Therefore, understand me well, the threat that I hold out 
 to you is this — ” 
 
 Buckingham clenched his hands ; but Baoul continued, 
 as though he had not observed the movement : “ At the 
 very first word beyond the respect and deference due to 
 her royal Highness, which you permit yourself to use 
 towards her — Oh, be patient, M. de Buckingham! I 
 am.” 
 
 “You?” 
 
 “ Certainly. So long as her royal Highness remained 
 under the care of her English escort, I held my peace ; 
 but from the very moment she stepped on French ground, 
 and now that we have received her in the name of the 
 prince, I warn you that at the first mark of disrespect 
 which you in your insane attachment may exhibit 
 towards the royal house of France, I shall have one of 
 two courses to follow : either to declare in the presence 
 of every one the madness with which you are now af- 
 fected, and get you ignominiously dismissed to England ; 
 or, if you prefer it, to run my dagger through your throat 
 before the whole court. This second alternative seems 
 to me the more convenient, and I think I shall hold to it.” 
 
 Buckingham had become paler than the profusion of 
 English lace around his neck. “ M. de Bragelonne,” he 
 said, “ is it, indeed, a gentleman who is speaking to me % ” 
 
 “ Yes ; only the gentleman is speaking to a madman. 
 Get cured, my Lord, and he will hold quite another 
 language to you.” 
 vol. it. — 23 
 
354 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ But, M. de Bragelonne,” murmured the duke, in a 
 voice half choked, and putting his hand to his neck, 
 “ do you not see I am dying 
 
 “If your death were to take place at this moment, 
 my Lord,” replied Raoul, with unruffled composure, “I 
 should indeed regard it as a great happiness, for this 
 circumstance would prevent all kinds of evil remarks, 
 not alone about yourself, but also about those illustri- 
 ous persons whom your devotion is compromising in so 
 absurd a manner.” 
 
 “You are right, you are right,” said the young man, 
 beside himself. “ Yes, yes ; better to die than to suffer as 
 I do at this moment ! ” and he grasped a beautiful dag- 
 ger, the handle of which was inlaid with precious stones, 
 and which he half drew from his breast. 
 
 Raoul thrust the duke’s hand aside. “Be careful what 
 you do ! ” he said. “ If you do not kill yourself, you 
 commit a ridiculous action ; and if you do kill yourself, 
 you sprinkle blood upon the nuptial robe of the princess 
 of England.” 
 
 Buckingham for a minute gasped for breath ; during 
 this interval his lips quivered, his features worked con- 
 vulsively, and his eyes wandered, as though in delirium. 
 Then suddenly, “ M. de Bragelonne,” he said, “I know 
 nowhere a nobler mind than yours ; you are the worthy 
 son of the most perfect gentleman that ever lived. Keep 
 your tents ! ” and he threw his arms round Raoul’s neck. 
 
 All who were present, astounded at this conduct, — 
 which was such as they could hardly have expected, con- 
 sidering the violence of the one adversary and the de- 
 termination of the other, — began immediately to clap 
 their hands, and a thousand cheers and joyful shouts arose 
 from all sides. De Quiche, in his turn, embraced Buck- 
 ingham, somewhat against his inclination ; but, at all 
 
THE TENTS. 
 
 355 
 
 events, he did embrace him. This was the signal for 
 French and English to do the same ; and they who until 
 that moment had looked at each other with restless un- 
 certainty, fraternized on the spot. In the mean time 
 arrived the retinue of the princess, who but for Brage- 
 lonne would have found two armies in conflict and blood 
 upon the flowers. All was quiet when the head of the 
 procession appeared. 
 
356 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Concord had returned to resume its place amid the 
 tents. English and French rivalled one another in their 
 devotion and courteous attention to the illustrious trav- 
 ellers, and in politeness to one another. The English 
 sent to the French baskets of flowers, of which they had 
 made a plentiful provision to celebrate the arrival of the 
 young princess; the French, in return, invited the Eng- 
 lish to a supper which was to be given the next day. 
 Congratulations were poured in upon the princess every- 
 where during her journey. From the respect paid her on 
 all sides, she seemed like a queen ; and from the adora- 
 tion of a few, she seemed like a goddess. The queen- 
 mother gave the French the most affectionate reception. 
 France was her native country, and she had suffered too 
 much unhappiness in England to have made her forget 
 France. She taught her daughter, then, by her own 
 affection for it, to love a country where they had both 
 been hospitably received, and where a brilliant future was 
 opening before them. 
 
 After the public entry was over, and the spectators 
 in the streets had somewhat dispersed, and the sound 
 of the music and the cheering of the crowd could be 
 heard no more; when the night had closed in, wrap- 
 ping with its star-covered mantle the sea, the harbor, 
 the town, and the surrounding country, still excited by 
 the great event of the day, De Guiche returned to his 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 357 
 
 tent, and seated himself upon one of the stools with so 
 profound an expression of distress that Bragelonne kept 
 his eyes fixed on him until he heard him sigh, and then 
 he approached him. The count had thrown himself back 
 on his seat, leaning his shoulders against the wall of the 
 tent, and remained thus, with his face buried in his hands 
 and with heaving chest and restless limbs. 
 
 “You are suffering'?” asked Raoul. 
 
 “Cruelly.” 
 
 “ Bodily, I suppose ? ” 
 
 “Yes; bodily.” 
 
 “This has indeed been a harassing day,” continued the 
 young man, his eyes fixed upon his friend. 
 
 “ Yes ; a night’s rest will restore me.” 
 
 “ Shall I leave you ? ” 
 
 “ No ; I wish to talk to you.” 
 
 “ You shall not speak to me, De Guiche, until you 
 have first answered my questions.” 
 
 “ Proceed then.” 
 
 “ You will be frank with me ? ” 
 
 “As I always am.” 
 
 “ Can you imagine why Buckingham has been so 
 violent % ” 
 
 “ I suspect why.” 
 
 “ Because he is in love with the princess, is it not ? ” 
 
 “ One could almost swear it, to see him.” 
 
 “ You are mistaken ; it is nothing of the kind.” 
 
 “It is you who are mistaken, Raoul. I have read his 
 distress in his eyes, in his every gesture and action, the 
 whole day.” 
 
 “You are a poet, my dear count, and find subjects for 
 your muse everywhere.” 
 
 “ I can perceive love clearly enough.” 
 
 “Where it does not exist.” 
 
358 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Nay, where it does exist.” 
 
 “ Do you not think you are deceiving yourself, De 
 Guiche 
 
 “ I am convinced of what I say,” said the count. 
 
 “ Now inform me, Count,” asked Raoul, fixing a pene- 
 trating look upon him, “ what has happened to render 
 you so clear-sighted 1 ” 
 
 Guiche hesitated for a moment, and then answered, 
 ‘ c Self-love, I suppose.” 
 
 “ Self-love is a very long word, De Guiche.” 
 
 “ What do you mean ? ” 
 
 “I mean that generally you are less out of spirits 
 than seems to be the case this evening.” 
 
 “ I am fatigued.” 
 
 “ Listen to me, dear friend ! We have been campaigners 
 together ; we have been on horseback for eighteen hours 
 at a time, and our horses even, dying from sheer exhaus- 
 tion or hunger, have fallen beneath us, and yet w r e have 
 laughed at our mishaps. Believe me, it is not fatigue 
 which saddens you to-night.” 
 
 “ It is annoyance, then.” 
 
 “ What annoyance 1 ” 
 
 “ That of this evening.” 
 
 “The mad conduct of the Duke of Buckingham, do 
 you mean ? ” 
 
 “ Of course. Is it not vexatious for us, the represen- 
 tatives of our sovereign master, to see an Englishman 
 wooing our future mistress, the second lady in the 
 kingdom ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, you ’re right ; but I do not think any danger is 
 to be apprehended from Buckingham.” 
 
 “ No , still, he is intrusive. Did he not, on his arrival 
 here, almost succeed in creating a disturbance between 
 the English and ourselves? And had it not been fo v you, 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 359 
 
 for your admirable prudence, for your singular firmness, 
 swords would have been drawn in the very streets of the 
 town.” 
 
 “ You observe, however, that he has changed.” 
 
 “Yes, certainly; but it is that which amazes me so 
 much. You spoke to him in a low tone of voice. What 
 did you say to him] You think he loves her; you admit 
 that such a passion does not give way readily. He does 
 not love her, then ! ” De Guiche pronounced the last 
 words with so marked an expression that Raoul raised 
 his head. The noble countenance of the young man ex- 
 pressed a displeasure easy to read. 
 
 “ What I said to him, Count,” replied Raoul, “I will 
 repeat to you. Listen to me ! I said, ‘ Monsieur, you are 
 regarding with wistful feelings and with most injurious 
 desire the sister of your prince, — her to whom you are 
 not affianced, who is not, who can never be, anything to 
 you ; you are outraging those who, like ourselves, have 
 come to seek a young girl to lead her to her husband.’ ” 
 “ You spoke to him in that manner ] ” asked De Guiche, 
 coloring. 
 
 “ In those very terms. I even added more : ‘ How 
 would you regard us/ I said, ‘ if you were to perceive 
 among us a man mad enough, disloyal enough, to enter- 
 tain sentiments other than those of the purest respect 
 for a princess who is the destined wife of our master]’ ” 
 These words were so applicable to De Guiche that he 
 turned pale, and, overcome by a sudden agitation, was 
 barely able to stretch out one hand mechanically towards 
 Raoul, while with the other he covered his eyes and face. 
 
 “ But,” continued Raoul, not interrupted by this dem- 
 onstration of his friend, “ Heaven be praised, the French, 
 who are pronounced to be thoughtless and indiscreet, 
 reckless even, are capable of bringing a calm and sound 
 
S60 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 judgment, to bear on matters of such high importance. 
 I added even more : ‘ Learn, my Lord Buckingham, that 
 we gentlemen of France serve our kings by sacrificing 
 for them our passions as well as our fortunes and our 
 lives; and whenever it may chance to happen that the 
 tempter suggests one of those vile thoughts which set the 
 heart on fire, we extinguish that flame, even though it 
 be quenched with our blood. Thus we save the honor 
 of three at once, — our country’s, our master’s, and our own. 
 It is thus that we act, your Grace ; it is thus that every 
 man of honor ought to act.’ And that is the way, my 
 dear Guiche,” continued Raoul, “ in which I addressed 
 the Duke of Buckingham ; and he submitted unresistingly 
 to my arguments.” 
 
 De Guiche, who had hitherto sat leaning forward while 
 Raoul was speaking, drew himself up, his eyes glancing 
 proudly. He seized Raoul’s hand with his own feverish 
 one ; his cheeks, which had been as cold as ice, seemed on 
 fire. “ And you spoke right well,” he said, in a voice half 
 choked ; “ you are indeed a brave friend, Raoul. I thank 
 you. And now, I entreat you, leave me to myself.” 
 
 “ Do you wish it V 9 
 
 “ Yes ; I need repose. Many things have unsettled 
 me to-day both in mind and body ; when you return to- 
 morrow I shall no longer be the same man.” 
 
 “ I leave you, then,” said Raoul, and withdrew. 
 
 The count advanced a step towards his friend, and 
 clasped him warmly in his arms ; but in this friendly 
 pressure Raoul could detect the nervous agitation of a 
 great internal conflict. 
 
 The night was clear, starlit, and splendid ; after the 
 tempest the warmth of the sun had restored life, peace, 
 and security everywhere. A few light fleecy clouds were 
 floating in the heavens, and promised by their appearance 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 361 
 
 many days of beautiful weather, tempered by a gentle 
 breeze from the east. Upon the large square in front 
 of the hotel, the large shadows of the tents, intersected 
 by the brilliant moonbeams, formed as it were a huge 
 mosaic on the black and white flagstones. Soon the 
 whole town was wrapped in slumber. A feeble light still 
 glimmered in the princess’s apartment, which looked out 
 upon the square ; and the soft rays from the expiring 
 lamp seemed to resemble the calm sleep of a young girl, 
 hardly yet sensible of existence, and in whom the flame 
 of life sinks down as sleep steals over the body. 
 
 Bragelonne left the tent with the slow and measured 
 step of a man curious to observe, but anxious not to be 
 seen. Then, sheltered behind the thick curtains of his 
 own tent, and embracing with a glance the whole square, 
 he noticed that after a few moments the curtains of De 
 Guiche’s tent were agitated, and then drawn partially aside. 
 Behind them he could perceive the shadow of De Guiche 3 
 his eyes, glistening in the obscurity, were fastened ar- 
 dently upon the princess’s drawing-room, which was par- 
 tially lighted by the lamp in the inner room. That soft 
 light wTiich illumined the windows was the count’s star. 
 The fervent aspirations of his whole soul could be read in 
 his eyes. Baoul, concealed in the shadow, divined the 
 many passionate thoughts which established between 
 the tent of the young ambassador and the balcony of the 
 princess a mysterious and magical bond of sympathy, — 
 a bond created by thoughts intensified by so much 
 strength and persistence of will, that they must have 
 caused dreams of love to descend upon the perfumed 
 couch which the count with the eyes of his soul devoured 
 so eagerly. 
 
 But De Guiche and Baoul w T ere not the only watchers. 
 The window of one of the houses looking on the square 
 
362 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 was open too, — the window of the house where Buck- 
 ingham resided. By the aid of the rays of light which 
 issued from this latter window, the profile of the duke 
 could be distinctly seen, as he indolently reclined upon 
 the carved balcony with its velvet hangings; he also was 
 breathing in the direction of the princess’s balcony his 
 devotion and the wild longing of his love. 
 
 Bragelonne could not resist smiling as, thinking of the 
 princess, he said to himself, “ Hers is indeed a heart well 
 besieged ; ” and then added compassionately, his thoughts 
 reverting to Monsieur, “ and he is a husband well threat- 
 ened too. It is a good thing for him that he is a prince 
 of such high rank, and that he has an army to guard that 
 which is his own.” Bragelonne watched for some time 
 the conduct of the two lovers ; listened to the sonorous 
 breathing of Manicamp, who snored as imperiously as 
 though he had his blue and gold instead of his violet 
 suit, and then turned towards the night breeze which 
 bore to him the distant song of a nightingale ; then, after 
 having laid in a due provision of melancholy, another 
 nocturnal malady, he retired to rest, thinking, with regard 
 to his own love affair, that perhaps four or six eyes quite 
 as ardent as those of De Guiche and Buckingham were 
 coveting his own idol in the chateau at Blois. “ And 
 Mademoiselle de Montalais is by no means a very safe 
 guardian,” said he to himself, as he sighed aloud. 
 
FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 363 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 The next day the fetes took place, with all the pomp and 
 animation which the resources of the town and the natu- 
 ral disposition of men’s minds could supply. During the 
 last few hours spent in Havre every preparation for the 
 departure had been made. After the princess had taken 
 leave of the English fleet and for the last time had saluted 
 the country in saluting its flag, she entered her carriage 
 surrounded by a brilliant escort. De Guiche had hoped 
 that the Duke of Buckingham would return with the 
 admiral to England ; but Buckingham succeeded in de- 
 monstrating to the queen that there would be great im- 
 propriety in allowing the princess to proceed to Paris 
 almost entirely alone. As soon as it had been settled 
 that Buckingham was to accompany the princess, the 
 young duke selected a court of gentlemen and officers to 
 form his own suite ; so that it was almost an army which 
 proceeded towards Paris, scattering gold, and exciting 
 the liveliest demonstrations as they passed through the 
 different towns and villages on the route. 
 
 The weather was very fine. France is a beautiful 
 country, especially along the route by which the proces- 
 sion passed. Spring cast its flowers and its balmy foliage 
 upon their path. Normandy, with its vast variety of 
 vegetation, its blue skies and silver rivers, displayed itself 
 in all the loveliness of a Paradise for the new sister of the 
 
364 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 king. Fetes and manifestations of delight greeted them 
 everywhere along the line of march. De Guiche and 
 Buckingham forgot everything, — De Guiche in his anx- 
 iety to prevent any fresh attempts on the part of the 
 Englishman, and Buckingham in his desire to awaken in 
 the heart of the princess a softer remembrance of the 
 country to which the recollection of many happy days 
 were attached. But, alas ! the poor duke could perceive 
 that the image of his dear England became from day to 
 day more and more effaced in the princess’s mind, in pro- 
 portion as her affection for France became more deeply 
 engraved on her heart. In fact, it was not difficult to 
 perceive that his most devoted attention awakened no 
 acknowledgment, and that the grace with which he rode 
 one of his most fiery Yorkshire horses was thrown away ; 
 for it was only casually and by the merest accident that 
 the princess’s eyes were turned towards him. In vain 
 did he try, in order to fix upon himself one of those 
 looks roving carelessly around or bestowed elsewhere, to 
 produce from the animal he rode its greatest display of 
 strength, speed, temper, and address ; in vain did he, by 
 exciting his horse almost to madness, spur him, at the 
 risk of dashing himself in pieces against the trees or of 
 rolling in the ditches, over gates and barriers, or down 
 the steep declivities of the hills. The princess, whose 
 attention had been aroused by the noise, turned her 
 head for a moment to observe the cause of it, and then, 
 slightly smiling, again turned to her faithful guardians, 
 Raoul and De Guiche, who were quietly riding at her 
 carriage doors. 
 
 Then Buckingham felt himself a prey to all the tortures 
 of jealousy ; an unknown, unheard-of burning anguish 
 glided into his veins, and laid siege to his heart. And 
 then, as if to show that he knew the folly of his conduct, 
 
FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 365 
 
 and that he wished to redeem by the humblest submis- 
 sion his flights of absurdity, he mastered his horse, and 
 compelled him, reeking with sweat and flecked with foam, 
 to champ his bit close beside the carriage, amid the crowd 
 of courtiers. Occasionally he obtained a word from the 
 princess as a recompense, and yet this word seemed almost 
 a reproach to him. “ That is well, my Lord Buckingham,” 
 she said ; “ now you are reasonable.” Or a word from 
 Kaoul : “Your Grace is killing your horse.” 
 
 Buckingham listened patiently to Raoul ; for he in- 
 stinctively felt, without having had any proof that such 
 was the case, that Raoul checked the display of De 
 Quiche’s feelings, and that, had it not been for Raoul, 
 some mad act or proceeding, either of the count or of 
 Buckingham himself, would have brought about an open 
 rupture or a disturbance and perhaps banishment. From 
 the moment of that notable conversation which the two 
 young men had had in front of the tents at Havre, when 
 Raoul had made the duke perceive the impropriety of his 
 conduct, Buckingham had felt himself attracted towards 
 Raoul almost in spite of himself. He often entered into 
 conversation with him ; and it was nearly always to talk 
 to him either of his father or of D’Artagnan, their com- 
 mon friend, in whose praise Buckingham was almost 
 as enthusiastic as Raoul. Raoul endeavored, as much 
 as possible, to make the conversation turn upon this 
 subject in De Wardes’ presence, who had during the 
 whole journey felt hurt at the superior position taken 
 by Bragelonne, and especially by his influence over 
 De Guiche. 
 
 De Wardes had that keen and observant penetration 
 which all evil natures possess; he had immediately re- 
 marked De Guiche’s melancholy, and the nature of his 
 regard for the princess. Instead, however, of treating 
 
366 
 
 THE VICOMTE 1)E BRAGELONNE. 
 
 the subject with the same reserve which Baoul had 
 practised, instead of regarding with proper respect the 
 obligations and duties of society, De Wardes resolutely 
 attacked in the count that ever-sounding chord of juve- 
 nile audacity and egotistical pride. It happened one 
 evening, during a halt at Mantes, that while De Guiche 
 and De Wardes w r ere leaning against a barrier, engaged 
 in conversation, Buckingham and Baoul were also talking 
 together as they walked up and down. Manicamp was 
 engaged in devoted attentions to the princesses, who 
 already treated him without any reserve, on account of 
 his pliant nature, his frank courtesy of manner, and his 
 conciliatory disposition. 
 
 “ Confess,” said De Wardes to the count, “ that you are 
 really ill, and that your pedagogue has not succeeded in 
 curing you.” 
 
 “ I do not understand you,” said the count. 
 
 “ And yet it is easy enough ; you are dying of love.” 
 
 “You are mad, De Wardes.” 
 
 “ Madness it would be, I admit, if the princess were 
 really indifferent to your suffering; but she takes so 
 much notice of it that she compromises herself, and I 
 tremble lest, on our arrival at Paris, your pedagogue, 
 M. de Bragelonne, may denounce both of you.” 
 
 “ For shame, De Wardes, again attacking Bragelonne ! ” 
 
 “ Come, come, a truce to child’s play ! ” replied the 
 count’s evil genius, in an undertone; “you know, as well 
 as I do, what I mean. Besides, you must have observed 
 how the princess’s glance softens as she speaks to you ; 
 you can tell, by the very inflection of her voice, what 
 pleasure she takes in listening to you, and can feel how 
 thoroughly she appreciates the verses you recite to her. 
 You cannot deny, too, that every morning she tells you 
 how indifferently she slept the previous night.” 
 
FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 367 
 
 “True, De Wardes, quite true; but what good is there 
 in your telling me all that h ” 
 
 “ Is it not important to see things clearly h” 
 
 “ No, no ; not when the things I see are enough to 
 drive one mad ; ” and he turned uneasily in the direction 
 of the princess, as if, while repelling the insinuations of 
 De Wardes, he wished to find confirmation of them in her 
 eyes. 
 
 “ Stay, stay ! ” said De Wardes ; “ look ! she calls you ; 
 do you understand ? Profit by the occasion ; the peda- 
 gogue is not here.” 
 
 De Guiche could not resist; an invincible attraction 
 drew him towards the princess. De Wardes smiled as 
 he saw him withdraw. 
 
 “You are mistaken, Monsieur,” said Raoul, suddenly 
 leaping over the barrier against which, the previous 
 moment, the two friends had been leaning ; “ the peda- 
 gogue is here, and has overheard you.” 
 
 De Wardes, at the sound of RaouPs voice, which he 
 recognized without having occasion to look at him, half 
 drew his sword. 
 
 “ Put up your sword,” said Raoul ; “ you know perfectly 
 well that until our journey is at an end every demon- 
 stration of that nature is useless. Sheath your sword, 
 but likewise sheath your tongue. Why do you distil into 
 the heart of the man you term your friend all the bitter- 
 ness which infects your own ] Toward myself you wish 
 to arouse a feeling of hatred in a man of honor, — my 
 father’s friend and my own ; and as for the count, you 
 wish him to love one who is destined for your master. 
 Really, Monsieur, I should regard you as a coward, and 
 a traitor too, if I did not with greater justice regard you 
 as a madman.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” exclaimed De Wardes, exasperated, “ I was 
 
368 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 not mistaken, I find, in terming you a pedagogue ; the 
 tone you assume, and the style which is peculiarly your 
 own, is that of a Jesuit flogger, and not of a gentleman. 
 Discontinue, I beg, whenever I am present, this style I 
 complain of, and the tone also. I hate M. d’Artagnan be- 
 cause he was guilty of a cowardly act towards my father.” 
 “ You lie, Monsieur ! ” said Raoul, coolly. 
 
 “ You give me the lie, Monsieur ? ” exclaimed De Wardes. 
 “ Why not, if what you assert be untrue 1 ” 
 
 “ You give me the lie, and do not draw your sword ? ” 
 
 “ I have resolved, Monsieur, not to kill you until we 
 have delivered the princess to her husband.” 
 
 “ Kill me ! Believe me, Monsieur, your schoolmaster’s 
 rod does not kill so easily.” 
 
 “No,” replied Raoul, sternly, “but M. d’Artagnan’s 
 sword kills. Not only do I possess his sword, but he 
 has himself taught me how to use it; and with that 
 sword, Monsieur, when a suitable time arrives, I shall 
 avenge his name outraged by you.” 
 
 “Take care, Monsieur!” exclaimed De Wardes; “if 
 you do not immediately give me satisfaction, I will avail 
 myself of every means to revenge myself.” 
 
 “ Indeed, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, suddenly ap- 
 pearing upon the scene of action, “ that is a threat which 
 borders on assassination, and would therefore ill become 
 a gentleman.” 
 
 “ What did you say, my Lord ? ” said De Wardes, 
 turning towards him. 
 
 “ I said that the words you have just spoken are 
 displeasing to my English ears.” 
 
 “ Very well, Monsieur, if what you say is true,” ex- 
 claimed De Wardes, thoroughly incensed, “so much the 
 better; I shall at least find in you one man who will not 
 escape me. Understand my words as you like.” 
 
FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 3G9 
 
 “ I understand them in the manner they cannot but 
 be understood/’ answered Buckingham, with that haughty 
 tone which characterized him, and which even in ordi- 
 nary conversation gave a tone of defiance to everything 
 he said. “ M. de Bragelonne is my friend ; you insult 
 M. de Bragelonne, and you shall give me satisfaction for 
 that insult.” 
 
 De Wardes cast a look upon Bragelonne, who, faith- 
 ful to the character he had assumed, remained calm and 
 unmoved, even after the duke’s challenge. 
 
 “ It would seem that I did not insult M. de Bragelonne, 
 since M. de Bragelonne, who carries a sword by his side, 
 does not consider himself insulted.” 
 
 “ At all events, you insult some one h ” 
 
 “Yes, I insult M. d’Artagnan,” resumed De Wardes, 
 who had observed that this name was the only sting with 
 which he could arouse the anger of Raoul. 
 
 “That, then,” said Buckingham, “is another matter.” 
 
 “ Precisely so,” said De Wardes ; “ it is the province of 
 M. dArtagnan’s friends to defend him.” 
 
 “I am entirely of your opinion, Monsieur,” replied the 
 Englishman, who had regained all his indifference of man- 
 ner. “If M. de Bragelonne were offended, I could not 
 reasonably be expected to espouse his quarrel, since he is 
 himself here ; but since M. d’Artagnan is in question — ” 
 “ You will of course leave me to deal with the matter,” 
 said De Wardes. 
 
 “Nay, the very contrary, I draw my sword,” said 
 Buckingham, unsheathing it as he spoke ; “ for if M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan injured your father, he rendered, or at least did 
 all that he could to render, a great service to mine.” 
 
 De Wardes seemed thunderstruck. 
 
 “ M. d’Artagnan, ” continued Buckingham, “ is the 
 bravest gentleman I know. I ' shall be delighted, as I 
 vol. ii.— 24 
 
370 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 owe him many personal obligations, to settle them with 
 you, by crossing my sword with yours.” At the same 
 moment Buckingham drew his sword gracefully, saluted 
 Raoul, and put himself on his guard. 
 
 De Wardes advanced a step to meet him. 
 
 “ Stay, Messieurs! ” said Raoul, advancing towards them, 
 and placing his own drawn sword between the combatants ; 
 “ all this is hardly worth the trouble of blood being shed 
 almost under the eyes of the princess. M. de Wardes 
 speaks ill of M. d’Artagnan, but he is not even acquainted 
 with that gentleman.” 
 
 “ What, Monsieur ! ” said De Wardes, setting his teeth 
 hard together, and resting the point of his sword on the 
 toe of his boot, “ do you assert that I do not know 
 M. d’Artagnan 1 ” 
 
 “ Certainly not ; you do not know him,” replied Raoul, 
 coldly, “ and you are even not aware where he is to be 
 found.” 
 
 “ Not know where he is 1 ” 
 
 “ Doubtless, such must be the case, since you fix your 
 quarrel with him upon strangers, instead of seeking M. 
 d’Artagnan where he is to be found.” De Wardes turned 
 pale. “ Well, Monsieur,” continued Raoul, “ I will tell you 
 where M. d’Artagnan is. He is now in Paris; when on 
 duty, he resides at the Louvre ; when not so, in the Rue 
 des Lombards. M. d’Artagnan can be easily found at 
 either of those two places. Having, therefore, as you as- 
 sert, so many causes of complaint against him, you do not 
 show your courage in not seeking him out, so that he may 
 give you that satisfaction you seem to ask of every one 
 but himself.” De Wardes passed his hand across his 
 forehead, which was covered with perspiration. “For 
 shame, M. de Wardes!” continued Raoul, “soquarreb 
 some a disposition is hardly becoming after the publica- 
 
FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 371 
 
 tion of the edicts against duels. Pray think of that ! The 
 king will be incensed at our disobedience, particularly at 
 such a time ; and his Majesty will be right.” 
 
 “Excuses !” murmured De Wardes, “pretexts ! ” 
 
 “ Come now,” replied Eaoul, “ that remark of yours is 
 arrant nonsense, my dear M. de Wardes; you know very 
 well that the Duke of Buckingham is a man of undoubted 
 courage, who has already fought ten duels and is ready 
 to fight the eleventh. His name alone is significant 
 enough. So far as I am concerned, you are well aware 
 that I can fight also. I fought at Lens, at Bleneau, at 
 the Dunes in front of the artillery, a hundred paces in 
 front of the line, while you, by the way, were a hundred 
 paces behind it. It is true that on that occasion there 
 was by far too great a crowd of people for your courage 
 to be observed, and on that account, perhaps, you sup- 
 pressed it ; while here it would be a display, and would 
 excite remark. You wish that others should talk of 
 you, — in what manner you do not care. Very well, do 
 not depend upon me, M. de Wardes, to assist you in 
 your designs, for I shall certainly not afford you that 
 pleasure.” 
 
 “ Sensibly observed,” said Buckingham, putting up his 
 sword; “and I ask your forgiveness, M. de Bragelonne, 
 for having allowed myself to yield to a first impulse.” 
 
 De W T ardes, however, on the contrary, perfectly furious, 
 bounded forward, and raised his sword threateningly 
 against Raoul, who had scarcely time to put himself in a 
 posture of defence. 
 
 “ Take care, Monsieur,” said Bragelonne, tranquilly, 
 “or you will put out one of my eyes.” 
 
 “You will not fight, thenl” cried De Wardes. 
 
 “ Not at this moment ; but this I promise to do, im- 
 mediately on our arrival at Paris : I will conduct you tc 
 
372 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 M. d’Artagnan, to whom you shall detail all the causes 
 of complaint you have against him. M. d’Artagnan will 
 solicit the king’s permission to measure swords with you. 
 The king will yield his consent, and when you shall have 
 received your sword-thrust in due course, my dear M. de 
 Wardes, you will consider, in a calmer frame of mind, 
 the precepts of the gospel which enjoin forgetfulness of 
 injuries.” 
 
 “ Ah ! ” exclaimed De Wardes, furious at this imper- 
 turbable coolness, “one can clearly see that you are half 
 a bastard, M. de Bragelonne ! ” 
 
 Raoul became as pale as death ; his eyes flashed like 
 lightning, and made De Wardes fall back. Buckingham 
 himself was horror-struck, and threw himself between 
 the two adversaries, whom he expected to see precipitate 
 themselves on each other. De Wardes had reserved this 
 insult for the last ; he clasped his sword convulsively in 
 his hand, and awaited the encounter. “ You are right, 
 Monsieur,” said Raoul, mastering his emotion, “ I am 
 only acquainted with my father’s name ; but I know too 
 well that the Comte de la Fere is an upright and honor- 
 able man to fear for a single moment that there is, as you 
 seem to say, any stain upon my birth. My ignorance, 
 therefore, of my mother’s name is merely a misfortune for 
 me, and not a reproach. You are deficient in loyalty of 
 conduct, Monsieur ; you are wanting in courtesy, in re- 
 proaching me with a misfortune. No matter ; the insult 
 is given, and this time I hold myself insulted. It is quite 
 understood, then, that after you shall have received satis- 
 faction from M. d’Artagnan, you will settle your quarrel 
 with me.” 
 
 “ I admire your prudence, Monsieur,” replied De 
 Wardes, with a bitter smile ; “ a little while ago you 
 promised me a sword-thrust from M. d’Artagnan, and 
 
FROM HAVRE TO PARIS. 
 
 373 
 
 now you offer me one from yourself, after I shall have 
 received his.” 
 
 “ Do not disturb yourself,” replied Raoul, with concen- 
 trated anger ; “ in matters of fence M. d’Artagnan is ex- 
 ceedingly skilful, and I will beg him as a favor to treat 
 you as he did your father, — in other words, not to put 
 an end to your life, but to leave me the pleasure, after 
 your recovery, of killing you outright ; for you have a 
 wicked heart, M. de Wardes, and in very truth, too many 
 precautions cannot be taken against you.” 
 
 “ I shall take my precautions against you, Monsieur,” 
 said De Wardes ; “ be assured of it.” 
 
 “ Allow me, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, “ to trans- 
 late your remark by a piece of advice I am about to give 
 M. de Bragelonne : M. de Bragelonne, wear a cuirass.” 
 
 De Wardes clenched his hands. “Ah! I understand,” 
 said he, “you two gentlemen intend to wait until you 
 have taken that precaution before you measure your 
 swords against mine.” 
 
 “Very well, Monsieur,” said Raoul, “since you posi- 
 tively will have it so, let us settle the affair now ; ” and 
 drawing his sword, he advanced towards De Wardes. 
 “What are you going to do?” asked Buckingham. 
 
 “ Be easy,” said Raoul ; “ it will not be very long.” 
 
 De Wardes placed himself on his guard ; their swords 
 crossed. De Wardes flew upon Raoul with such impetu- 
 osity that at the first clashing of the steel it was evident 
 to Buckingham that Raoul would manage his adversary. 
 Buckingham stepped aside, and watched the struggle. 
 Raoul was as calm as if he were handling a foil instead 
 of a sword ; having retreated a step to gain room, he 
 parried three or four fierce thrusts which De Wardes 
 made at him, caught the sword of the latter within his 
 own and sent it flying twenty paces the other side of the 
 
374 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE. 
 
 barrier. Then, as De Wardes stood disarmed and as- 
 tounded at his defeat, Raoul sheathed his sword, seized 
 him by the collar and the waistband, and hurled him 
 also to the other side of the barrier, trembling and mad 
 with rage. 
 
 “We shall meet again,” growled De Wardes, rising 
 from the ground and picking up his sword. 
 
 “ Pardieu ! ” said Raoul, “ I have done nothing for the 
 last hour but say the same thing.” Then, turning towards 
 Buckingham, he said, “ Not a word about this affair, Duke, 
 I entreat you ; I am ashamed to have gone so far, but my 
 anger carried me away, and I ask your forgiveness for it, 
 — forget it.” 
 
 “ Dear viscount,” said the duke, pressing within his 
 own the vigorous and valiant hand of his companion, 
 “ allow me, on the contrary, to remember it, and to look 
 after your safety ; that man is dangerous, — he will kill 
 you.” 
 
 “My father,” replied Raoul, “lived for twenty years 
 under the menace of a much more formidable enemy, 
 and he still lives.” 
 
 “Your father had good friends, Viscount.” 
 
 “Yes,” sighed Raoul, “such friends, indeed, that none 
 are now left like them.” 
 
 “ Do not say that, I beg, at the very moment when I 
 offer you my friendship;” and Buckingham opened his 
 arms to embrace Raoul, who delightedly received the 
 proffered alliance. “In my family,” added Buckingham, 
 “ vou are aware, M. de Bragelonne, that we die to save 
 those we love.” 
 
 “ I know it well, Duke,” replied Raoul. 
 
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE PRINCESS. 375 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 WHAT THE CHEVALIER DE LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE 
 PRINCESS. 
 
 Nothing further disturbed the serenity of the journey. 
 Under a pretext which was little remarked, M. de Wardes 
 went forward in advance of the others. He took Mani- 
 camp with him, for his equable and dreamy disposition 
 acted as a counterpoise to his own. It is a subject of 
 remark, that quarrelsome and restless characters invari- 
 ably seek the companionship of gentle, timorous disposi- 
 tions, as if the former sought, in the contrast, a repose 
 from their own ill-humor, and the latter a protection for 
 their own weakness. Buckingham and Bragelonne, ad- 
 mitting De G niche into their friendship, sounded, in 
 concert with him, the praises of the princess during the 
 whole of the journey. Bragelonne had, however, insisted 
 that their three voices should be in concert, instead of 
 singing in solo parts, as De Guiche and his rival seemed 
 to have acquired a dangerous habit of doing. This style 
 of harmony pleased the queen-mother exceedingly ; but 
 it was not perhaps so agreeable to the young princess, 
 who was an incarnation of coquetry, and who without 
 fear for herself sought occasions of peril. She possessed 
 one of those fearless and incautious dispositions which 
 find gratification in an excess of susceptibility, and for 
 whom, also, danger has a certain fascination. And so her 
 glances, her smiles, her toilets — an inexhaustible armory 
 of weapons of offence — were showered down upon the 
 
876 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 three young men with overwhelming force ; and from 
 her well-stored arsenal issued glances, compliments, and 
 a thousand other charming little attentions which were 
 intended to strike at long range the gentlemen who 
 formed the escort, the townspeople, the officers of the 
 different cities through which she passed, pages, popu- 
 lace, and servants : it was wholesale slaughter, a universal 
 devastation. 
 
 By the time the princess arrived at Paris, she had 
 reduced to slavery about a hundred thousand lovers, and 
 brought in her train to Paris half-a-dozen men who were 
 almost mad about her, and two who were quite out of 
 their minds. Baoul was the only person who divined 
 the power of this woman’s attraction ; and as his heart 
 was already engaged, and thus proof against her arrows, 
 he arrived at the capital cool and distrustful. Occa- 
 sionally during the journey he conversed with the Queen 
 of England respecting the power of fascination which the 
 princess exercised ; and the mother, whom so many mis- 
 fortunes and deceptions had taught experience, replied : 
 “ Henrietta was sure to be illustrious in one way or an- 
 other, whether born in a palace or in obscurity ; for she 
 is a woman of great imagination, capricious, and self- 
 willed.” 
 
 De Wardes and Manicamp, in their character of heralds, 
 had announced the princess’s arrival. 
 
 The procession was met at Nanterre by a brilliant 
 escort of cavaliers and carriages. It was Monsieur him- 
 self, who, followed by the Chevalier de Lorraine and by 
 his favorites, the latter being themselves followed by 
 a portion of the king’s military household, had come to 
 meet his affianced bride. At St. Germain the princess 
 and her mother had changed their heavy travelling-car- 
 riage, somewhat impaired by the journey, for a rich and 
 
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE PRINCESS. 377 
 
 elegant chariot drawn by six horses with white and gold 
 harness. Seated in this open carriage, as though upon 
 a throne, and beneath a canopy of embroidered silk 
 fringed with waving plumes, appeared the young and 
 lovely princess, on whose beaming face were reflected 
 the softened rose-tints which suited her pearly skin to 
 perfection. Monsieur, on reaching the carriage, was 
 struck by her beauty ; he signified his admiration in so 
 marked a manner that the Chevalier de Lorraine shrugged 
 his shoulders among the group of courtiers, while Buck- 
 ingham and the Comte de Guiche were almost heart- 
 broken. After the usual courtesies had been rendered, 
 and the ceremony completed, the whole procession slowly 
 resumed the road to Paris. The presentations had been 
 carelessly made, and Buckingham, with the rest of the 
 English gentlemen, had been introduced to Monsieur, 
 from whom they had received but a very indifferent 
 attention. But during their progress, as he observed 
 that the duke devoted himself with his accustomed ardor 
 to the carriage door, he asked the Chevalier de Lorraine, 
 his inseparable companion, “ Who is that cavalier % ” 
 
 “He was presented to your Highness a short time 
 since ; it is the handsome Duke of Buckingham.” 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I remember.” 
 
 “ The princess’s knight,” added the favorite, with an 
 inflection of the voice which envious minds can alone 
 give to the simplest phrases. 
 
 “What do you say?” replied the prince, who was still 
 on horseback. 
 
 “ 1 said, 4 the princess’s knight.’ ” 
 
 “ Has she a recognized knight, then ? ” 
 
 “One would think you might judge of that for your- 
 self ; see how they are laughing and flirting, both of 
 them.” 
 
378 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ All three of them.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by all three % ” 
 
 “ Do you not see that De Guiche is one of the party % ” 
 “Yes, I see. But what does that prove 1 — that the 
 princess has two admirers instead of one.” 
 
 “You poison everything, viper ! ” 
 
 “ I poison nothing. Ah ! your royal Highness’s mind 
 is very perverted. The honors of the kingdom of France 
 are being paid to your wife, and you are not satisfied.” 
 The Duke of Orleans dreaded the satirical humor of the 
 chevalier whenever he found it reached a certain degree 
 of bitterness, and he changed the conversation abruptly. 
 “The princess is pretty,” said he, negligently, as if he 
 were speaking of a stranger. 
 
 “ Yes,” replied the chevalier, in the same tone. 
 
 “You say ‘yes’ like a ‘no.’ She has very beautiful 
 black eyes, I think.” 
 
 “Yes, but small.” 
 
 “True, but they are brilliant. She has a good figure.” 
 “Her figure is a little spoiled, Monseigneur.” 
 
 “I do not deny it. She has a noble appearance.” 
 
 “ Yes, but her face is thin.” 
 
 “ I thought her teeth beautiful.” 
 
 “ They can easily be seen, for her mouth is large 
 enough. Decidedly I was wrong, my Lord ; you are cer- 
 tainly handsomer than your wife.” 
 
 “ But do you think me as handsome as Buckingham 1 ” 
 “ Certainly, and he thinks so too ; for, look, my Lord, 
 he is redoubling his attentions to the princess, to prevent 
 your effacing the impression he has made.” 
 
 Monsieur made a movement of impatience ; but as he 
 noticed a smile of triumph pass over the chevalier’s lips, 
 he drew up his horse to a foot-pace. “ Why,” said he, 
 “ should I occupy myself any longer about my cousin ? 
 
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE PRINCESS. 379 
 
 Do I not already know her? Were we not brought up 
 together ? Did I not see her at the Louvre when she was 
 quite a child ? ” 
 
 “A great change has taken place in her since then, 
 Prince, ’ said the chevalier ; “ at the period you allude 
 to, she was somewhat less brilliant, and somewhat less 
 proud too. One evening, particularly, you may remem- 
 ber, my Lord, the king refused to dance with her, because 
 he thought her plain and badly dressed ! ” 
 
 These words made the Duke of Orleans frown. It 
 was by no means flattering for him to marry a princess 
 of whom, when young, the king had not thought much. 
 He might probably have replied, but at this moment 
 De Guiche quitted the carriage to join the prince. 
 From a distance he had seen the prince and the cheva- 
 lier, and full of anxious attention he seemed to be trying 
 to guess the nature of the remarks which they had just 
 exchanged. 
 
 Whether from treachery or from imprudence, the cheva- 
 lier did not take the trouble to dissimulate. “ Count,” said 
 he, “you ’re a man of excellent taste.” 
 
 “ Thank you for the compliment,” replied De Guiche ; 
 “but why do you say that? ” 
 
 “ Well, I appeal to his Highness ! ” 
 
 “No doubt of it,” said Monsieur; “ and Guiche knows 
 perfectly well that I regard him as a most finished 
 cavalier.” 
 
 “ Well, that question settled, Count, I resume. You 
 have been in the princess’s society, Count, for the last 
 week, have you not ? ” 
 
 “Yes,” replied De Guiche, coloring in spite of him- 
 self. 
 
 “Well, then, tell us frankly, what do you think of her 
 personal appearance ? ” 
 
380 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “Of her personal appearance?” returned De Guiche, 
 amazed. 
 
 u Yes ; of her appearance, of her mind, — of herself, in 
 fact.” 
 
 Astounded by this question, De Guiche hesitated in 
 answering. 
 
 “ Come, come, De Guiche,” resumed the chevalier, 
 laughingly, “tell us your opinion frankly; the prince 
 commands it.” 
 
 “Yes, yes,” said the prince, “ be frank.” 
 
 De Guiche stammered out a few unintelligible words. 
 
 “ I am perfectly well aware,” returned Monsieur, “ that 
 the subject is a delicate one, but you know you can tell 
 me everything. What do you think of her?” 
 
 In order to avoid betraying his real thoughts, De 
 Guiche had recourse to the only defence which a man 
 taken by surprise really has, and accordingly told an 
 untruth. “ I do not think the princess,” he said, “ either 
 good or bad looking, yet rather good than bad looking.” 
 
 “ What ! my dear count,” exclaimed the chevalier, 
 “you, who went into such ecstasies and uttered so many 
 exclamations at the sight of her portrait ! ” 
 
 De Guiche colored violently. Very fortunately his 
 horse, which was slightly restive, enabled him by a sud- 
 den plunge to conceal his agitation. “ What portrait ? ” 
 he murmured, joining them again. 
 
 The chevalier had not taken his eyes off him. “Yes, 
 the portrait. Was not the miniature a good likeness? ” 
 
 “ I do not remember. I have forgotten the portrait ; it 
 has quite escaped my recollection.” 
 
 “ And yet it made a very marked impression upon you,” 
 said the chevalier. 
 
 “ That is not unlikely.” 
 
 “ Is she clever, at all events ? ” inquired the duke. 
 
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE PRINCESS. 381 
 
 “ I believe so, my Lord.” 
 
 “ Is M. de Buckingham so too*?” said the chevalier. 
 
 “ I do not know.” 
 
 “ My own opinion is that he must be,” replied the 
 chevalier, “ for he makes the princess laugh, and she seems 
 to take no little pleasure in his society, — which never is 
 the case with a clever woman when in the company of a 
 simpleton.” 
 
 “ Of course, then, he must be clever,” said De Guiche, 
 simply. 
 
 At this moment Baoul opportunely arrived, seeing how 
 De Guiche was pressed by his dangerous questioner, 
 to whom he addressed a remark, and so changed the 
 conversation. 
 
 The entrance into the city was brilliant and joyous. 
 The king, in honor of his brother, had directed that the 
 festivities should be on a scale of the greatest magnifi- 
 cence. The princess and her mother alighted at the 
 Louvre, where during their exile they had so gloomily 
 submitted to obscurity, misery, and privations of every 
 description. That palace, which had been so inhospi- 
 table a residence for the unhappy daughter of Henry 
 IV., with its naked walls, its sunken floorings, its ceil- 
 ings covered with cobwebs, the vast but broken marble 
 chimney-places, its cold hearths on which the charity 
 extended to them by parliament had hardly permitted 
 a fire to glow, was completely altered in appearance. It 
 now contained the richest hangings and the thickest 
 carpets, glistening flagstones and new pictures, with 
 their richly gilded frames; everywhere could be seen 
 candelabras, mirrors, and furniture and fittings of the 
 most sumptuous character ; everywhere also were guards 
 of the proudest military bearing with floating plumes, 
 crowds of attendants and courtiers in the antechambers 
 
382 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and upon the staircases. In the courtyards, where the 
 grass but lately grew, — as if the ungrateful Mazarin 
 had thought it a good idea to let the Parisians per- 
 ceive that solitude and disorder were, with misery and 
 despair, the proper accompaniments of a fallen monarchy, 
 — in these immense courtyards, formerly silent and deso- 
 late, paraded cavaliers whose prancing horses drew sparks 
 from the glistening flagstones. Carriages were filled with 
 young and beautiful women, who awaited the opportu- 
 nity of saluting, as she passed, the daughter of that 
 daughter of France who during her widowhood and her 
 exile had sometimes gone without wood for her fire or 
 bread for her table, and whom the meanest attendants of 
 the palace had treated with indifference and contempt. 
 
 And so Madame Henrietta returned to the Louvre, her 
 heart swollen with grief and bitter recollections ; while 
 her daughter, whose disposition was fickle and forgetful, 
 returned to it with triumph and delight. Madame Hen- 
 rietta knew but too well that the present brilliant recep- 
 tion was paid to the happy mother of a king restored to 
 his throne, and that throne second to none in Europe ; 
 while the poor reception she had before received was paid 
 to her, the daughter of Henry IV., as a punishment for 
 having been unfortunate. 
 
 After the princesses had been installed in their apart- 
 ments and had rested themselves, the gentlemen who 
 had formed their escort, having in like manner recov- 
 ered from their fatigue, resumed their accustomed habits 
 and occupations. 
 
 Bragelonne began by setting off to see his father ; but 
 he had left for Blois. He then tried to see M. d’Ar- 
 tagnan ; but he, being engaged in the organization of a 
 new military household for the king, could not be found 
 anywhere. Bragelonne next fell back upon De Guiche; 
 
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE PRINCESS. 383 
 
 but the count was occupied in a long conference with his 
 tailors and with Manicamp, which consumed his whole 
 time. With the Duke of Buckingham he fared still 
 worse, for the duke was purchasing horses after horses, 
 diamonds upon diamonds ; he monopolized every em- 
 broiderer, jeweller, and tailor that Paris could boast of. 
 Between De Guiche and Buckingham a vigorous contest 
 ensued, more or less courteous, in which, in order to 
 insure success, the duke was ready to spend a million ; 
 while the Marechal de Grammont had only allowed his 
 son sixty thousand livres. So Buckingham laughed and 
 spent his million. De Guiche groaned in despair, and 
 would have torn his hair had it not been for the advice 
 Bragelonne gave him. 
 
 “ A million ! ” repeated De Guiche, daily ; “ I must sub- 
 mit. Why will not the marshal advance me a portion 
 of my patrimony 1 ” 
 
 “ Because you will throw it away,” said Raoul. 
 
 “ What can that matter to him 1 If I am to die of it, 
 I shall die of it, and then I shall need nothing further.” 
 
 “ But what need is there to die ? ” said Raoul. 
 
 “ I do not wish to be surpassed in elegance by an 
 Englishman.” 
 
 “ My dear count,” said Manicamp, “elegance is not 
 a costly commodity, it is only a very difficult one.” 
 
 “ Yes, but difficult things cost a good deal of money, 
 and I have only sixty thousand livres.” 
 
 “ A very embarrassing state of things, truly ! ” said De 
 Wardes. “ Spend as much as Buckingham ; there is only 
 a difference of nine hundred and forty thousand livres.” 
 
 “ Where am I to find them h ” 
 
 “ Get into debt.” 
 
 “ I am so already.” 
 
 “ A greater reason for getting further.” 
 
384 
 
 THE VICOMTE I)E BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Advice like this resulted in De Guiche becoming ex- 
 cited to such an extent that he committed extravagances 
 where Buckingham only incurred expenses. The rumor 
 of this prodigality delighted the hearts of all the shop- 
 keepers in Paris ; from the hotel of the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham to that of Grammont nothing but wonders was 
 dreamed of. 
 
 While all this was going on, the princess was resting 
 herself, and Bragelonne was engaged in writing to Made- 
 moiselle de la Valliere. He had already despatched four 
 letters, and not an answer to any one of them had been 
 received, when, on the very morning fixed for the mar- 
 riage ceremony, which was to take place in the chapel at 
 the Palais-Royal, Raoul, who was dressing, heard his 
 valet announce M. de Malieorne. “ What can this Mali- 
 corne want with me ] ” thought Raoul ; and then said to 
 his valet, “ Let him wait.” 
 
 “It is a gentleman from Blois,” said the valet. 
 
 “ Admit him at once,” said Raoul, eagerly. 
 
 Malieorne entered, brilliant as a star, and wearing a 
 superb sword by his side. After having saluted Raoul 
 most gracefully, he said : “ M. de Bragelonne, I am the 
 bearer of a thousand compliments from a lady to you.” 
 
 Raoul colored. “ From a lady,” said he, — “ from a lady 
 of Blois ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur; from Mademoiselle de Montalais.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Monsieur ; I recollect you now,” said 
 Raoul. “ And what does Mademoiselle de Montalais 
 desire of me 1 ” 
 
 Malieorne drew four letters from his pocket which he 
 offered to Raoul. 
 
 “ My own letters ! is it possible ? ” he said, turning pale ; 
 “ my letters, and the seals unbroken ! ” 
 
 “ Monsieur, your letters did not find, at Blois, the per- 
 
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OF THE PRINCESS. 385 
 
 son to whom they were addressed, and so they are now 
 returned to you.” 
 
 “Mademoiselle de la Valliere has left Blois, then'?* 
 exclaimed Raoul. 
 
 “ A week ago.” 
 
 “ Where is she, then ? ” 
 
 “ She must be at Paris, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ But how was it known that these letters came from 
 me 'i ” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle de Montalais recognized your hand- 
 writing and your seal,” said Malicorne. 
 
 Raoul colored and smiled. “ Mademoiselle de Mon- 
 talais is exceedingly good,” he said ; “ she is always kind 
 and charming.” 
 
 “ Always, Monsieur.” 
 
 “Surely she could give me some precise information 
 about Mademoiselle de la Valliere. I could never find 
 her in this immense city. 
 
 Malicorne drew another packet from his pocket. “ You 
 may possibly find in this letter what you are anxious to 
 learn.” 
 
 Raoul hurriedly broke the seal. The writing was that 
 of Mademoiselle Aure, and the letter contained these 
 words : — 
 
 Paris, Palais-Royal. 
 
 The day of the nuptial benediction. 
 
 “ What does this mean 1 ” inquired Raoul of Malicorne ; 
 “you probably know, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I do, Monsieur the Viscount.” 
 
 “For pity’s sake, tell me, then.” 
 
 “ Impossible, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Why so 1 ” 
 
 “ Because Mademoiselle Aure has forbidden me to 
 do so.” 
 
 VOL. it. — 25 
 
386 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Raoul looked at his strange companion, and remained 
 silent. “ At least,” he resumed, “ tell me whether it is 
 advantageous to me or not.” 
 
 “ That you will see.” 
 
 “ You are very strict in your reservations.” 
 
 “ Will you grant me a favor, Monsieur 1 ” said Malicorne 
 “ In exchange for that which you refuse me ” 
 
 “ Precisely.” 
 
 “ What is it 1 ” 
 
 “ I have the greatest desire to see the ceremony, and 
 I have no ticket to admit me, in spite of all the steps I 
 have taken to secure one. Could you get me admitted ? ” 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ Do me this kindness, then, I entreat, Monsieur the 
 Viscount.” 
 
 “Most willingly, Monsieur; come with me.” 
 
 “ I am exceedingly indebted to you, Monsieur,” said 
 Malicorne. 
 
 u I thought you were a friend of M. de Manicamp.” 
 
 “ I am, Monsieur ; but this morning I was with him 
 as he was dressing, and I let a bottle of blacking fall 
 over his new dress, and he flew at me with his sword in 
 his hand, so that I was obliged to make my escape. 
 That is the reason I could not ask him for a ticket ; he 
 would have killed me.” 
 
 “I can believe it,” said Raoul. “I know Manicamp is 
 capable of killing a man who has been unfortunate enough 
 to commit the crime you have to reproach yourself with, 
 but I will repair the mischief as far as you are concerned. 
 I will but fasten my cloak, and shall then be ready to 
 serve you, not only as a guide, but as an introducer also.” 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 387 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 
 
 The princess was married in the Chapel of the Palais- 
 Royal, in the presence of a crowd of courtiers, who had 
 been most scrupulously selected. However, notwithstand- 
 ing the marked favor which an invitation indicated, Raoul, 
 faithful to his promise to Malicorne, who was so anxious 
 to witness the ceremony, obtained admission for him. 
 After he had fulfilled this engagement, Raoul approached 
 He Guiche, who, as if in contrast with his magnificent 
 costume, exhibited a countenance so utterly cast down 
 by grief that the Duke of Buckingham was the only one 
 present who could contend with him in pallor and 
 dejection. 
 
 “ Take care, Count ! ” said Raoul, approaching his friend, 
 and preparing to support him at the moment when the 
 archbishop blessed the married couple. In fact, the 
 Prince of Conde was seen attentively scrutinizing these 
 two images of desolation, standing like caryatides at either 
 side of the nave of the church. The count, therefore, 
 kept a more careful watch over himself. 
 
 At the termination of the ceremony, the king and queen 
 passed onward to the grand reception-room, where Madame 
 and her suite were to be presented to them. It was re- 
 marked that the king, who had seemed more than sur- 
 prised at his sister-in-law’s appearance, was most flattering 
 in his compliments to her. Again, it was remarked that 
 the queen-mother, fixing a long and thoughtful gaze upon 
 
388 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Buckingham, leaned towards Madame de Motteville as 
 though to ask her, “ Do you not see how much he resem- 
 bles his hither % ” and finally it was remarked that Mon- 
 sieur watched everybody, and seemed very discontented. 
 After the reception of the princes and ambassadors, Mon- 
 sieur solicited the king’s permission to present to him, as 
 well as to Madame, the persons belonging to their new 
 household. 
 
 “Are you aware, Viscount,” inquired the Prince de 
 Conde of Raoul, “ whether the household has been selected 
 by a person of taste, and whether there are any faces worth 
 looking at V 9 
 
 “ I have not the slightest idea, Monseigneur, 5 5 replied 
 Raoul. 
 
 “ You affect ignorance, surely.” 
 
 “ In what way, Monseigneur ? ” 
 
 “ You are a friend of De Guiche, who is one of the 
 friends of the prince.” 
 
 “ That may be so, Monseigneur ; but the matter having 
 no interest whatever for me, I never questioned De Guiche 
 on the subject ; and De Guiche on his part, never having 
 been questioned, has not communicated any particulars 
 to me.” 
 
 “ But Manicamp 1 ” 
 
 “ It is true I saw M. de Manicamp at Havre, and 
 during the journey here, but I was very careful to be as 
 little inquisitive towards him as I had been towards De 
 Guiche ; besides, is it likely that M. de Manicamp should 
 know anything of such matters ? He is a person of only 
 secondary importance.” 
 
 “ Eh, my dear viscount, do you not know better than 
 that!” said the prince. “ Why, it is these persons of 
 secondary importance who on such occasions have all 
 the influence j and the proof is that nearly everything 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 389 
 
 has been done through Manicamp’s presentations to 
 De Guiche and through De Guiche to Monsieur.” 
 “Well, Monseigneur, I was completely ignorant of 
 that,” said Raoul ; “ and what your Highness does me 
 the honor to impart is perfectly new to me.” 
 
 “ I will most readily believe you, although it seems in- 
 credible ; besides, we shall not have long to wait. See, 
 the flying squadron is advancing, as good Queen Cather- 
 ine used to say. Ah ! what pretty faces ! ” 
 
 A bevy of young girls at this moment entered the room, 
 conducted by Madame de Navailles ; and to Manicamp’s 
 credit, be it said, if indeed he had taken that part in their 
 selection which the Prince de Conde had alleged, it was 
 a display calculated to dazzle those who, like the prince, 
 could appreciate every character and style of beauty. A 
 young fair-complexioned girl, who might be twenty or 
 twenty-one years of age, and whose large blue eyes flashed, 
 as she opened them, in the most dazzling manner, walked 
 at the head of the band, and was the first presented. 
 
 “ Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente,” said Madame de 
 Navailles to Monsieur, who, as he bowed to his wife, re- 
 peated, “ Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente.” 
 
 “Ah,” said the prince, turning to Raoul, “she seems 
 tolerable enough.” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Raoul ; “ she is pretty, but has a somewhat 
 haughty style.” 
 
 “Bah ! we know these airs very well, Viscount; three 
 months hence she will be tame enough. But look, — 
 there indeed is a beauty ! ” 
 
 “ Yes,” said Raoul, “ and one I am acquainted with.” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais,” said Madame de 
 Navailles. Monsieur repeated the full name carefully. 
 
 “ Great heavens ! ” exclaimed Raoul, fixing his bewil- 
 dered gaze upon the entrance doorway. 
 
390 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ What’s the matter h ” inquired the prince; “ was it 
 Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais who made you utter such 
 a ‘ Great heavens ’ ? ” 
 
 “No, Monseigneur, no,” replied Eaoul, pale and 
 trembling. 
 
 “ Well, then, if it be not Mademoiselle Aure de Monta- 
 lais, it is that charming blonde who follows her. What 
 beautiful eyes ! She is rather thin, but has fascinations 
 without number.” 
 
 “Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere ! ” 
 said Madame de Navailles ; and as this name resounded 
 through Raoul’s whole being, a cloud seemed to rise from 
 his heart to his eyes, so that he neither saw nor heard 
 anything more. The prince, finding that Raoul remained 
 silent under his railleries, moved forward to inspect some- 
 what closer the beautiful girls whom his first glance had 
 already particularized. 
 
 “ Louise here ! Louise a maid of honor to Madame ! ” 
 murmured Raoul ; and his eyes, which did not suffice to 
 satisfy his reason, wandered from Louise to Montalais. 
 The latter had already emancipated herself from her as- 
 sumed timidity, which she only needed for the presentation 
 and for her reverences. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Montalais, from the corner of the 
 room to which she had retired, was looking with no slight 
 degree of assurance at the different persons present ; and 
 having discovered Raoul, she amused herself with the 
 profound astonishment into which her own and her 
 friend’s presence there had thrown the poor lover. Her 
 merry and mischievous look, which Raoul tried to avoid 
 meeting, and yet which he sought inquiringly from time 
 to time, placed Raoul on the rack. As for Louise, 
 whether from natural timidity, or from some other rea- 
 son for which Raoul could not account, she kept her eyes 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 391 
 
 constantly cast down ; and intimidated, dazzled, and with 
 heaving breast, she withdrew herself as much as possible, 
 unaffected even by the hints which Montalais gave her 
 with her elbow. 
 
 The whole scene was a perfect enigma to Raoul, the 
 key to which the poor viscount would have given any- 
 thing to obtain. But no one was there who could assist 
 him, — not even Malicorne, who, a little uneasy at finding 
 himself in the presence of so many persons of gentle 
 birth, and not a little discouraged by Montalais’s bantering 
 glances, had described a circle, and by degrees had suc- 
 ceeded in getting a few paces from the prince, behind the 
 group of maids of honor, and nearly within reach of Made- 
 moiselle Aure’s voice, she being the planet around which 
 he, her humble satellite, seemed compelled to gravitate. 
 
 As he recovered his self-possession, Raoul fancied he 
 recognized voices on his left which were familiar to him, 
 and he perceived De Wardes, De Guiche, and the Cheva- 
 lier de Lorraine conversing together. It is true that 
 they were talking in tones so low that the sound of their 
 words could hardly be heard in the vast apartment. To 
 speak in that manner from any particular place without 
 bending down, or turning round, or looking at the person 
 with whom one is engaged in conversation, is a talent 
 which cannot be immediately acquired in perfection by 
 new-comers. A long study is needed for such conversa- 
 tions, which, without a look, gesture, or movement of the 
 head, seemed like the conversation of a group of statues. 
 
 In fact, in the king’s and the queen’s grand assemblies, 
 while their Majesties were speaking, and while every one 
 present seemed to be listening with the most profound 
 silence, some of these noiseless conversations took place, 
 in which adulation was not the prevailing feature. But 
 Raoul was one among others exceedingly clever in this 
 
392 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE, 
 
 art, so much a matter of etiquette, so that from the move- 
 ment of the lips he was often able to guess the sense of 
 the words. 
 
 “ Who is that Montalais ? ” inquired De Wardes, “ and 
 that La Yalliere ? What country -town have we had sent 
 here ? ” 
 
 “Montalais?” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, “oh, I 
 know her; she is a good sort of girl, whom we shall find 
 amusing enough. La Yalliere is a charming girl, slightly 
 lame.” 
 
 “ Humph ! ” said De Wardes. 
 
 “ Do not be absurd, De Wardes ! There are some very 
 characteristic and ingenious Latin axioms upon lame 
 ladies.” 
 
 “ Messieurs, Messieurs,” said De Guiche, looking at 
 Raoul with uneasiness, “ be a little careful, I entreat 
 you.” 
 
 But the uneasiness of the count, in appearance at least, 
 was not needed. Raoul had preserved the firmest and 
 most indifferent countenance, although he had not lost 
 a word that had passed. He seemed to keep an account 
 of the insolence and license of the two speakers, in order 
 to settle matters with them at his earliest opportunity. 
 
 De Wardes seemed to guess what was passing in his 
 mind, and continued, “ Who are these young ladies’ 
 lovers ? ” 
 
 “ Montalais’s lover? ” said the chevalier. 
 
 “ Yes, Montalais first.” 
 
 “Well, you, I, or De Guiche, — whoever likes, in 
 fact.” 
 
 “ And the other ? ” 
 
 “ Mademoiselle de la Yalliere ?” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 “Take care, Messieurs,” exclaimed De Guiche, anxious 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 393 
 
 to put a stop to De Wardes’s reply, “ take care ! Madame 
 is listening to us.” 
 
 Raoul thrust his hand up to the wrist into his doublet, 
 and left the mark of his nails on his flesh. But the very 
 malignity which he saw was excited against these poor 
 girls made him take a serious resolution. “ Poor Louise,” 
 he said to himself, “ has come here only with an honor- 
 able object in view and under honorable protection ; but 
 I must learn what that object is, and who it is that pro- 
 tects her ; ” and imitating Malicorne’s manoeuvre, he 
 made his way towards the group of the maids of honor. 
 The presentations soon terminated. The king, who had 
 done nothing but look at and admire Madame, shortly 
 afterwards left the reception-room, accompanied by the 
 two queens. The Chevalier de Lorraine resumed his 
 place beside Monsieur, and, as he accompanied him, insin- 
 uated a few drops of the poison which he had collected 
 during the last hour, while looking at some of the new 
 faces in the court, and suspecting that some hearts might 
 be happy. A few of the persons present followed the 
 king as he went out ; but such of the courtiers as 
 assumed an independence of character and professed a 
 gallantry of disposition, began to approach the ladies. 
 The prince paid his compliments to Mademoiselle de 
 Tonnay-Charente ; Buckingham devoted himself to Ma- 
 dame de Chalais and to Madame de Lafayette, whom 
 Madame had already distinguished by her notice and 
 whom she held in high regard. As for the Comte de 
 Guiche, who had abandoned Monsieur as soon as he 
 could approach Madame alone, he conversed, with great 
 animation, with Madame de Valentinois and with Mes- 
 demoiselles de Crequy and de Chatillon. 
 
 Amid these varied political and amorous interests, 
 Malicorne was anxious to gain Montalais’s attention ; 
 
394 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 but the latter preferred talking with Raoul, even if it 
 were only to enjoy his numerous questions and his sur- 
 prise. Raoul had gone straight to Mademoiselle de la 
 Valliere, and had saluted her with the profoundest re- 
 spect, at which Louise blushed and could not say a word. 
 Montalais, however, hurried to her assistance. 
 
 “Well, Monsieur the Viscount, here we are, you see.” 
 
 “ I do indeed see you,” said Raoul, smiling ; “and it is 
 exactly because you are here, that I wish to ask for some 
 explanation.” 
 
 Malicorne approached the group with his most fasci- 
 nating smile. 
 
 “Go away, M. Malicorne,” said Montalais ; “ really, you 
 are exceedingly indiscreet.” Malicorne bit his lips and 
 retired a few steps, without making any reply. His 
 smile, however, changed its expression, and from its 
 former frankness became mocking in its expression. 
 
 “ You would like an explanation, M. Raoul ] ” inquired 
 Montalais. 
 
 “ The situation calls for one, I think ; Mademoiselle de 
 la Valliere a maid of honor to Madame ! ” 
 
 “ Why should not she be a maid of honor as well as 
 myself^” inquired Montalais. 
 
 “ Pray accept my compliments, young ladies,” said 
 Raoul, who fancied that he perceived that they were not 
 disposed to answer him in a direct manner. 
 
 “ Your remark was not made in a very complimentary 
 manner, Monsieur the Viscount.” 
 
 “ Mine ] ” 
 
 “ Certainly ; I appeal to Louise.” 
 
 “ M. de Bragelonne probably thinks the position is 
 above my condition,” said Louise, hesitatingly. 
 
 “ Oh, no, Mademoiselle,” replied Raoul, eagerly ; “you 
 know very well that such is not my feeling. Were you 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 395 
 
 called upon to occupy a queen’s throne, I should not be 
 surprised ; how much greater reason, then, such a posi- 
 tion as tins'? The only circumstance which amazes me 
 is that I should not have learned it until to-day, and that 
 by mere accident.” 
 
 “ That is true,” replied Montalais to Louise, with her 
 usual giddiness ; “ you know nothing about it, and there 
 is no reason why you should. M. de Bragelonne had 
 written four letters to you ; but your mother was the 
 only person who remained behind at Blois, and it was 
 necessary to prevent these letters from falling into her 
 hands. I intercepted them, and returned them to M. 
 Baoul ; so that he believed you were still at Blois, while 
 you were here in Paris, and had no idea how high you 
 had risen in rank.” 
 
 “ Did you not inform M. Raoul, as I begged you to do 1 ” 
 exclaimed Louise. 
 
 “ Why should I? — to give him an opportunity of mak- 
 ing some of his severe remarks and moral reflections, 
 and to undo what we had had so much trouble in getting 
 done ] Oh, certainly not ! ” 
 
 “ Am I so very severe, then ? ” inquired Raoul. 
 
 “Besides,” said Montalais, “it is sufficient to say that 
 it suited me. I was about setting off for Paris ; you 
 were away. Louise was weeping her eyes out, — interpret 
 that as you please. I begged a friend, a protector of 
 mine, who had obtained the appointment for me, to solicit 
 one for Louise ; the appointment arrived. Louise left 
 in order to get her costume prepared ; as I had my own 
 ready, I remained behind. I received your letters, and 
 returned them to you, adding a few words, promising you 
 a surprise. Your surprise is before you, Monsieur, and 
 seems to be a fair one enough ; you have nothing more 
 to ask. Come, M. Malicorne, it is now time to leave 
 
396 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 these young people together ; they have many things 
 to talk about. Give me your hand ; I trust that you 
 appreciate the honor which is conferred upon you, M. 
 Malicorne.” 
 
 “ Forgive me, Mademoiselle,” said Raoul, arresting the 
 giddy girl, and giving to his voice an intonation the 
 gravity of which contrasted with that of Montalais, — 
 “ forgive me; but may I inquire the name of the protec- 
 tor you speak of] — for if protection be extended to you, 
 Mademoiselle, for which, indeed, so many reasons exist, ” 
 added Raoul, bowing, “ I do not see that the same reasons 
 exist why Mademoiselle de la Valliere should be similarly 
 protected.” 
 
 “ But, M. Raoul,’’ said Louise, innocently, “ the matter 
 is very simple, and I do not see why I should not tell it 
 to you myself. M. Malicorne obtained the appointment 
 for me.” 
 
 Raoul remained for a moment amazed, asking himself 
 if they were trifling with him. He then turned round to 
 interrogate Malicorne ; but he had been hurried away by 
 Montalais, and was already at some distance from them. 
 Mademoiselle de la Valliere attempted to follow her friend ; 
 but Raoul, with gentle authority, detained her. “ Louise, 
 one word only, I beg.” 
 
 “ But, M. Raoul,” said Louise, blushing, “ we are alone ; 
 every one has left. They will become anxious, and will 
 be looking for us.” 
 
 “ Fear nothing,” said the young man, smiling ; a we are 
 neither of us of sufficient importance for our absence to 
 be remarked.” 
 
 “ But I have my duty to perform, M. Raoul.” 
 
 “ Do not be alarmed, Mademoiselle ! I am acquainted 
 with -the usages of the court. You will not be on duty 
 until to-morrow; a few minutes are at your disposal, which 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 397 
 
 will enable you to give me the explanation I am about to 
 have the honor to ask of you.” 
 
 “ How serious you are, M. Raoul ! ” said Louise, uneasily. 
 
 “ Because the circumstance is a serious one. Are you 
 listening ? ” 
 
 “ I am listening ; I would only repeat, Monsieur, that 
 we are quite alone.” 
 
 “ You are right,” said Raoul; and offering her his hand, 
 he led the young girl into the gallery adjoining the re- 
 ception-room, the windows of which looked out upon the 
 square. Every one hurried towards the middle window, 
 which had a balcony outside, from which all the details 
 of the slow and formal preparations for departure could 
 be seen. Raoul opened one of the side windows, and 
 then, being alone with Louise, said to her : “ You know, 
 Louise, that from my childhood I have regarded you as 
 my sister, as one who has been the confidante of all my 
 troubles, to whom I have intrusted all my hopes.” 
 
 “ Yes, M. Raoul,” she answered softly ; “yes, I know 
 that.” 
 
 “ You used, on your side, to show the same friendship 
 towards me, and had the same confidence in me ; why 
 have you not, on this occasion, been my friend, and why 
 have you shown a suspicion of me ? ” Mademoiselle de 
 la Valliere did not answer. “ I had thought you loved 
 me,” continued Raoul, whose voice became more and 
 more agitated; “I had thought that you consented to 
 all the plans which we together laid down for our own 
 happiness, at the time when we wandered up and down 
 the large walks of Cour-Cheverny and under the avenue 
 of poplar-trees leading to Blois. You do not answer me, 
 Louise.” He stopped. “Is it possible,” he inquired, 
 breathing with difficulty, “ that you no longer love 
 me?” 
 
398 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ I did not say so/’ replied Louise, softly. 
 
 “ Oh, tell me the truth, I implore you ! All my hopes 
 in life are centred in you. I chose you for your gentle and 
 simple tastes. Do not suffer yourself to be dazzled, 
 Louise, now that you are in the midst of a court where 
 all that is pure becomes corrupt, where all that is young 
 soon grows old. Louise, close your ears, that you may 
 not hear what may be said ; shut your eyes, that you may 
 not see the examples before you ; shut } 7 our lips, that 
 you may not inhale the corrupting influences about you. 
 Without falsehood or subterfuge, Louise, am I to believe 
 what Mademoiselle de Montalais stated ] Louise, did you 
 come to Paris because I was no longer at Blois ? ” 
 
 La Valliere blushed and concealed her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 ‘‘Yes, it was so, then,” exclaimed Raoul, enraptured; 
 “ that was your reason for coming here. Oh, I love 
 you as I never yet loved you ! Thank you, Louise, for 
 this devotion ; but measures must be taken to place 
 you beyond all insult, to secure you from every harm. 
 Louise, a maid of honor in the court of a young princess 
 in these times of freedom of manners and inconstant 
 affections, — a maid of honor is placed as an object of 
 attack without having any means of defence afforded her. 
 This state of things is not seemly for you ; you must be 
 married in order to be respected.” 
 
 “ Married ? ” 
 
 “Yes. There is my hand, Louise; will you place your 
 hand within it 1 ” 
 
 “ But your father ? ” 
 
 “My father leaves me perfectly free.” 
 
 “Yet — ” 
 
 “ I understand your scruples, Louise ; I will consult my 
 father.” 
 
SURPRISE OF MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALAIS. 399 
 
 “ Oh, M. Raoul, reflect, wait ! ” 
 
 u Wait ! it is impossible ; reflect, Louise, when you are 
 concerned ! it would be insulting to you. Give me your 
 hand, dear Louise. I am my own master. My father will 
 consent, I know. Give me your hand; do not keep me 
 waiting thus ! One word in answer, one word only ; if 
 not, I shall begin to think that in order to change you 
 forever nothing more was needed than a single step in 
 the palace, a single breath of favor, a smile from the 
 queen, a single look from the king.” 
 
 Raoul had no sooner pronounced this last word than 
 La Valliere became as pale as death, no doubt from her 
 fear at seeing the young man so roused. With a move- 
 ment as rapid as thought, she placed both her hands in 
 those of Raoul, and then fled without adding a syllable, 
 disappeared without casting a look behind her. Raoul 
 felt his whole frame tremble at the contact of her hand ; 
 he received the promise as a solemn assurance wrung by 
 love from the timidity of innocence. 
 
400 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE DRAGELOiNNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE CONSENT OF ATHOS. 
 
 Raoul had left the Palais-Royal full of ideas which ad- 
 mitted of no delay in their execution. He mounted his 
 horse in the courtyard, and followed the road to Blois, 
 while the marriage festivities of Monsieur and the prin- 
 cess of England were celebrated with great delight by 
 the courtiers, but to the great despair of De Guiche and 
 Buckingham. Raoul lost no time on the road, and in six- 
 teen hours arrived at Blois. As he travelled along, he 
 marshalled his most convincing arguments. Fever also is 
 an argument that cannot be answered, and Raoul had an 
 attack of fever. 
 
 Athos was in his study, making some additions to his 
 memoirs, when Raoul entered, shown in by Grimaud. 
 Keen-sighted and penetrating, a mere glance at his son 
 told him that something extraordinary had befallen him. 
 
 “ You seem to have come on some matter of great im- 
 portance,” said he to Raoul, after he had embraced him, 
 and pointing to a seat. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur,” replied the young man ; “ and I en- 
 treat you to give me the same kind attention which has 
 never yet been refused me.” 
 
 “ Speak, Raoul ! ” 
 
 “ I present the case to you, Monsieur, free from all 
 preface, for that would be unworthy of you. Mademoi- 
 selle de la Valliere is in Paris as one of Madame’ s maids 
 of honor. I have pondered deeply on the matter. I love 
 
THE CONSENT OF ATHOS. 
 
 401 
 
 Mademoiselle de la Valliere above everything ; and it is 
 not proper to leave her in a position where her reputation, 
 her virtue even, may be exposed. It is my wish, there- 
 fore, to marry her, Monsieur, and I have come to solicit 
 your consent to this marriage.” 
 
 Athos had maintained, during this communication, ab- 
 solute silence and reserve. Raoul, who had begun his 
 speech with an assumption of self-possession, finished it 
 by allowing manifest emotion to escape him at every 
 word. 
 
 Athos fixed upon Bragelonne a searching look, over- 
 shadowed indeed by a slight sadness. “ You have con- 
 sidered it well? ” he inquired. 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ I believe you have already been made acquainted 
 with my views respecting this alliance'?” 
 
 “ Yes, Monsieur,” replied Raoul, in a low tone of voice ; 
 “ but you added that if I insisted — ” 
 
 “You do insist, then'?” 
 
 Bragelonne stammered out an almost unintelligible 
 assent. 
 
 “Your passion,” continued Athos, tranquilly, “must 
 indeed be very great, since, notwithstanding my dislike to 
 this union, you persist in desiring it.” 
 
 Raoul passed his trembling hand across his forehead to 
 remove the perspiration which had collected there. 
 
 Athos looked at him, and his heart was touched with 
 pity for him. He then rose, and said : “ It is no matter 5 
 my own personal feelings are of no consequence, since 
 yours are concerned. You need my assistance ; I am 
 ready to give it. Tell me what you want.” 
 
 “Your kind indulgence, first of all, Monsieur,” said 
 Raoul, taking hold of his hand. 
 
 “You have mistaken my feelings, Raoul; I have more 
 vol. 11. — 26 
 
402 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 than mere indulgence for you in my heart,” replied the 
 count. 
 
 Eaoul kissed, as devotedly as a lover could have done, 
 the hand he held in his own. 
 
 “Come, come,” said Athos, “I am quite ready, Raoul; 
 what do you wish me to sign ? ” 
 
 “Oh, nothing, Monsieur, nothing! Only it would be 
 very kind if you would take the trouble to write to the 
 king, to whom I belong, and solicit his Majesty’s permis- 
 sion for me to marry Mademoiselle de la Vallicre.” 
 
 “Well thought, Raoul ! After or rather before myself, 
 you have a master to consult, that master being the king ; 
 it is loyal in you to submit yourself voluntarily to this 
 double ordeal. I will grant your request without delay, 
 Raoul.” 
 
 The count approached the window, and leaning out 
 called to Grimaud, who showed his head from an ar- 
 bor covered with jasmine, which he was occupied in 
 trimming. 
 
 “ My horses, Grimaud ! ” continued the count. 
 
 “Why this order, Monsieur'?” inquired Raoul. 
 
 “We shall start in two hours.” 
 
 “Whither?” 
 
 “ For Paris.” 
 
 “ Paris, Monsieur ! you go to Paris ? ” 
 
 “ Is not the king at Paris ? ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ Well, ought we not to go there 1 ? Have you forgotten 
 yourself 1 ” 
 
 “Yet, Monsieur,” said Raoul, almost alarmed by this 
 kind condescension, “ I do not ask you to put yourself to 
 such inconvenience ; and a letter merely — ” 
 
 “ You mistake my position, Raoul. It is not respect- 
 ful that a simple gentleman such as I am should write to 
 
THE CONSENT OF ATHOS. 
 
 403 
 
 his sovereign. I wish to speak, and I ought to speak, 
 to his Majesty, and I will do so. We will go together, 
 Raoul.” 
 
 “ You overpower me with your kindness, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ How do you think his Majesty is affected 1 ” 
 
 “ Towards me, Monsieur]” 
 
 44 Yes.” 
 
 44 Excellently well disposed.” 
 
 44 Has he told you so ] ” 
 
 44 With his own lips.” 
 
 44 On what occasion % ” 
 
 44 Upon the recommendation of M. d’Artagnan, I be- 
 lieve, and on account of an affair in the Place de Greve, 
 when I had the honor to draw my sword in the king’s 
 service. I have reason to believe, then, that, vanity apart, 
 I stand well with his Majesty.” 
 
 44 So much the better.” 
 
 44 But I entreat you, Monsieur,” pursued Raoul, 44 not 
 to maintain towards me this grave and serious manner. 
 Do not make me regret having listened to a feeling 
 stronger than anything else.” 
 
 44 That is the second time you have said so, Raoul ; it 
 was quite unnecessary. You require my formal consent, 
 and you have it. We need talk no more on the subject, 
 therefore. Come and see my new plantations, Raoul.” 
 The young man knew very well that after the expres- 
 sion of his father’s wish, no opportunity of discussion was 
 left him. He bowed his head, and followed his father 
 into the garden. Athos leisurely pointed out to him the 
 grafts, the cuttings, and the avenues he was planting. 
 This perfect repose of manner disconcerted Raoul more 
 and more ; the love with which his own heart was filled 
 seemed so great that the whole world could hardly con- 
 tain it. How, then, could his father’s heart remain void, 
 
404 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 and closed to its influence 1 Bragelonne thereupon, 
 collecting all his courage, suddenly exclaimed : “ It is 
 impossible, Monsieur, that you can have any reason to 
 reject Mademoiselle dc la Valliere ; she is so good, so 
 sweet, so pure, that your mind, so perfect in its penetra- 
 tion, ought to appreciate her worth. In Heaven’s name, 
 does any secret enmity or hereditary dislike exist between 
 you and her family 1 ” 
 
 “Look, Raoul, at that beautiful lily-of-the- valley,” said 
 Athos ; “ observe how the shade and the damp situation 
 suit it, particularly the shadow which that sycamore-tree 
 casts over it, so that the warmth, and not the blazing 
 heat of the sun, filters through its drooping leaves.” 
 
 Raoul stopped, bit his lips, and then, with the blood 
 mantling in his face, said courageously : “ One word of 
 explanation, I beg, Monsieur. You cannot forget that 
 your son is a man.” 
 
 “ In that case,” replied Athos, drawing himself up with 
 sternness, “ prove to me that you are a man, for you do 
 not show yourself to be a son. I begged you to wait the 
 opportunity of forming an illustrious alliance. I should 
 have obtained a wife for you from the first ranks of the 
 rich nobility. I wished you to be distinguished by the 
 splendor which glory and fortune confer, for nobility of 
 descent you have already.” 
 
 “ Monsieur,” exclaimed Raoul, carried away by a first 
 impulse, “ I was reproached the other day for not knowing 
 who my mother was.” 
 
 Athos turned pale ; then knitting his brows like the 
 greatest of the heathen deities, “ I am waiting to learn 
 the reply you made, Monsieur,” he demanded, in an 
 imperious manner. 
 
 “ Forgive me ! oh, forgive me ! ” murmured the young 
 man, sinking at once from the lofty tone he had assumed. 
 
THE CONSENT OF ATHOS. 
 
 405 
 
 “ What was your reply, Monsieur ?” demanded the 
 count, stamping his foot upon the ground. 
 
 “ Monsieur, my sword was in my hand immediately ; 
 he who insulted me placed himself on guard ; I struck 
 his sword over a palisade, and threw him after it.” 
 
 “ And why did n’t you kill him ? ” 
 
 “ The king forbids duelling, Monsieur, and at that 
 moment I was an ambassador of the king.” 
 
 “Very well,” said Athos; “but this furnishes a greater 
 reason why I should see his Majesty.” 
 
 “ What do you intend to ask him, Monsieur? ” 
 
 “ For authority to draw my sword against the man 
 who has inflicted this injury upon me.” 
 
 “Monsieur, if I did not act as I ought to have done, 
 I beg you to forgive me.” 
 
 “ Did I reproach you, Raoul ? ” 
 
 “ Still, the permission you are going to ask from the 
 king ? ” 
 
 “ I will implore his Majesty to sign your marriage- 
 contract, but on one condition.” 
 
 “ Are conditions necessary with me, Monsieur ? Com- 
 mand, and you shall be obeyed.” 
 
 “ On one condition,” continued Athos : “ that you tell 
 me the name of the man who has spoken thus of — your 
 mother.” 
 
 “ But, Monsieur, what need is there that you should 
 know his name ? The offence was directed against myself ; 
 and, the permission once obtained from his Majesty, to 
 revenge it is my affair.” 
 
 “ His name, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ I will not allow you to expose yourself.” 
 
 “ Do you take me for a Don Diego ? His name, I say ! ” 
 “ You insist upon it ? ” 
 
 “ I demand it.” 
 
406 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONME. 
 
 “ The Vicomte de Wardes.” 
 
 “ Very well/’ said Athos, tranquilly ; “ I know him. 
 But our horses are ready, I see ; and instead of delaying 
 our departure for a couple of hours, we will set off at 
 once. Come, Monsieur ! ” 
 
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 
 
 407 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS OF THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 While the Comte de la Fere was proceeding on his way 
 to Paris, accompanied by Raoul, the Palais-Royal was 
 the theatre of a scene which Moliere would have called 
 excellent comedy. Four days had elapsed since Mon- 
 sieur’s marriage. Having breakfasted very hurriedly, he 
 passed into his antechamber, frowning and out of temper. 
 The repast had not been over-agreeable. Madame had 
 had breakfast served in her own apartment, and Monsieur 
 had breakfasted almost alone; the Chevalier de Lorraine 
 and Manicamp were the only other persons present at the 
 meal, which had lasted three quarters of an hour without 
 a single syllable having been uttered. Manicamp, who 
 was less intimate with his royal Highness than the Chev- 
 alier de Lorraine, vainly endeavored to detect, from the 
 expression of the prince’s face, what had made him so ill- 
 humored. The Chevalier de Lorraine, who had no occa- 
 sion to speculate about anything, inasmuch as he knew 
 all, ate his breakfast with that extraordinary appetite 
 which the troubles of others afforded him, and enjoyed 
 at the same time both the ill-humor of Monsieur and the 
 perplexity of Manicamp. He seemed delighted, while he 
 went on eating, to detain at table the prince, who was 
 very impatient to move. Monsieur at times repented 
 the ascendency which he had permitted the Chevalier de 
 Lorraine to acquire over him, and which exempted the 
 latter from any observance of etiquette towards him. 
 Monsieur was now in one of those moods ; but he dreaded 
 
408 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 as much as he liked the chevalier, and contented himself 
 with raging inwardly. Every now and then Monsieur 
 raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered them towards 
 the slices of pdte which the chevalier was attacking ; and 
 finally, not venturing to betray his anger, he began a pan- 
 tomime which Harlequin might have admired. At last, 
 however, Monsieur could control himself no longer, and 
 at the dessert, rising from the table in excessive wrath, 
 as we have related, he left the Chevalier de Lorraine to 
 finish his breakfast as he pleased. Seeing Monsieur rise 
 from the table, Manicamp rose quickly, napkin in hand. 
 Monsieur ran, rather than walked, towards the ante- 
 chamber, and finding an usher there, gave him some di- 
 rections in a low voice. Then, turning back again, but 
 avoiding the breakfast-room, he passed through several 
 rooms, with the intention of seeking the queen-mother in 
 her oratory, where she usually remained. 
 
 It was about ten o’clock in the morning. Anne of Aus- 
 tria was engaged in writing as Monsieur entered. The 
 queen-mother was extremely attached to her son, for he 
 was handsome in person and amiable in disposition. He 
 was in fact more affectionate, and, so to speak, more 
 effeminate than the king. He pleased his mother by 
 those trifling sympathetic attentions which all women 
 like to receive. Anne of Austria, who would have re- 
 joiced to have had a daughter, found in this her favorite 
 son the attentions, solicitude, and caressing manners of a 
 child of twelve. All the time he passed with his mother 
 he employed in admiring her beautiful arms, in giving his 
 opinion upon her cosmetics and receipts for compounding 
 essences, in which she was very particular ; and then, too, 
 he kissed her hands and eyes in the most endearing and 
 childlike manner, and had always some sweetmeats to 
 offer her, or some new style of dress to recommend. 
 
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 
 
 409 
 
 Anne of Austria loved the king, or rather the regal 
 power in her eldest son : Louis XIV. represented legiti- 
 macy by divine right. With the king her character was 
 that of the queen-mother; with Philip she was simply the 
 mother. The latter knew that of all places of refuge a 
 mother’s heart is the most compassionate and the surest. 
 When quite a child, he had always fled there for refuge 
 when storms arose between him and his brother ; often, 
 after having struck him, which constituted the crime of 
 high treason on his part, after certain engagements with 
 hands and nails in which the king and his rebellious sub- 
 ject indulged in their night-dresses upon a disputed bed, 
 having their servant Laporte as umpire, — Philip, the 
 conqueror, but terrified at his victory, used to flee to his 
 mother to obtain reinforcements from her, or at least the 
 assurance of a forgiveness, which Louis XIV. granted 
 with difficulty and after an interval. Anne, from this 
 habit of peaceful intervention, had succeeded in arranging 
 the differences between her sons, and in sharing at the 
 same time all their secrets. The king, somewhat jealous 
 of that maternal solicitude which was bestowed partic- 
 ularly upon his brother, felt disposed to show towards 
 his mother more submission and attachment than his 
 character really possessed. 
 
 Anne of Austria had adopted this line of conduct espe- 
 cially towards the young queen. In this manner she 
 ruled with almost despotic sway over the royal house- 
 hold ; and she was already preparing all her batteries 
 to rule with the same absolute authority over the house- 
 hold of her second son. Anne experienced almost a 
 feeling of pride whenever she saw any one enter her 
 apartments with woe-begone looks, pale cheeks, or red 
 eyes, comprehending that assistance was required either 
 by the weakest or by the most rebellious. She was 
 
410 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 writing, we have said, when Monsieur entered her ora- 
 tory, not with red eyes or pale cheeks, but restless, out 
 of temper, and annoyed. With an absent air he kissed 
 his mother’s arms, and sat down before receiving her per- 
 mission to do so. Considering the strict rules of etiquette 
 established at the court of Anne of Austria, this forgetfulness 
 of customary respect was a sign of preoccupation, especially 
 on Philip’s part, who of his own accord observed towards 
 her a respect of a somewhat exaggerated character. If, there- 
 fore, he so notoriously failed with regard to such principles 
 of respect, there must surely be a serious cause for it. 
 
 “ What is the matter, Philip ? ” inquired Anne of 
 Austria, turning towards her son. 
 
 “ A great many things,” murmured the prince, dolefully. 
 
 “You look like a man who has a great deal to do,” 
 said the queen, laying down her pen. Philip frowned, 
 but did not reply. “Among the various subjects which 
 occupy your mind,” said Anne of Austria, “ there must 
 surely be one which occupies it more than others.” 
 
 “ Yes, Madame ; one indeed has occupied me more than 
 any other.” 
 
 “Well, what is it ? I am listening.” 
 
 Philip opened his mouth as if to give vent to all the 
 troubles which were passing in his mind, and which 
 seemed only waiting for a point of issue to burst forth. 
 But he suddenly became silent, and a sigh alone expressed 
 all that his heart contained. 
 
 “ Come, Philip, show a little firmness,” said the queen- 
 mother. “ When one has to complain of anything, it is 
 generally an individual who is the cause of it. Am I not 
 right ? ” 
 
 “ I do not say no, Madame.” 
 
 “Whom do you wish to speak about? Come, take 
 courage ! ” 
 
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 411 
 
 “ In fact, Madame, what I may have to say must be 
 kept a perfect secret ; for when a lady is in the case — ” 
 “Ah ! you wish to speak of Madame, then'?” inquired 
 the queen-mother, with a feeling of the liveliest curiosity. 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “ Well, then, if it is Madame you wish to speak of, my 
 son, do not hesitate. I am your mother, and she is no 
 more than a stranger to me. Yet, as she is my daughter- 
 in-law, be assured that I shall be interested, even were it 
 for your own sake alone, in hearing all that you may have 
 to say about her.” 
 
 “ Pray tell me, Madame, in your turn, whether you 
 have not noticed something ? ” 
 
 “Something, Philip'? Your words have an alarming 
 vagueness. What do you mean by something *? ” 
 
 “ Madame is pretty, certainly.” 
 
 “ No doubt of it.” 
 
 “Yet not altogether beautiful.” 
 
 “ No ; but as she matures she may still become very 
 strikingly beautiful. You must have remarked the 
 change which a few years have already made in her. 
 Her beauty will improve more and more ; she is now only 
 sixteen years of age. At fifteen I was myself very thin ; 
 but even as she is at present, Madame is very pretty.” 
 “And consequently others may have remarked it.” 
 
 “ Undoubtedly ; for a woman of ordinary rank is ob- 
 served, and with still greater reason a princess.” 
 
 “ She has been well brought up, I suppose, Madame *? ” 
 “ Madame Henrietta, her mother, is a woman some- 
 what cold in her manner, slightly pretentious, but full of 
 noble thoughts. The education of the young princess 
 may have been neglected, but her principles I believe to 
 be good. Such, at least, was the opinion I formed of her 
 when she resided in France ; but she afterwards returned 
 
412 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 to England, and I am ignorant of what may have occurred 
 there.” 
 
 “ What do you mean ? ” 
 
 “ Simply that there are some heads, naturally giddy, 
 which are easily turned by prosperity.” 
 
 “ That is the very word, Madame. I think the prin- 
 cess rather giddy.” 
 
 ‘‘We must not exaggerate, Philip. She is clever and 
 witty, and has a certain amount of coquetry very natural 
 in a young woman ; but this defect is, in persons of high 
 rank and position, a great advantage at a court. A prin- 
 cess who is tinged with coquetry usually forms a bril- 
 liant court around her ; her smile stimulates luxury, and 
 arouses wit and courage even ; the nobles, too, fight bet- 
 ter for a prince whose wife is beautiful.” 
 
 “ Thank you extremely, Madame,” said Philip, with 
 some temper ; “ you really have drawn some very alarm- 
 ing pictures for me, my mother.” 
 
 “ In what respect ] ” asked the queen, with pretended 
 simplicity. 
 
 “ You know, Madame,” said Philip, dolefully, “ whether 
 I had or had not a very great dislike to getting married.” 
 “ Now, indeed, you alarm me ; you have some serious 
 cause of complaint against Madame 'l ” 
 
 “I do not precisely say it is serious.” 
 
 “ In that case, then, throw aside your present mournful 
 looks. If you show yourself in your palace in your present 
 state, people will take you for a very unhappy husband.” 
 “ The fact is,” replied Philip, “ I am not altogether 
 satisfied as a husband, and I shall be glad to have others 
 know it.” 
 
 “ For shame, Philip ! ” 
 
 “ Upon my word, Madame, I will tell you frankly that 
 I do not understand the life I am required to lead.” 
 
MOiNSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 
 
 413 
 
 “ Explain yourself.” 
 
 “ My wife does not seem to belong to me ; she is always 
 leaving me for one reason or another. In the mornings 
 there are visits, correspondence, and toilets ; in the even- 
 ings, balls and concerts.’ 7 
 
 “ You are jealous, Philip.” 
 
 “ I ! Heaven forbid ! Let others act the part of a jeal- 
 ous husband, — not I. But I am annoyed.” 
 
 “ Philip, all those things you reproach your wife with 
 are perfectly innocent; and so long as you have nothing 
 of greater importance — ” 
 
 “ Yet listen! Without being very blamable, a woman 
 can excite a good deal of uneasiness ; certain visitors may 
 be received, certain preferences shown, which expose 
 young women to remark, and which are enough to drive 
 out of their senses even those husbands who are least 
 disposed to be jealous.” 
 
 “ Ah ! now we are coming to the real point at last, and 
 not without some difficulty too. You speak of frequent 
 visits and certain preferences, — very good ; for the last 
 hour we have been beating about the bush, and at last 
 you have broached the real question.” 
 
 “Well, yes — ” 
 
 “ This is more serious than I thought. Is it possible, 
 then, that Madame can have given you grounds for these 
 complaints against her h ” 
 
 “ Precisely so.” 
 
 “ What ! your wife, married only four days ago, prefer 
 some other person to yourself'? Take care, Philip ! You 
 exaggerate your grievances ; wishing to prove, proves 
 nothing.” 
 
 The prince, bewildered by his mother’s serious manner, 
 wished to reply, but could only stammer out some unin- 
 telligible words. 
 
414 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ You draw back, then ] ” said Anne of Austria. “ I 
 prefer that, as it is an acknowledgment of your mistake.” 
 
 “No,” exclaimed Philip, “I do not draw back, and I 
 will prove all that I asserted. I spoke of preferences and 
 of visits, did I not 1 Well, listen ! ” 
 
 Anne of Austria prepared to listen with that love of 
 gossip which the best woman living and the best mother, 
 were she a queen even, always finds in being mixed up 
 with the petty squabbles of a household. 
 
 “ Well/’ said Philip, “ tell me one thing/’ 
 
 “ What is that ] ” 
 
 “Why does my wife retain an English court about 
 her]” and Philip crossed his arms and looked his mother 
 steadily in the face, as if he were convinced that she could 
 not answer the question. 
 
 “ For a very simple reason,” returned Anne of Austria ; 
 “ because the English are her countrymen, because they 
 have expended large sums in order to accompany her to 
 France, and because it would be hardly polite — not good 
 policy, certainly — to dismiss abruptly those members of 
 the English nobility who have not shrunk from any devo- 
 tion or from any sacrifice.” 
 
 “ A wonderful sacrifice, indeed, my mother, to desert a 
 wretched country to come to a beautiful one, where a 
 greater effect can be produced for one crown than can be 
 procured elsewhere for four ! Extraordinary devotion, 
 really, to travel a hundred leagues in company with a 
 woman one is in love with ! ” 
 
 “ In love, Philip ! Think what you are saying ! Who 
 is in love with Madame ] ” 
 
 “ The handsome Duke of Buckingham. Perhaps you 
 will defend him as well ] ” 
 
 Anne of Austria blushed and smiled at the same time. 
 The name of the Duke of Buckingham recalled certain 
 
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 
 
 415 
 
 recollections to her of a tender and melancholy nature. 
 “ The Duke of Buckingham ! ” she murmured. 
 
 “ Yes ; one of those feather-bed soldiers, as my grand- 
 father Henry IY. called them.” 
 
 “ The Buckinghams are loyal and brave,” said Anne of 
 Austria, courageously. 
 
 “ This is too bad ! my own mother takes the part of 
 my wife’s lover against me ! ” exclaimed Philip, incensed 
 to such an extent that his weak organization was affected 
 almost to tears. 
 
 “Philip, my son,” exclaimed Anne of Austria, “such 
 an expression is unworthy of you ! Your wife has no 
 lover; and had she one, it would not be the Duke of 
 Buckingham. The members of that family, I repeat, 
 are loyal and discreet, and the laws of hospitality are 
 sacred with them.” 
 
 “ Eh, Madame ! ” cried Philip ; “ the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham is an Englishman, and do the English so very reli- 
 giously respect what belongs to the princes of France?” 
 
 Anne blushed to her temples a second time, and turned 
 aside under the pretext of taking her pen from her desk 
 again, but really to conceal her blushes from the eyes of her 
 son. “Really, Philip,” she said, “you seem to discover 
 expressions for the purpose of embarrassing me, and your 
 anger blinds you while it alarms me. Reflect a little ! ” 
 
 “ There is no need of reflection, Madame, for I see with 
 my own eyes.” 
 
 “ Well, and what do you see ? ” 
 
 “ I see that the Duke of Buckingham never leaves my 
 wife. He presumes to make presents to her, and she 
 dares to accept them. Yesterday she spoke of sachets h 
 la violette ; well, our French perfumers, — you know very 
 well, Madame, for you have over and over again asked for 
 it without success, — our French perfumers, I say, have 
 
416 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 never been able to procure this scent. The duke, how- 
 ever, wore about him a sachet a ia violette ; and I am sure 
 that the one my wife has, came from him.” 
 
 “Indeed, Monsieur,” said Anne of Austria, “you build 
 your pyramids upon needle-points. Be careful ! What 
 harm, I ask you, can there be in a man giving to his 
 countrywoman a receipt for a new essence ? These strange 
 ideas, I protest, painfully recall to me your father, who 
 so frequently and so unjustly made me suffer.” 
 
 “The Duke of Buckingham’s father was probably more 
 reserved and more respectful than his son,” said Philip, 
 thoughtlessly, not perceiving how rudely he touched his 
 mother’s heart. 
 
 The queen turned pale, and pressed her hand nervously 
 upon her bosom ; but recovering herself immediately, she 
 said, “You came here with a purpose of some kind, I 
 suppose ? ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ What was it?” 
 
 “ I came, Madame, intending to complain energetically, 
 and to inform you that I will not submit to anything from 
 the Duke of Buckingham.” 
 
 “ What do you intend to do, then ? ” 
 
 “ I shall complain to the king.” 
 
 “ And what do you expect the king to reply ? ” 
 
 “Very well, then,” said Monsieur, with an expression 
 of stern determination on his countenance, which offered 
 a singular contrast to its usual gentleness ; “ very well, 
 I will right myself ! ” 
 
 “ What do you call righting yourself? ” inquired Anne 
 of Austria, somewhat alarmed. 
 
 “ I will have the Duke of Buckingham leave the prin- 
 cess, I will have him quit France, and I will see that my 
 wishes are intimated to him.” 
 
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 
 
 417 
 
 “ You will intimate nothing of the kind, Philip, ” said 
 the queen ; “ for if you act in that manner, and violate 
 hospitality to that extent, I will invoke the severity of 
 the king against you.” 
 
 “ Do you threaten me, Madame V 9 exclaimed Philip, 
 in tears; “do you threaten me in the midst of my 
 complaints % ” 
 
 “ I do not threaten you ; I do but place an obstacle in 
 the path of your hasty anger. I maintain that to adopt 
 towards the Duke of Buckingham, or any other English- 
 man, any rigorous measure, — to take even a discourteous 
 step towards him, would be to hurry France and Eng- 
 land into the saddest variances. Can it be possible that 
 a prince of the blood, the brother of the King of France, 
 does not know how to hide an injury, even did it exist 
 in reality, where political necessity requires it]” Philip 
 made a movement. “ Besides,” continued the queen, “ the 
 injury is neither actual nor possible, and we are consid- 
 ering merely a matter of absurd jealousy.” 
 
 “Madame, I know what I know.” 
 
 “ Whatever you may know, I exhort you to be patient.” 
 
 “ I am not patient by disposition, Madame.” 
 
 The queen rose, full of severity, and with an icy, cere- 
 monious manner. “ Then explain what you really require, 
 Monsieur,” said she. 
 
 “ I do not require anything, Madame ; I simply express 
 what I desire. If the Duke of Buckingham does not of 
 his own accord keep away from my apartments, I shall 
 forbid him an entrance.” 
 
 “ That is a question we will refer to the king,” said 
 Anne of Austria, her heart swelling as she spoke, and her 
 voice trembling with emotion. 
 
 “ But, Madame,” exclaimed Philip, striking his hands 
 together, “ act as my mother and not as the queen, since 
 vol. ii. — 27 
 
418 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 I speak to you as a son ; it is simply a matter of a few 
 minutes* conversation between the duke and myself.’* 
 
 “ It is that conversation which I forbid, Monsieur,’* said 
 the queen, resuming her authority, “ because it is un- 
 worthy of you.*’ 
 
 “ Be it so : I shall not appear in the matter, but I shall 
 intimate my will to Madame.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Anne of Austria, with a melancholy arising 
 from her recollections, “ never tyrannize over a wife, my 
 son, — never behave too imperiously towards yours ! A 
 woman conquered is not always convinced.” 
 
 “ What is to be done, then 1 I will consult my friends 
 about it.” 
 
 “Yes, your hypocritical advisers, — the Chevalier de 
 Lorraine, your De Wardes. Intrust the conduct of this 
 affair to me, Philip. You wish the Duke of Buckingham 
 to leave, do you not h ” 
 
 “ As soon as possible, Madame.** 
 
 “ Send the duke to me, then. Smile upon him. Say 
 nothing to your wife, the king, to any one. Polio w no 
 advice but mine. Alas ! I too well know what a house- 
 hold is which is troubled by advisers.” 
 
 “You shall be obeyed, Madame.” 
 
 “ And you will be satisfied at the result, Philip. Send 
 the duke to me.” 
 
 “ That will not be difficult.” 
 
 “ Where do you suppose him to be 'l ” 
 
 “ Pardieu ! at my wife’s door, whose levee he is probably 
 awaiting. That is beyond doubt.” 
 
 “ Very well,” said Anne of Austria, calmly. “Be good 
 enough to tell the duke that I beg him to come and see 
 me.” 
 
 Philip kissed his mother’s hand, and set off to find the 
 Duke of Buckingham. 
 
FOREVER ! 
 
 419 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 FOREVER ! 
 
 The Duke of Buckingham, obedient to the queen-mother’s 
 invitation, presented himself in her apartments half an 
 hour after the departure of the Due d’Orleans. When 
 his name was announced by the gentleman-usher in at- 
 tendance, the queen, who was sitting with her elbows 
 resting on a table and her head buried in her hands, 
 rose, and smilingly received the graceful and respectful 
 salutation which the duke addressed to her. Anne of 
 Austria was still beautiful. It is well known that at her 
 then somewhat advanced age, her long auburn hair, per- 
 fectly formed hands, and bright ruby lips were still the 
 admiration of all who saw her. On the present occasion, 
 abandoned entirely to a remembrance which evoked all 
 the past in her heart, she was as beautiful as in the days 
 of her youth, when her palace was open to the visits of 
 the Duke of Buckingham’s father, then a young and im- 
 passioned man, as well as an unfortunate one, who lived 
 but for her alone, and who died with her name upon his 
 lips. Anne of Austria fixed upon Buckingham a look so 
 tender that it expressed at the same time the kindness 
 of a maternal affection and a certain something like the 
 coquetry of a woman who loves. 
 
 “ Your Majesty,” said Buckingham, respectfully, “ de- 
 sired to speak to me.” 
 
 “ Yes, Duke,” said the queen, in English; “will you 
 be good enough to sit down 1 ” 
 
420 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 The favor which Anne of Austria thus extended to the 
 young man, and the welcome sound of the language of 
 a country from which the duke had been estranged since 
 his stay in France, deeply affected him. He immediately 
 conjectured that the queen had a request to make of him. 
 
 After having abandoned the first few moments to the 
 irrepressible emotion she experienced, the queen resumed 
 the smiling air with which she had received him. “ What 
 do you think of France, Monsieur?” she said, in French. 
 
 “It is a lovely country, Madame,” replied the duke. 
 
 “ Have you ever seen it before?” 
 
 “ Once only, Madame.” 
 
 “ But, like all true Englishmen, you prefer England ? ” 
 
 “ I prefer my own native land to France,” replied the 
 duke; “but if your Majesty were to ask me which of the 
 two cities, London or Paris, I should prefer as a residence, 
 I should reply, Paris.” 
 
 Anne of Austria observed the ardent tone in which 
 these words were pronounced. “ I am told, my Lord, that 
 you have rich possessions in your own country, and that 
 you live in a splendid and time-honored palace.” 
 
 “It was my father’s residence,” replied Buckingham, 
 casting down his eyes. 
 
 “ Doubtless it possesses great advantages and precious 
 remembrances,” replied the queen, alluding, in spite of her- 
 self, to recollections which were of a very enduring character. 
 
 “ In fact,” said the duke, yielding to the melancholy 
 influence of this opening conversation, “ sensitive persons 
 live as much in the past or in the future as in the present.” 
 
 “ That is very true,” said the queen, in a low voice. 
 “It follows, then, my Lord,” she added, “that you, who 
 are a man of feeling, will soon quit France in order to 
 shut yourself up with your wealth and your relics of the 
 past.” 
 
FOREVER ! 
 
 421 
 
 Buckingham raised his head and said, “ I think not, 
 Madame.” 
 
 “ What do you mean ! ” 
 
 “ On the contrary, I think of leaving England in order 
 to take up my residence in France.” 
 
 It was now Anne of Austria’s turn to exhibit surprise. 
 “ Why! ” she said. “ Are you not in favor with the new 
 king ? ” 
 
 “ Perfectly so, Madame, for his Majesty’s kindness to 
 me is unbounded.” 
 
 “ It cannot be because your fortune has diminished,” 
 said the queen, “ for it is said to be considerable.” 
 “My fortune, Madame, has never been more thriving.” 
 “ There is some secret cause, then ! ” 
 
 “No, Madame,” said Buckingham, eagerly, “ there is 
 nothing secret in my reason for this determination. I 
 like living in France ; I like a court so distinguished by 
 its refinement and courtesy ; I like those amusements, a 
 trifle serious, which are not the amusements of my own 
 country, and which are met with in France.” 
 
 Anne of Austria smiled shrewdly. “ Amusements of a 
 serious nature ! ” she said. “ Has your Grace well con- 
 sidered their seriousness % ” The duke hesitated. “ There 
 is no amusement so serious/’ continued the queen, “as 
 should prevent a man of your rank — ” 
 
 “Your Majesty seems to insist greatly upon that point,” 
 interrupted the duke. 
 
 “ Do you think so, my Lord ! ” 
 
 “ If your Majesty will forgive me for saying so, it is the 
 second time you have vaunted the attractions of England 
 at the expense of the charm of living in France.” 
 
 Anne of Austria approached the young man, and placing 
 her beautiful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at 
 the touch, said : “ Believe me, Monsieur, nothing can 
 
422 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 equal the charm of a residence in one’s own native country. 
 I have very frequently had occasion to long for Spain. I 
 have lived long, my Lord, very long for a woman ; and 
 I confess to you that not a year has passed in which I 
 have not longed for Spain.” 
 
 “ Not one year, Madame 2 ” said the young duke, coldly. 
 “ Not one of those years when you reigned queen of beauty, 
 — as you still are, indeed 2 ” 
 
 “A truce to flattery, Duke, for I am old enough to be 
 your mother.” She emphasized these latter words in a 
 manner and with a gentleness which penetrated Bucking- 
 ham’s heart. “Yes,” she said, “I am old enough to be 
 your mother ; and for this reason I will give you a word 
 of advice.” 
 
 “ That advice being that I should return to London 2 ” 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 “Yes, my Lord.” 
 
 The duke clasped his hands w T ith a terrified gesture, 
 which could not fail of its effect upon the queen, already 
 disposed to softer feelings by the tenderness of her own 
 recollections. 
 
 “ It must be so,” added the queen. 
 
 “What!” he again exclaimed, “am I seriously told 
 that I must leave, that I must exile myself, that 1 am 
 to flee at once 2 ” 
 
 “Exile yourself, did you say 2 Why, my Lord, one 
 would fancy that France was your native country.” 
 
 “ Madame, the country of those who love is the coun- 
 try of those whom they love.” 
 
 “ Not another word, my Lord; you forget whom you 
 are addressing.” 
 
 Buckingham threw himself on his knees. “ Madame, 
 you are the source of intelligence, of goodness, and of com- 
 passion ; you are not only the first person in this kingdom 
 
FOREVER ! 
 
 423 
 
 by your rank, but the first person in the world on account 
 of your angelic attributes. I have said nothing, Madame. 
 Have I, indeed, said anything to w T hich you should reply 
 in words so cruel 1 Can I have betrayed myself?” 
 
 “ You have betrayed yourself, ” said the queen, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 “ I have sa^d nothing, — I know nothing/’ 
 
 “ You forget you have spoken and thought in the pres- 
 ence of a woman ; and besides — ” 
 
 “ Besides,” interrupted the duke, eagerly, “ no one 
 knows that you are listening to me.” 
 
 “ On the contrary, it is known, Duke, that you have 
 the defects and the virtues of youth.” 
 
 “ I have been betrayed or denounced, then ? ” 
 
 “ By whom ? ” 
 
 “ By those who at Havre had, with infernal perspi- 
 cacity, read my heart like an open book.” 
 
 “ I do not know whom you mean.” 
 
 “ M. de Bragelonne, for instance.” 
 
 “I know the name without being acquainted with the 
 person to whom it belongs. Ho, M. de Bragelonne has 
 said nothing.” 
 
 “Who can it be, then? If any one, Madame, had had 
 the boldness to notice in me that which I do not myself 
 wish to behold — ” 
 
 “ What would you do, Duke ? ” 
 
 “ There are secrets which kill those who discover them.” 
 “ He, then,, who has discovered your secret, madman 
 that you are, still lives ; and, what is more, you will not 
 slay him, for he is armed on all sides, — he is a husband, 
 a jealous man, — he is the second gentleman in France, 
 — he is my son, the Due d’Orleans.” 
 
 The duke turned pale as death. “ How cruel you are, 
 Madame ! ” said he. 
 
424 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ You see, Buckingham,” said Anne of Austria, sadly. 
 “ how you pass from one extreme to another, and fight 
 with shadows, when it would seem so easy to remain at 
 peace with yourself.” 
 
 “ If we fight, Madame, we die on the field of battle,” 
 replied the young man gently, abandoning himself to the 
 most gloomy depression. 
 
 Anne ran towards him and took him by the hand. 
 “ Villiers,” she said, in English, with a vehemence of 
 tone which nothing could resist, “ what is it you ask % 
 Do you ask a mother to sacrifice her son, — a queen to 
 consent to the dishonor of her house ? Child that you 
 are, do not think of it. What ! in order to spare your 
 tears, am I to commit these two crimes, Villiers ? You 
 speak of the dead : the dead, at least, were respectful and 
 submissive ; they resigned themselves to an order of exile ; 
 they carried their despair away with them in their hearts, 
 like a priceless possession, because the despair was caused 
 by the woman they loved, and because death, thus dis- 
 guised, was like a gift or a favor conferred upon them.” 
 Buckingham rose, his features distorted, and his hands 
 pressed against his heart. “You are right, Madame,” 
 he said ; “ but those of whom you speak had received 
 their order of exile from the lips of the one whom they 
 loved ; they were not driven away, — they were entreated 
 to leave, and were not laughed at.” 
 
 “ No,” murmured Anne of Austria, “ they were not for- 
 gotten ! But who says that you are driven away, or that 
 you are exiled ? Who says that your devotion will not 
 be remembered ? I do not speak on any one’s behalf 
 but my own, when I tell you to leave. Do me this kind- 
 ness, — grant me this favor ; let me for this, also, be 
 indebted to one of your name.” 
 
 “ It is for your sake, then, Madame?” 
 
FOREVER ! 
 
 425 
 
 “ For mine alone.” 
 
 “ There will be no one left behind me who will venture 
 to mock, — no prince, even, who shall say, ‘ I required it’ V 9 
 
 “ Listen to me, Duke ! ” and hereupon the august fea- 
 tures of the aged queen assumed a solemn expression. “ I 
 swear to you that no one commands in this matter but 
 myself. I swear to you that not only shall no one 
 either laugh or boast in any way, but no one even shall 
 fail in the respect due to your rank. Rely upon me, 
 Duke, as I rely upon you.” 
 
 “ You do not explain yourself, Madame ; my heart is 
 full of bitterness, and I am in utter despair ; no consola- 
 tion, however gentle and affectionate it may be, can afford 
 me relief.” 
 
 “ Do you remember your mother, Duke ] ” replied the 
 queen, with a winning smile. 
 
 “Very slightly, Madame; yet I remember how that 
 noble lady used to cover me with her caresses and her 
 tears whenever I wept.” 
 
 “ Villiers,” murmured the queen, passing her arm 
 round the young man’s neck, “look upon me as your 
 mother, and believe that no one shall ever make my son 
 weep.” 
 
 “ I thank you, Madame,” said the young man, affected 
 and almost suffocated by his emotion ; “I feel that there 
 is indeed still room in my heart for a gentler and nobler 
 sentiment than love.” 
 
 The queen-mother gazed at him and pressed his hand. 
 “ Go ! ” she said. 
 
 “ When must I leave ? Command me.” 
 
 “Any time that may suit you, my Lord,” resumed the 
 queen ; “ you will choose your own day of departure. 
 Instead, however, of setting off to-day, as you would 
 doubtless wish to do, or to-morrow, as others may have 
 
426 
 
 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 expected, leave the day after to-morrow, in the evening , 
 but announce to-day that it is your wish to leave.” 
 
 “ My wish 'l 99 murmured the young man. 
 
 “Yes, Duke.” 
 
 “ And — shall I never return to France 1 ” 
 
 Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly ab- 
 sorbed in sad and serious thought. “ It would be a con- 
 solation for me,” she said, “if you were to return on the 
 day when I shall be carried to my final resting-place at 
 St. Denis, beside the king my husband.” 
 
 “ Madame, you are goodness itself. The tide of pros- 
 perity is setting in upon you ; your cup brims over with 
 happiness, and many long years are yet before you.” 
 
 “ In that case you will not come for some time, then,” 
 said the queen, endeavoring to smile. 
 
 “ I shall not return,” said Buckingham, sadly, “ young 
 as I am. Death, Madame, does not reckon by years, — it 
 is impartial ; some die young, others live on to old age.” 
 “ Away with gloomy ideas, Duke ! Let me comfort 
 you. Return in two years. I read in your charming face 
 that the very ideas which sadden you so much now will 
 have disappeared before six months shall have passed, and 
 will be all dead and forgotten in the period of absence I 
 have assigned to you.” 
 
 “ I think you judged me better a little while since, 
 Madame,” replied the young man, “ when you said 
 that time is powerless against members of the family 
 of Buckingham.” 
 
 “ Silence ! ” said the queen, kissing the duke upon the 
 forehead with an affection which she could not restrain. 
 “ Go, go ! spare me, and forget yourself no longer. I am 
 the queen. You are the subject of the King of England ; 
 King Charles awaits your return. Adieu, Yilliers, — 
 farewell ! ” 
 
FOREVER ! 
 
 427 
 
 “ Forever !” replied the young man; and he fled, en- 
 deavoring to master his emotion. 
 
 Anne leaned her head upon her hands, and then, look- 
 ing at herself in the glass, murmured, “ It has been truly 
 said that a woman is always young, and that the age of 
 twenty years always lies concealed in some secret corner 
 of the heart.” 
 
428 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 KING LOUIS XIV. DOES NOT THINK MADEMOISELLE DE LA 
 VALLIERE EITHER RICH ENOUGH OR PRETTY ENOUGH 
 FOR A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANK OF THE VICOMTE DE 
 BRAGELONNE. 
 
 Raoul and the Comte de la Fere reached Paris the even- 
 ing of the same day on which Buckingham had had the 
 conversation with the queen-mother. The count had 
 scarcely arrived, when, through Raoul, he solicited an 
 audience of the king. His Majesty had passed a portion 
 of the day in looking over, with Madame and the ladies 
 of the court, various goods of Lyons manufacture of which 
 he had made his sister-in-law a present. A court dinner 
 had succeeded, then cards ; and afterwards, according to 
 his usual custom, the king, leaving the card-tables at 
 eight o’clock, had passed into his cabinet in order to work 
 with M. Colbert and M. Fouquet. 
 
 Raoul was in the antechamber when the two ministers 
 went out, and the king, perceiving him through the half- 
 closed door, said, “ What does M. de Bragelonne want ] ” 
 The young man approached. “ An audience, Sire,” he 
 replied, “ for the Comte de la Fere, who has just arrived 
 from Blois, and is most anxious to have an interview with 
 your Majesty.” 
 
 “ I have an hour to spare between cards and my sup- 
 per,” said the king. “ Is the Comte de la Fere ready]” 
 “ He is below, and awaits your Majesty’s commands.” 
 
THE KING DISAPPROVES THE MATCH. 
 
 429 
 
 “ Let him come at once,” said the king; and five min- 
 utes afterwards Athos entered the presence of Louis XIV. 
 He was received by the king with that gracious kindness 
 of manner which Louis, with a tact beyond his years, 
 reserved for the purpose of gaining those men who were 
 not to be conquered by ordinary favors. “ Let me hope, 
 Count,” said the king, “that you have come to ask me 
 for something.” 
 
 “ I will not conceal from your Majesty,” replied the 
 count, “ that I have indeed come for that purpose.” 
 
 “ That is well, then,” said the king, joyously. 
 
 “ It is not for myself, Sire.” 
 
 “ So much the worse ; but at least I will do for your 
 'protege what you refuse to permit me to do for you.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty encourages me. I have come to speak 
 on behalf of the Vicomte de Bragelonne.” 
 
 “It is the same as if you spoke on your own behalf, 
 Count.” 
 
 “ Hot altogether so, Sire. That which I am desirous 
 of obtaining from your Majesty I cannot obtain for 
 myself. The viscount thinks of marrying.” 
 
 “ He is still very young ; but that does not matter. 
 He is an eminently distinguished man. I will choose 
 a wife for him.” 
 
 “ He has already chosen one, Sire, and only awaits 
 your Majesty’s consent.” 
 
 “ It is only a question, then, of signing the marriage 
 contract h ” Athos bowed. “ Has he chosen a wife whose 
 fortune and position accord with your own views ? ” 
 
 Athos hesitated for a moment. “ His betrothed is of 
 good birth, but has no fortune.” 
 
 “ That is a misfortune which we can remedy.” 
 
 “You overwhelm me with gratitude, Sire: but your 
 Majesty will permit me to offer a remark i” 
 
430 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “ Do so, Count.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty seems to intimate an intention of giving 
 a marriage portion to this young girl ” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 “ I should regret, Sire, if the application I make your 
 Majesty should have that result.” 
 
 “ No false delicacy, Count ; what is the bride’s name *? ” 
 “ Mademoiselle la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere,” said 
 Athos, coldly. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” said the king, searching his memory, “ I know 
 that name ; there was a Marquis de la Valliere.” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire, it is his daughter.” 
 
 “ But he died, and his widow was married again to 
 M. de Saint-Remy, I think, steward of the dowager 
 Madame’s household.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty is correctly informed.” 
 
 “ More than that, the young lady has lately become 
 one of the princess’s maids of honor.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty is better acquainted with her history 
 than I am.” 
 
 The king again reflected, and glancing at the count’s 
 anxious countenance, said : “ The young lady does not 
 seem to me to be very pretty, Count.” 
 
 “ I am not quite sure,” replied Athos. 
 
 “ I have seen her, but she did not strike me as being so.” 
 “She seems to be a sweet and modest girl, but has 
 little beauty, Sire.” 
 
 “ Beautiful fair hair, however ? ” 
 
 “ I think so.” 
 
 “ And quite beautiful blue eyes'?” 
 
 “ Yes, Sire.” 
 
 “ With regard to beauty, then, the match is but an 
 ordinary one. Now for the money side of the question.” 
 “ From fifteen to twenty thousand livres’ dowry at the 
 
THE KING DISAPPROVES THE MATCH. 
 
 431 
 
 very outside, Sire. But the lovers are disinterested 
 enough ; for myself, I care little for money. ” 
 
 “ For superfluity, you mean ; but a needful amount is 
 of importance. With fifteen thousand livres, without 
 landed property, a woman cannot live at court. We will 
 make up the deficiency; I will do it for Bragelonne.” 
 
 The king again noticed the coldness with which Athos 
 received his remark. 
 
 “ Let us pass from the question of money to that of 
 rank,” said Louis XI Y. “ The daughter of the Marquis 
 de la Valliere, that is well enough ; but there is that ex- 
 cellent Saint-Remy, who somewhat damages the family, 
 — on the women’s side, I know, but damaging all the 
 same, — and you, Count, are rather particular, I believe, 
 about your own family.” 
 
 “ Sire, I no longer hold to anything but my devotion 
 to your Majesty.” 
 
 The king again paused. “ A moment, Count. You 
 have surprised me in no little degree from the beginning 
 of our conversation. You come to ask me to authorize 
 a marriage, and you seem greatly disturbed in having to 
 make the request. Nay, pardon me, Count, but I am 
 rarely deceived, young as I am ; for while with some 
 persons I place my friendship at the disposal of my un- 
 derstanding, with others I call my distrust to my aid, 
 by which my discernment is increased. I repeat that 
 you do not prefer your request as though you wished it 
 success.” 
 
 “ Well, Sire, that is true.” 
 u I do not understand you, then ; refuse.” 
 
 “ Nay, Sire : I love Bragelonne with my whole heart ; 
 he is smitten with Mademoiselle de la Valliere, he weaves 
 dreams of bliss for the future ; I am not one who is will- 
 ing to destroy the illusions of youth. This marriage is 
 
432 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 objectionable to me, but I implore jour Majesty to con- 
 sent to it forthwith, and thus make Raoul happy.” 
 
 “ Tell me, Count, is she in love with him ? ” 
 
 “ If your Majesty requires me to speak candidly, I do 
 not believe in Mademoiselle de la Valliere’s affection. She 
 is young, she is a child, she is intoxicated with joy ; the 
 delight of being at court, the honor of being in the ser- 
 vice of Madame, counteract in her head whatever affec- 
 tion she may have in her heart. It is a marriage similar 
 to many others which your Majesty has seen at court ; 
 but Bragelonne wishes it, and let it be so.” 
 
 “ And yet you do not resemble those easy-tempered 
 fathers who make slaves of themselves for their chil- 
 dren,” said the king. 
 
 “ Sire, I am determined enough against the viciously 
 disposed, but not so against men of upright character. 
 Raoul is suffering, and is in great distress of mind ; his 
 disposition, naturally light and cheerful, has become 
 heavy and melancholy. I do not wish to deprive your 
 Majesty of the services he may be able to render.” 
 
 “ I understand you,” said the king ; “ and what is more, 
 I understand your heart, too, Count.” 
 
 “ There is no occasion, therefore,” replied the count, 
 “to tell your Majesty that my object is to make these 
 children, or rather Raoul, happy.” 
 
 “ And I too, as much as yourself, Count, wish to secure 
 M. de Bragelonne’s happiness.” 
 
 “ I only await your Majesty’s signature. Raoul will 
 have the honor of presenting himself before you to receive 
 your consent.” 
 
 “ You are mistaken, Count,” said the king, firmly ; “ I 
 have just said that I desire to secure the viscount’s hap- 
 piness, and from the present moment, therefore, I oppose 
 his marriage.” 
 
THE KING DISAPPROVES THE MATCH. 
 
 433 
 
 “ But, Sire,” exclaimed Athos, “ your Majesty has 
 promised ! ” 
 
 “Not so, Count; I did not promise you, for it is op- 
 posed to my own views.’’ 
 
 “ I appreciate all your Majesty’s considerate and gen- 
 erous intentions in my behalf ; but I take the liberty 
 of recalling to you that I undertook to approach your 
 Majesty as an ambassador.” 
 
 “ An ambassador, Count, frequently asks, but does not 
 always obtain what he asks.” 
 
 “But, Sire, it will be such a blow for Bragelonne.” 
 
 “ My hand shall deal the blow ; I will speak to the 
 viscount.” 
 
 “ Love, Sire, is overwhelming in its might.” 
 
 “ Love can be resisted, Count ; I myself can assure you 
 of that.” 
 
 “When one has the soul of a king, — your soul, Sire.” 
 
 “ Do not make yourself uneasy upon the subject. I 
 have certain views for Bragelonne. I do not say that he 
 shall not marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere, but I do not 
 wish him to marry so young. I do not wish him to 
 marry her until she has acquired a fortune ; and he, on 
 his side, no less deserves my favor, such as I wish to con- 
 fer upon him. In a word, Count, I wish them to wait.” 
 
 “Yet once more, Sire.” 
 
 “ Monsieur the Count, you told me you came to request 
 a favor.” 
 
 “Assuredly, Sire.” 
 
 “ Grant me one, then, instead, — let us speak no longer 
 upon this matter. It is probable that before long war 
 may be declared; I require men about me who are un- 
 fettered. I should hesitate to send under fire a married 
 man or a father of a family ; I should hesitate, also, on 
 Bragelonne’s account, to endow with a fortune, without 
 
 VOL. IT. — 28 
 
434 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 some sound reason for it, a young girl, a perfect stranger ; 
 such an act would sow jealousy among my nobility.” 
 Athos bowed, and remained silent. 
 
 “ Is that all you had to ask me? ” added Louis XIV. 
 
 “ Absolutely all, Sire ; and I take my leave of your 
 Majesty. Is it, however, necessary that I should inform 
 Baoul ? ” 
 
 “ Spare yourself the trouble and annoyance. Tell the 
 viscount that at my levee to-morrow morning I will speak 
 to him. I shall expect you this evening, Count, to join 
 my card-table.” 
 
 “ I am in travelling-costume, Sire.” 
 
 “ A day will come, I hope, when you w T ill leave me no 
 more. Before long, Count, the monarchy will be estab- 
 lished in such a manner as to enable me to offer a worthy 
 hospitality to all men of your merit.” 
 
 “ Provided, Sire, a monarch reigns truly great in the 
 hearts of his subjects, the palace he inhabits matters 
 little, since he is worshipped in a temple.” 
 
 With these words Athos left the cabinet, and found 
 Bragelonne, who awaited his return. 
 
 “ Well, Monsieur?” said the young man. 
 
 “ The king, Baoul, is w T ell disposed towards us both ; 
 not, perhaps, in the sense you suppose, but he is kind, and 
 generously disposed towards our house.” 
 
 “ You have bad news to communicate to me, Mon- 
 sieur,” said the young man, turning very pale. 
 
 “The king will himself inform you to-morrow morning 
 that it is not bad news.” 
 
 “ The king has not signed, however ? ” 
 
 “ The king wishes himself to settle the terms of the 
 contract, Baoul, and he desires to make it so grand that 
 he requires time for it. Throw the blame rather on your 
 own impatience than on the king’s good-will.” 
 
THE KING DISAPPROVES THE MATCH. 
 
 435 
 
 Raoul, in utter consternation, because he knew the 
 count’s frankness as well as his tact, remained plunged in 
 a dull, heavy stupor. 
 
 “ Will you not go with me to my lodgings ] ” said 
 Athos. 
 
 “1 beg your pardon, Monsieur; I will follow you,” 
 Raoul stammered out, following Athos down the staircase. 
 
 “ Since T am here,” said Athos, suddenly, “ cannot I 
 see M. d’Artagnan 'l ” 
 
 “ Shall I show you to his apartment 1 ” said Bragelonne. 
 
 “Do so.” 
 
 “ It is on the other staircase, then.” 
 
 They altered their course; but as they reached the 
 landing of the grand gallery, Raoul perceived a servant 
 in the Comte de Guiche’s livery, who ran towards him as 
 soon as he heard his voice. 
 
 “ What is it'?” said Raoul. 
 
 “ This note, Monsieur. Monsieur the Count heard of 
 your return, and wrote to you without delay. I have 
 been seeking you for the last hour.” 
 
 Raoul approached Athos as he unsealed the letter, say- 
 ing, “ With your permission, Monsieur.” 
 
 “ Certainly.” 
 
 Dear Raoul, — I have an affair in hand which requires im- 
 mediate attention. I know you have returned ; come to me as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 De Guiche. 
 
 Hardly had he finished reading it, when a servant in 
 the livery of the Duke of Buckingham, turning out of the 
 gallery, recognized Raoul, and approached him respect- 
 fully, saying, “ From his Grace the duke.” 
 
 “ Well, Raoul, as I see you are already as busy as a 
 general of an army, I will leave you, and will find M. 
 d’Artagnan myself.” 
 
436 
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE. 
 
 “You will excuse me, I trust,” said Raoul. 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I excuse you. Adieu, Raoul ! You will 
 find me at my apartments until to-morrow ; during the 
 day I may set out for Blois, unless I have orders to the 
 contrary.” 
 
 “ I shall present my respects to you to-morrow, 
 Monsieur.” 
 
 When Athos had left, Raoul opened Buckingham’s 
 letter. 
 
 Monsieur de Bragelonne, — You are, of all the French- 
 men I have known, the one with whom I am most pleased. I 
 am about to put your friendship to the proof. I have received 
 a certain message, written in very good French. As I am an 
 Englishman, I am afraid of not comprehending it very clearly. 
 The letter has a good name attached to it, and that is all I can 
 tell you. Will you be obliging enough to come and see me, 
 for I am told you have arrived from Blois ? 
 
 Your devoted 
 
 V illiers, Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 “ I am going now to see your master,” said Raoul to 
 De Guiche’s servant as he dismissed him ; “ and I shall 
 be with the Duke of Buckingham in an hour,” he added, 
 dismissing with these words the duke’s messenger. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
I