Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (Pere)

"You think the count will be angry with me?"

"Think it? I'm certain of it; were it not for that, I should
thank you, for you have worked for us. However, I scold you
instead of him, and in his place; the storm will blow over
more easily, believe me. And moreover, my dear child,"
continued D'Artagnan, "I am making use of the privilege
conceded to me by your guardian."

"I do not understand you, sir," said Raoul.

D'Artagnan rose, and taking a letter from his writing-desk,
presented it to Raoul. The face of the latter became serious
when he had cast his eyes upon the paper.

"Oh, mon Dieu!" he said, raising his fine eyes to
D'Artagnan, moist with tears, "the count has left Paris
without seeing me?"

"He left four days ago," said D'Artagnan.

"But this letter seems to intimate that he is about to incur
danger, perhaps death."

"He -- he -- incur danger of death! No, be not anxious; he
is traveling on business and will return ere long. I hope
you have no repugnance to accept me as your guardian in the
interim."

"Oh, no, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Raoul, "you are such a
brave gentleman and the Comte de la Fere has so much
affection for you!"

"Eh! Egad! love me too; I will not torment you much, but
only on condition that you become a Frondist, my young
friend, and a hearty Frondist, too."

"But can I continue to visit Madame de Chevreuse?"

"I should say you could! and the coadjutor and Madame de
Longueville; and if the worthy Broussel were there, whom you
so stupidly helped arrest, I should tell you to excuse
yourself to him at once and kiss him on both cheeks."

"Well, sir, I will obey you, although I do not understand
you.

"It is unnecessary for you to understand. Hold," continued
D'Artagnan, turning toward the door, which had just opened,
"here is Monsieur du Vallon, who comes with his coat torn."

"Yes, but in exchange," said Porthos, covered with
perspiration and soiled by dust, "in exchange, I have torn
many skins. Those wretches wanted to take away my sword!
Deuce take 'em, what a popular commotion!" continued the
giant, in his quiet manner; "but I knocked down more than
twenty with the hilt of Balizarde. A draught of wine,
D'Artagnan."

"Oh" I'll aswer for you," said the Gascon, filling Porthos's
glass to the brim; "but when you have drunk, give me your
opinion."

"Upon what?" asked Porthos.

"Look here," resumed D'Artagnan; "here is Monsieur de
Bragelonne, who determined at all risks to aid the arrest of
Broussel and whom I had great difficulty to prevent
defending Monsieur de Comminges."

"The devil!" said Porthos; "and his guardian, what would he
have said to that?"

"Do you hear?" interrupted D'Artagnan; "become a Frondist,
my friend, belong to the Fronde, and remember that I fill
the count's place in everything;" and he jingled his money.

"Will you come?" said he to Porthos.

"Where?" asked Porthos, filling a second glass of wine.

"To present our respects to the cardinal."

Porthos swallowed the second glass with the same grace with
which he had imbibed the first, took his beaver and followed
D'Artagnan. As for Raoul, he remained bewildered with what
he had seen, having been forbidden by D'Artagnan to leave
the room until the tumult was over.

The Beggar of St. Eustache.

D'Artagnan had calculated that in not going at once to the
Palais Royal he would give Comminges time to arrive before
him, and consequently to make the cardinal acquainted with
the eminent services which he, D'Artagnan, and his friend
had rendered to the queen's party in the morning.

They were indeed admirably received by Mazarin, who paid
them numerous compliments, and announced that they were more
than half on their way to obtain what they desired, namely,
D'Artagnan his captaincy, Porthos his barony.

D'Artagnan would have preferred money in hand to all that
fine talk, for he knew well that to Mazarin it was easy to
promise and hard to perform. But, though he held the
cardinal's promises as of little worth, he affected to be
completely satisfied, for he was unwilling to discourage
Porthos.

Whilst the two friends were with the cardinal, the queen
sent for him. Mazarin, thinking that it would be the means
of increasing the zeal of his two defenders if he procured
them personal thanks from the queen, motioned them to follow
him. D'Artagnan and Porthos pointed to their dusty and torn
dresses, but the cardinal shook his head.

"Those costumes," he said, "are of more worth than most of
those which you will see on the backs of the queen's
courtiers; they are costumes of battle."

D'Artagnan and Porthos obeyed. The court of Anne of Austria
was full of gayety and animation; for, after having gained a
victory over the Spaniard, it had just gained another over
the people. Broussel had been conducted out of Paris without
further resistance, and was at this time in the prison of
Saint Germain; while Blancmesnil, who was arrested at the
same time, but whose arrest had been made without difficulty
or noise, was safe in the Castle of Vincennes.

Comminges was near the queen, who was questioning him upon
the details of his expedition, and every one was listening
to his account, when D'Artagnan and Porthos were perceived
at the door, behind the cardinal.

"Ah, madame," said Comminges, hastening to D'Artagnan, "here
is one who can tell you better than myself, for he was my
protector. Without him I should probably at this moment be a
dead fish in the nets at Saint Cloud, for it was a question
of nothing less than throwing me into the river. Speak,
D'Artagnan, speak."

D'Artagnan had been a hundred times in the same room with
the queen since he had become lieutenant of the musketeers,
but her majesty had never once spoken to him.

"Well, sir," at last said Anne of Austria, "you are silent,
after rendering such a service?"

"Madame," replied D'Artagnan, "I have nought to say, save
that my life is ever at your majesty's service, and that I
shall only be happy the day I lose it for you.

"I know that, sir; I have known that," said the queen, "a
long time; therefore I am delighted to be able thus publicly
to mark my gratitude and my esteem."

"Permit me, madame," said D'Artagnan, "to reserve a portion
for my friend; like myself" (he laid an emphasis on these
words) "an ancient musketeer of the company of Treville; he
has done wonders."

"His name?" asked the queen.

"In the regiment," said D'Artagnan, "he is called Porthos"
(the queen started), "but his true name is the Chevalier du
Vallon."

"De Bracieux de Pierrefonds," added Porthos.

"These names are too numerous for me to remember them all,
and I will content myself with the first," said the queen,
graciously. Porthos bowed. At this moment the coadjutor was
announced; a cry of surprise ran through the royal
assemblage. Although the coadjutor had preached that same
morning it was well known that he leaned much to the side of
the Fronde; and Mazarin, in requesting the archbishop of
Paris to make his nephew preach, had evidently had the
intention of administering to Monsieur de Retz one of those
Italian kicks he so much enjoyed giving.

The fact was, in leaving Notre Dame the coadjutor had
learned the event of the day. Although almost engaged to the
leaders of the Fronde he had not gone so far but that
retreat was possible should the court offer him the
advantages for which he was ambitious and to which the
coadjutorship was but a stepping-stone. Monsieur de Retz
wished to become archbishop in his uncle's place, and
cardinal, like Mazarin; and the popular party could with
difficulty accord him favors so entirely royal. He therefore
hastened to the palace to congratulate the queen on the
battle of Lens, determined beforehand to act with or against
the court, as his congratulations were well or ill received.

The coadjutor possessed, perhaps, as much wit as all those
put together who were assembled at the court to laugh at
him. His speech, therefore, was so well turned, that in
spite of the great wish felt by the courtiers to laugh, they
could find no point on which to vent their ridicule. He
concluded by saying that he placed his feeble influence at
her majesty's command.

During the whole time he was speaking, the queen appeared to
be well pleased with the coadjutor's harangue; but
terminating as it did with such a phrase, the only one which
could be caught at by the jokers, Anne turned around and
directed a glance toward her favorites, which announced that
she delivered up the coadjutor to their tender mercies.
Immediately the wits of the court plunged into satire.
Nogent-Beautin, the fool of the court, exclaimed that "the
queen was very happy to have the succor of religion at such
a moment." This caused a universal burst of laughter. The
Count de Villeroy said that "he did not know how any fear
could be entertained for a moment, when the court had, to
defend itself against the parliament and the citizens of
Paris, his holiness the coadjutor, who by a signal could
raise an army of curates, church porters and vergers."

The Marechal de la Meilleraie added that in case the
coadjutor should appear on the field of battle it would be a
pity that he should not be distinguished in the melee by
wearing a red hat, as Henry IV. had been distinguished by
his white plume at the battle of Ivry.

During this storm, Gondy, who had it in his power to make it
most unpleasant for the jesters, remained calm and stern.
The queen at last asked him if he had anything to add to the
fine discourse he had just made to her.

"Yes, madame," replied the coadjutor; "I have to beg you to
reflect twice ere you cause a civil war in the kingdom."

The queen turned her back and the laughing recommenced.

The coadjutor bowed and left the palace, casting upon the
cardinal such a glance as is best understood by mortal foes.
That glance was so sharp that it penetrated the heart of
Mazarin, who, reading in it a declaration of war, seized
D'Artagnan by the arm and said:

"If occasion requires, monsieur, you will remember that man
who has just gone out, will you not?"

"Yes, my lord," he replied. Then, turning toward Porthos,
"The devil!" said he, "this has a bad look. I dislike these
quarrels among men of the church."

Gondy withdrew, distributing benedictions on his way, and
finding a malicious satisfaction in causing the adherents of
his foes to prostrate themselves at his feet.

"Oh!" he murmured, as he left the threshold of the palace:
"ungrateful court! faithless court! cowardly court! I will
teach you how to laugh to-morrow -- but in another manner."

But whilst they were indulging in extravagant joy at the
Palais Royal, to increase the hilarity of the queen,
Mazarin, a man of sense, and whose fear, moreover, gave him
foresight, lost no time in making idle and dangerous jokes;
he went out after the coadjutor, settled his account, locked
up his gold, and had confidential workmen to contrive hiding
places in his walls.

On his return home the coadjutor was informed that a young
man hail come in after his departure and was waiting for
him; he started with delight when, on demanding the name of
this young man, he learned that it was Louvieres. He
hastened to his cabinet. Broussel's son was there, still
furious, and still bearing bloody marks of his struggle with
the king's officers. The only precaution he had taken in
coming to the archbishopric was to leave his arquebuse in
the hands of a friend.

The coadjutor went to him and held out his hand. The young
man gazed at him as if he would have read the secret of his
heart.

"My dear Monsieur Louvieres," said the coadjutor, "believe
me, I am truly concerned for the misfortune which has
happened to you."

"Is that true, and do you speak seriously?" asked Louvieres.

"From the depth of my heart," said Gondy.

"In that case, my lord, the time for words has passed and
the hour for action is at hand; my lord, in three days, if
you wish it, my father will be out of prison and in six
months you may be cardinal."

The coadjutor started.

"Oh! let us speak frankly," continued Louvieres, "and act in
a straightforward manner. Thirty thousand crowns in alms is
not given, as you have done for the last six months, out of
pure Christian charity; that would be too grand. You are
ambitious -- it is natural; you are a man of genius and you
know your worth. As for me, I hate the court and have but
one desire at this moment -- vengeance. Give us the clergy
and the people, of whom you can dispose, and I will bring
you the citizens and the parliament; with these four
elements Paris is ours in a week; and believe me, monsieur
coadjutor, the court will give from fear what it will not
give from good-will."

It was now the coadjutor's turn to fix his piercing eyes on
Louvieres.

"But, Monsieur Louvieres, are you aware that it is simply
civil war you are proposing to me?"

"You have been preparing long enough, my lord, for it to be
welcome to you now."

"Never mind," said the coadjutor; "you must be well aware
that this requires reflection."

"And how many hours of reflection do you ask?"

"Twelve hours, sir; is it too long?"

"It is now noon; at midnight I will be at your house."

"If I should not be in, wait for me."

"Good! at midnight, my lord."

"At midnight, my dear Monsieur Louvieres."

When once more alone Gondy sent to summon all the curates
with whom he had any connection to his house. Two hours
later, thirty officiating ministers from the most populous,
and consequently the most disturbed parishes of Paris had
assembled there. Gondy related to them the insults he had
received at the Palais Royal and retailed the jests of
Beautin, the Count de Villeroy and Marechal de la
Meilleraie. The curates asked him what was to be done.

"Simply this," said the coadjutor. "You are the directors of
all consciences. Well, undermine in them the miserable
prejudice of respect and fear of kings; teach your flocks
that the queen is a tyrant; and repeat often and loudly, so
that all may know it, that the misfortunes of France are
caused by Mazarin, her lover and her destroyer; begin this
work to-day, this instant even, and in three days I shall
expect the result. For the rest, if any one of you have
further or better counsel to expound, I will listen to him
with the greatest pleasure."

Three curates remained -- those of St. Merri, St. Sulpice
and St. Eustache. The others withdrew.

"You think, then, that you can help me more efficaciously
than your brothers?" said Gondy.

"We hope so," answered the curates.

"Let us hear. Monsieur de St. Merri, you begin."

"My lord, I have in my parish a man who might be of the
greatest use to you."

"Who and what is this man?"

"A shopkeeper in the Rue des Lombards, who has great
influence upon the commerce of his quarter."

"What is his name?"

"He is named Planchet, who himself also caused a rising
about six weeks ago; but as he was searched for after this
emeute he disappeared."

"And can you find him?"

"I hope so. I think he has not been arrested, and as I am
his wife's confessor, if she knows where he is I shall know
it too."

"Very well, sir, find this man, and when you have found him
bring him to me."

"We will be with you at six o'clock, my lord."

"Go, my dear curate, and may God assist you!"

"And you, sir?" continued Gondy, turning to the curate of
St. Sulpice.

"I, my lord," said the latter, "I know a man who has
rendered great services to a very popular prince and who
would make an excellent leader of revolt. Him I can place at
your disposal; it is Count de Rochefort."

"I know him also, but unfortunately he is not in Paris."

"My lord, he has been for three days at the Rue Cassette."

"And wherefore has he not been to see me?"

"He was told -- my lord will pardon me ---- "

"Certainly, speak."

"That your lordship was about to treat with the court."

Gondy bit his lips.

"They are mistaken; bring him here at eight o'clock, sir,
and may Heaven bless you as I bless you!"

"And now 'tis your turn," said the coadjutor, turning to the
last that remained; "have you anything as good to offer me
as the two gentlemen who have left us?"

"Better, my lord."

"Diable! think what a solemn engagement you are making; one
has offered a wealthy shopkeeper, the other a count; you are
going, then, to offer a prince, are you?"

"I offer you a beggar, my lord."

"Ah! ah!" said Gondy, reflecting, "you are right, sir; some
one who could raise the legion of paupers who choke up the
crossings of Paris; some one who would know how to cry aloud
to them, that all France might hear it, that it is Mazarin
who has reduced them to poverty."

"Exactly your man."

"Bravo! and the man?"

"A plain and simple beggar, as I have said, my lord, who
asks for alms, as he gives holy water; a practice he has
carried on for six years on the steps of St. Eustache."

"And you say that he has a great influence over his
compeers?"

"Are you aware, my lord, that mendacity is an organized
body, a kind of association of those who have nothing
against those who have everything; an association in which
every one takes his share; one that elects a leader?"

"Yes, I have heard it said," replied the coadjutor.

"Well, the man whom I offer you is a general syndic."

"And what do you know of him?"

"Nothing, my lord, except that he is tormented with
remorse."

"What makes you think so?"

"On the twenty-eighth of every month he makes me say a mass
for the repose of the soul of one who died a violent death;
yesterday I said this mass again."

"And his name?"

"Maillard; but I do not think it is his right one."

"And think you that we should find him at this hour at his
post?"

"Certainly."

"Let us go and see your beggar, sir, and if he is such as
you describe him, you are right -- it will be you who have
discovered the true treasure."

Gondy dressed himself as an officer, put on a felt cap with
a red feather, hung on a long sword, buckled spurs to his
boots, wrapped himself in an ample cloak and followed the
curate.

The coadjutor and his companion passed through all the
streets lying between the archbishopric and the St. Eustache
Church, watching carefully to ascertain the popular feeling.
The people were in an excited mood, but, like a swarm of
frightened bees, seemed not to know at what point to
concentrate; and it was very evident that if leaders of the
people were not provided all this agitation would pass off
in idle buzzing.

On arriving at the Rue des Prouvaires, the curate pointed
toward the square before the church.

"Stop!" he said, "there he is at his post."

Gondy looked at the spot indicated and perceived a beggar
seated in a chair and leaning against one of the moldings; a
little basin was near him and he held a holy water brush in
his hand.

"Is it by permission that he remains there?" asked Gondy.

"No, my lord; these places are bought. I believe this man
paid his predecessor a hundred pistoles for his."

"The rascal is rich, then?"

"Some of those men sometimes die worth twenty thousand and
twenty-five and thirty thousand francs and sometimes more."

"Hum!" said Gondy, laughing; "I was not aware my alms were
so well invested."

In the meantime they were advancing toward the square, and
the moment the coadjutor and the curate put their feet on
the first church step the mendicant arose and proffered his
brush.

He was a man between sixty-six and sixty-eight years of age,
little, rather stout, with gray hair and light eyes. His
countenance denoted the struggle between two opposite
principles -- a wicked nature, subdued by determination,
perhaps by repentance.

He started on seeing the cavalier with the curate. The
latter and the coadjutor touched the brush with the tips of
their fingers and made the sign of the cross; the coadjutor
threw a piece of money into the hat, which was on the
ground.

"Maillard," began the curate, "this gentleman and I have
come to talk with you a little."

"With me!" said the mendicant; "it is a great honor for a
poor distributor of holy water."

There was an ironical tone in his voice which he could not
quite disguise and which astonished the coadjutor.

"Yes," continued the curate, apparently accustomed to this
tone, "yes, we wish to know your opinion of the events of
to-day and what you have heard said by people going in and
out of the church."

The mendicant shook his head.

"These are melancholy doings, your reverence, which always
fall again upon the poor. As to what is said, everybody is
discontented, everybody complains, but `everybody' means
`nobody.'"

"Explain yourself, my good friend," said the coadjutor.

"I mean that all these cries, all these complaints, these
curses, produce nothing but storms and flashes and that is
all; but the lightning will not strike until there is a hand
to guide it."

"My friend," said Gondy, "you seem to be a clever and a
thoughtful man; are you disposed to take a part in a little
civil war, should we have one, and put at the command of the
leader, should we find one, your personal influence and the
influence you have acquired over your comrades?"

"Yes, sir, provided this war were approved of by the church
and would advance the end I wish to attain -- I mean, the
remission of my sins."

"The war will not only be approved of, but directed by the
church. As for the remission of your sins, we have the
archbishop of Paris, who has the very greatest power at the
court of Rome, and even the coadjutor, who possesses some
plenary indulgences; we will recommend you to him."

"Consider, Maillard," said the curate, "that I have
recommended you to this gentleman, who is a powerful lord,
and that I have made myself responsible for you."

"I know, monsieur le cure," said the beggar, "that you have
always been very kind to me, and therefore I, in my turn,
will be serviceable to you."

"And do you think your power as great with the fraternity as
monsieur le cure told me it was just now?"

"I think they have some esteem for me," said the mendicant
with pride, "and that not only will they obey me, but
wherever I go they will follow me."

"And could you count on fifty resolute men, good,
unemployed, but active souls, brawlers, capable of bringing
down the walls of the Palais Royal by crying, `Down with
Mazarin,' as fell those at Jericho?"

"I think," said the beggar, "I can undertake things more
difficult and more important than that."

"Ah, ah," said Gondy, "you will undertake, then, some night,
to throw up some ten barricades?"

"I will undertake to throw up fifty, and when the day comes,
to defend them."

"I'faith!" exclaimed Gondy, "you speak with a certainty that
gives me pleasure; and since monsieur le cure can answer for
you ---- "

"I answer for him," said the curate.

"Here is a bag containing five hundred pistoles in gold;
make all your arrangements, and tell me where I shall be
able to find you this evening at ten o'clock."

"It must be on some elevated place, whence a given signal
may be seen in every part of Paris."

"Shall I give you a line for the vicar of St. Jacques de la
Boucherie? he will let you into the rooms in his tower,"
said the curate.

"Capital," answered the mendicant.

"Then," said the coadjutor, "this evening, at ten o'clock,
and if I am pleased with you another bag of five hundred
pistoles will be at your disposal."

The eyes of the mendicant dashed with cupidity, but he
quickly suppressed his emotion.

"This evening, sir," he replied, "all will be ready."

The Tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie.

At a quarter to six o'clock, Monsieur de Gondy, having
finished his business, returned to the archiepiscopal
palace.

At six o'clock the curate of St. Merri was announced.

The coadjutor glanced rapidly behind and saw that he was
followed by another man. The curate then entered, followed
by Planchet.

"Your holiness," said the curate, "here is the person of
whom I had the honor to speak to you."

Planchet saluted in the manner of one accustomed to fine
houses.

"And you are disposed to serve the cause of the people?"
asked Gondy.

"Most undoubtedly," said Planchet. "I am a Frondist from my
heart. You see in me, such as I am, a person sentenced to be
hung."

"And on what account?"

"I rescued from the hands of Mazarin's police a noble lord
whom they were conducting back to the Bastile, where he had
been for five years."

"Will you name him?"

"Oh, you know him well, my lord -- it is Count de
Rochefort."

"Ah! really, yes," said the coadjutor, "I have heard this
affair mentioned. You raised the whole district, so they
told me!"

"Very nearly," replied Planchet, with a self-satisfied air.

"And your business is ---- "

"That of a confectioner, in the Rue des Lombards."

"Explain to me how it happens that, following so peaceful a
business, you had such warlike inclinations."

"Why does my lord, belonging to the church, now receive me
in the dress of an officer, with a sword at his side and
spurs to his boots?"

"Not badly answered, i'faith," said Gondy, laughing; "but I
have, you must know, always had, in spite of my bands,
warlike inclinations."

"Well, my lord, before I became a confectioner I myself was
three years sergeant in the Piedmontese regiment, and before
I became sergeant I was for eighteen months the servant of
Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"The lieutenant of musketeers?" asked Gondy.

"Himself, my lord."

"But he is said to be a furious Mazarinist."

"Phew!" whistled Planchet.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, my lord; Monsieur d'Artagnan belongs to the
service; Monsieur d'Artagnan makes it his business to defend
the cardinal, who pays him, as much as we make it ours, we
citizens, to attack him, whom he robs."

"You are an intelligent fellow, my friend; can we count upon
you?"

"You may count upon me, my lord, provided you want to make a
complete upheaval of the city."

"'Tis that exactly. How many men, think you, you could
collect together to-night?"

"Two hundred muskets and five hundred halberds."

"Let there be only one man in every district who can do as
much and by to-morrow we shall have quite a powerful army.
Are you disposed to obey Count de Rochefort?"

"I would follow him to hell, and that is saying not a
little, as I believe him entirely capable of the descent."

"Bravo!"

"By what sign to-morrow shall we be able to distinguish
friends from foes?"

"Every Frondist must put a knot of straw in his hat."

"Good! Give the watchword."

"Do you want money?"

"Money never comes amiss at any time, my lord; if one has it
not, one must do without it; with it, matters go on much
better and more rapidly."

Gondy went to a box and drew forth a bag.

"Here are five hundred pistoles," he said; "and if the
action goes off well you may reckon upon a similar sum
to-morrow."

"I will give a faithful account of the sum to your
lordship," said Planchet, putting the bag under his arm.

"That is right; I recommend the cardinal to your attention."

"Make your mind easy, he is in good hands."

Planchet went out, the curate remaining for a moment

"Are you satisfied, my lord?" he asked.

"Yes; he appears to be a resolute fellow."

"Well, he will do more than he has promised."

"He will do wonders then."

The curate rejoined Planchet, who was waiting for him on the
stairs. Ten minutes later the curate of St. Sulpice was
announced. As soon as the door of Gondy's study was opened a
man rushed in. It was the Count de Rochefort.

"'Tis you, then, my dear count," cried Gondy, offering his
hand.

"You have made up your mind at last, my lord?" said
Rochefort.

"It has been made up a long time," said Gondy.

"Let us say no more on the subject; you tell me so, I
believe you. Well, we are going to give a ball to Mazarin."

"I hope so."

"And when will the dance begin?"

"The invitations are given for this evening," said the
coadjutor, "but the violins will not begin to play until
to-morrow morning."

"You may reckon upon me and upon fifty soldiers which the
Chevalier d'Humieres has promised me whenever I need them."

"Upon fifty soldiers?"

"Yes, he is making recruits and he will lend them to me; if
any are missing when the fete is over, I shall replace
them."

"Good, my dear Rochefort; but that is not all. What have you
done with Monsieur de Beaufort?"

"He is in Vendome, where he will wait until I write to him
to return to Paris."

"Write to him; now's the time."

"You are sure of your enterprise?"

"Yes, but he must make haste; for hardly will the people of
Paris have revolted before we shall have a score of princes
begging to lead them. If he defers he will find the place of
honor taken."

"Shall I send word to him as coming from you?"

"Yes certainly."

"Shall I tell him that he can count on you?"

"To the end."

"And you will leave the command to him?"

"Of the war, yes, but in politics ---- "

"You must know it is not his element."

"He must leave me to negotiate for my cardinal's hat in my
own fashion."

"You care about it, then, so much?"

"Since they force me to wear a hat of a form which does not
become me," said Gondy, "I wish at least that the hat should
be red."

"One must not dispute matters of taste and colors," said
Rochefort, laughing. "I answer for his consent."

"How soon can he be here?"

"In five days."

"Let him come and he will find a change, I will answer for
it."

"Therefore, go and collect your fifty men and hold yourself
in readiness."

"For what?"

"For everything."

"Is there any signal for the general rally?"

"A knot of straw in the hat."

"Very good. Adieu, my lord."

"Adieu, my dear Rochefort."

"Ah, Monsieur Mazarin, Monsieur Mazarin," said Rochefort,
leading off his curate, who had not found an opportunity of
uttering a single word during the foregoing dialogue, "you
will see whether I am too old to be a man of action."

It was half-past nine o'clock and the coadjutor required
half an hour to go from the archbishop's palace to the tower
of St. Jacques de la Boucherie. He remarked that a light was
burning in one of the highest windows of the tower. "Good,"
said he, "our syndic is at his post."

He knocked and the door was opened. The vicar himself
awaited him, conducted him to the top of the tower, and when
there pointed to a little door, placed the light which he
had brought with him in a corner of the wall, that the
coadjutor might be able to find it on his return, and went
down again. Although the key was in the door the coadjutor
knocked.

"Come in," said a voice which he recognized as that of the
mendicant, whom he found lying on a kind of truckle bed. He
rose on the entrance of the coadjutor, and at that moment
ten o'clock struck.

"Well," said Gondy, "have you kept your word with me?"

"Not exactly," replied the mendicant.

"How is that?"

"You asked me for five hundred men, did you not? Well, I
have ten thousand for you."

"You are not boasting?"

"Do you wish for a proof?"

"Yes."

There were three candles alight, each of which burnt before
a window, one looking upon the city, the other upon the
Palais Royal, and a third upon the Rue Saint Denis.

The man went silently to each of the candles and blew them
out one after the other.

"What are you doing?" asked the coadjutor.

"I have given the signal."

"For what?"

"For the barricades. When you leave this you will behold my
men at work. Only take care you do not break your legs in
stumbling over some chain or your neck by falling in a
hole."

"Good! there is your money, the same sum as that you have
received already. Now remember that you are a general and do
not go and drink."

"For twenty years I have tasted nothing but water."

The man took the bag from the hands of the coadjutor, who
heard the sound of his fingers counting and handling the
gold pieces.

"Ah! ah!" said the coadjutor, "you are avaricious, my good
fellow."

The mendicant sighed and threw down the bag.

"Must I always be the same?" said he, "and shall I never
succeed in overcoming the old leaven? Oh, misery, oh,
vanity!"

"You take it, however."

"Yes, but I make hereby a vow in your presence, to employ
all that remains to me in pious works."

His face was pale and drawn, like that of a man who had just
undergone some inward struggle.

"Singular man!" muttered Gondy, taking his hat to go away;
but on turning around he saw the beggar between him and the
door. His first idea was that this man intended to do him
some harm, but on the contrary he saw him fall on his knees
before him with his hands clasped.

"Your blessing, your holiness, before you go, I beseech
you!" he cried.

"Your holiness!" said Gondy; "my friend, you take me for
some one else."

"No, your holiness, I take you for what you are, that is to
say, the coadjutor; I recognized you at the first glance."

Gondy smiled. "And you want my blessing?" he said.

"Yes, I have need of it."

The mendicant uttered these words in a tone of such
humility, such earnest repentance, that Gondy placed his
hand upon him and gave him his benediction with all the
unction of which he was capable.

"Now," said Gondy, "there is a communion between us. I have
blessed you and you are sacred to me. Come, have you
committed some crime, pursued by human justice, from which I
can protect you?"

The beggar shook his head. "The crime which I have
committed, my lord, has no call upon human justice, and you
can only deliver me from it by blessing me frequently, as
you have just done."

"Come, be candid," said the coadjutor, "you have not all
your life followed the trade which you do now?"

"No, my lord. I have pursued it for six years only."

"And previously, where were you?"

"In the Bastile."

"And before you went to the Bastile?"

"I will tell you, my lord, on the day when you are willing
to hear my confession."

"Good! At whatsoever hour of the day or night you may
present yourself, remember that I shall be ready to give you
absolution."

"Thank you, my lord," said the mendicant in a hoarse voice.
"But I am not yet ready to receive it."

"Very well. Adieu."

"Adieu, your holiness," said the mendicant, opening the door
and bending low before the prelate.

The Riot.

It was about eleven o'clock at night. Gondy had not walked a
hundred steps ere he perceived the strange change which had
been made in the streets of Paris.

The whole city seemed peopled with fantastic beings; silent
shadows were seen unpaving the streets and others dragging
and upsetting great wagons, whilst others again dug ditches
large enough to ingulf whole regiments of horsemen. These
active beings flitted here and there like so many demons
completing some unknown labor; these were the beggars of the
Court of Miracles -- the agents of the giver of holy water
in the Square of Saint Eustache, preparing barricades for
the morrow.

Gondy gazed on these deeds of darkness, on these nocturnal
laborers, with a kind of fear; he asked himself, if, after
having called forth these foul creatures from their dens, he
should have the power of making them retire again. He felt
almost inclined to cross himself when one of these beings
happened to approach him. He reached the Rue Saint Honore
and went up it toward the Rue de la Ferronnerie; there the
aspect changed; here it was the tradesmen who were running
from shop to shop; their doors seemed closed like their
shutters, but they were only pushed to in such a manner as
to open and allow the men, who seemed fearful of showing
what they carried, to enter, closing immediately. These men
were shopkeepers, who had arms to lend to those who had
none.

One individual went from door to door, bending under the
weight of swords, guns, muskets and every kind of weapon,
which he deposited as fast as he could. By the light of a
lantern the coadjutor recognized Planchet.

The coadjutor proceeded onward to the quay by way of the Rue
de la Monnaie; there he found groups of bourgeois clad in
black cloaks or gray, according as they belonged to the
upper or lower bourgeoisie. They were standing motionless,
while single men passed from one group to another. All these
cloaks, gray or black, were raised behind by the point of a
sword, or before by the barrel of an arquebuse or a musket.

On reaching the Pont Neuf the coadjutor found it strictly
guarded and a man approached him.

"Who are you?" asked the man. "I do not know you for one of
us."

"Then it is because you do not know your friends, my dear
Monsieur Louvieres," said the coadjutor, raising his hat.

Louvieres recognized him and bowed.

Gondy continued his way and went as far as the Tour de
Nesle. There he saw a lengthy chain of people gliding under
the walls. They might be said to be a procession of ghosts,
for they were all wrapped in white cloaks. When they reached
a certain spot these men appeared to be annihilated, one
after the other, as if the earth had opened under their
feet. Gondy, edged into a corner, saw them vanish from the
first until the last but one. The last raised his eyes, to
ascertain, doubtless, that neither his companions nor
himself had been watched, and, in spite of the darkness, he
perceived Gondy. He walked straight up to him and placed a
pistol to his throat.

"Halloo! Monsieur de Rochefort," said Gondy, laughing, "are
you a boy to play with firearms?"

Rochefort recognized the voice.

"Ah, it is you, my lord!" said he.

"The very same. What people are you leading thus into the
bowels of the earth?"

"My fifty recruits from the Chevalier d'Humieres, who are
destined to enter the light cavalry and who have only
received as yet for their equipment their white cloaks."

"And where are you going?"

"To the house of one of my friends, a sculptor, only we
enter by the trap through which he lets down his marble."

"Very good," said Gondy, shaking Rochefort by the hand, who
descended in his turn and closed the trap after him.

It was now one o'clock in the morning and the coadjutor
returned home. He opened a window and leaned out to listen.
A strange, incomprehensible, unearthly sound seemed to
pervade the whole city; one felt that something unusual and
terrible was happening in all the streets, now dark as
ocean's most unfathomable caves. From time to time a dull
sound was heard, like that of a rising tempest or a billow
of the sea; but nothing clear, nothing distinct, nothing
intelligible; it was like those mysterious subterraneous
noises that precede an earthquake.

The work of revolt continued the whole night thus. The next
morning, on awaking, Paris seemed to be startled at her own
appearance. It was like a besieged town. Armed men,
shouldering muskets, watched over the barricades with
menacing looks; words of command, patrols, arrests,
executions, even, were encountered at every step. Those
bearing plumed hats and gold swords were stopped and made to
cry, "Long live Broussel!" "Down with Mazarin!" and whoever
refused to comply with this ceremony was hooted at, spat
upon and even beaten. They had not yet begun to slay, but it
was well felt that the inclination to do so was not wanting.

The barricades had been pushed as far as the Palais Royal.
From the Rue de Bons Enfants to that of the Ferronnerie,
from the Rue Saint Thomas-du-Louvre to the Pont Neuf, from
the Rue Richelieu to the Porte Saint Honore, there were more
than ten thousand armed men; those who were at the front
hurled defiance at the impassive sentinels of the regiment
of guards posted around the Palais Royal, the gates of which
were closed behind them, a precaution which made their
situation precarious. Among these thousands moved, in bands
numbering from one hundred to two hundred, pale and haggard
men, clothed in rags, who bore a sort of standard on which
was inscribed these words: "Behold the misery of the
people!" Wherever these men passed, frenzied cries were
heard; and there were so many of these bands that the cries
were to be heard in all directions.

The astonishment of Mazarin and of Anne of Austria was great
when it was announced to them that the city, which the
previous evening they had left entirely tranquil, had
awakened to such feverish commotion; nor would either the
one or the other believe the reports that were brought to
them, declaring they would rather rely on the evidence of
their own eyes and ears. Then a window was opened and when
they saw and heard they were convinced.

Mazarin shrugged his shoulders and pretended to despise the
populace; but he turned visibly pale and ran to his closet,
trembling all over, locked up his gold and jewels in his
caskets and put his finest diamonds on his fingers. As for
the queen, furious, and left to her own guidance, she went
for the Marechal de la Meilleraie and desired him to take as
many men as he pleased and to go and see what was the
meaning of this pleasantry.

The marshal was ordinarily very adventurous and was wont to
hesitate at nothing; and he had that lofty contempt for the
populace which army officers usually profess. He took a
hundred and fifty men and attempted to go out by the Pont du
Louvre, but there he met Rochefort and his fifty horsemen,
attended by more than five hundred men. The marshal made no
attempt to force that barrier and returned up the quay. But
at Pont Neuf he found Louvieres and his bourgeois. This time
the marshal charged, but he was welcomed by musket shots,
while stones fell like hail from all the windows. He left
there three men.

He beat a retreat toward the market, but there he met
Planchet with his halberdiers; their halberds were leveled
at him threateningly. He attempted to ride over those gray
cloaks, but the gray cloaks held their ground and the
marshal retired toward the Rue Saint Honore, leaving four of
his guards dead on the field of battle.

The marshal then entered the Rue Saint Honore, but there he
was opposed by the barricades of the mendicant of Saint
Eustache. They were guarded, not only by armed men, but even
by women and children. Master Friquet, the owner of a pistol
and of a sword which Louvieres had given him, had organized
a company of rogues like himself and was making a tremendous
racket.

The marshal thought this barrier not so well fortified as
the others and determined to break through it. He dismounted
twenty men to make a breach in the barricade, whilst he and
others, remaining on their horses, were to protect the
assailants. The twenty men marched straight toward the
barrier, but from behind the beams, from among the
wagon-wheels and from the heights of the rocks a terrible
fusillade burst forth and at the same time Planchet's
halberdiers appeared at the corner of the Cemetery of the
Innocents, and Louvieres's bourgeois at the corner of the
Rue de la Monnaie.

The Marechal de la Meilleraie was caught between two fires,
but he was brave and made up his mind to die where he was.
He returned blow for blow and cries of pain began to be
heard in the crowd. The guards, more skillful, did greater
execution; but the bourgeois, more numerous, overwhelmed
them with a veritable hurricane of iron. Men fell around him
as they had fallen at Rocroy or at Lerida. Fontrailles, his
aide-de-camp, had an arm broken; his horse had received a
bullet in his neck and he had difficulty in controlling him,
maddened by pain. In short, he had reached that supreme
moment when the bravest feel a shudder in their veins, when
suddenly, in the direction of the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec, the
crowd opened, crying: "Long live the coadjutor!" and Gondy,
in surplice and cloak, appeared, moving tranquilly in the
midst of the fusillade and bestowing his benedictions to the
right and left, as undisturbed as if he were leading a
procession of the Fete Dieu.

All fell to their knees. The marshal recognized him and
hastened to meet him.

"Get me out of this, in Heaven's name!" he said, "or I shall
leave my carcass here and those of all my men."

A great tumult arose, in the midst of which even the noise
of thunder could not have been heard. Gondy raised his hand
and demanded silence. All were still.

"My children," he said, "this is the Marechal de la
Meilleraie, as to whose intentions you have been deceived
and who pledges himself, on returning to the Louvre, to
demand of the queen, in your name, our Broussel's release.
You pledge yourself to that, marshal?" added Gondy, turning
to La Meilleraie.

"Morbleu!" cried the latter, "I should say that I do pledge
myself to it! I had no hope of getting off so easily."

"He gives you his word of honor," said Gondy.

The marshal raised his hand in token of assent.

"Long live the coadjutor!" cried the crowd. Some voices even
added: "Long live the marshal!" But all took up the cry in
chorus: "Down with Mazarin!"

The crowd gave place, the barricade was opened, and the
marshal, with the remnant of his company, retreated,
preceded by Friquet and his bandits, some of them making a
presence of beating drums and others imitating the sound of
the trumpet. It was almost a triumphal procession; only,
behind the guards the barricades were closed again. The
marshal bit his fingers.

In the meantime, as we have said, Mazarin was in his closet,
putting his affairs in order. He called for D'Artagnan, but
in the midst of such tumult he little expected to see him,
D'Artagnan not being on service. In about ten minutes
D'Artagnan appeared at the door, followed by the inseparable
Porthos.

"Ah, come in, come in, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried the
cardinal, "and welcome your friend too. But what is going on
in this accursed Paris?"

"What is going on, my lord? nothing good," replied
D'Artagnan, shaking his head. "The town is in open revolt,
and just now, as I was crossing the Rue Montorgueil with
Monsieur du Vallon, who is here, and is your humble servant,
they wanted in spite of my uniform, or perhaps because of my
uniform, to make us cry `Long live Broussel!' and must I
tell you, my lord what they wished us to cry as well?"

"Speak, speak."

"`Down with Mazarin!' I'faith, the treasonable word is out."

Mazarin smiled, but became very pale.

"And you did cry?" he asked.

"I'faith, no," said D'Artagnan; "I was not in voice;
Monsieur du Vallon has a cold and did not cry either. Then,
my lord ---- "

"Then what?" asked Mazarin.

"Look at my hat and cloak."

And D'Artagnan displayed four gunshot holes in his cloak and
two in his beaver. As for Porthos's coat, a blow from a
halberd had cut it open on the flank and a pistol shot had
cut his feather in two.

"Diavolo!" said the cardinal, pensively gazing at the two
friends with lively admiration; "I should have cried, I
should."

At this moment the tumult was heard nearer.

Mazarin wiped his forehead and looked around him. He had a
great desire to go to the window, but he dared not.

"See what is going on, Monsieur D'Artagnan," said he.

D'Artagnan went to the window with his habitual composure.
"Oho!" said he, "what is this? Marechal de la Meilleraie
returning without a hat -- Fontrailles with his arm in a
sling -- wounded guards -- horses bleeding; eh, then, what
are the sentinels about? They are aiming -- they are going
to fire!"

"They have received orders to fire on the people if the
people approach the Palais Royal!" exclaimed Mazarin.

"But if they fire, all is lost!" cried D'Artagnan.

"We have the gates."

"The gates! to hold for five minutes -- the gates, they will
be torn down, twisted into iron wire, ground to powder!
God's death, don't fire!" screamed D'Artagnan, throwing open
the window.

In spite of this recommendation, which, owing to the noise,
could scarcely have been heard, two or three musket shots
resounded, succeeded by a terrible discharge. The balls
might be heard peppering the facade of the Palais Royal, and
one of them, passing under D'Artagnan's arm, entered and
broke a mirror, in which Porthos was complacently admiring
himself.

"Alack! alack!" cried the cardinal, "a Venetian glass!"

"Oh, my lord," said D'Artagnan, quietly shutting the window,
"it is not worth while weeping yet, for probably an hour
hence there will not be one of your mirrors remaining in the
Palais Royal, whether they be Venetian or Parisian."

"But what do you advise, then?" asked Mazarin, trembling.

"Eh, egad, to give up Broussel as they demand! What the
devil do you want with a member of the parliament? He is of
no earthly use to anybody."

"And you, Monsieur du Vallon, is that your advice? What
would you do?"

"I should give up Broussel," said Porthos.

"Come, come with me, gentlemen!" exclaimed Mazarin. "I will
go and discuss the matter with the queen."

He stopped at the end of the corridor and said:

"I can count upon you, gentlemen, can I not?"

"We do not give ourselves twice over," said D'Artagnan; "we
have given ourselves to you; command, we shall obey."

"Very well, then," said Mazarin; "enter this cabinet and
wait till I come back."

And turning off he entered the drawing-room by another door.

The Riot becomes a Revolution.

The closet into which D'Artagnan and Porthos had been
ushered was separated from the drawing-room where the queen
was by tapestried curtains only, and this thin partition
enabled them to hear all that passed in the adjoining room,
whilst the aperture between the two hangings, small as it
was, permitted them to see.

The queen was standing in the room, pale with anger; her
self-control, however, was so great that it might have been
imagined that she was calm. Comminges, Villequier and
Guitant were behind her and the women again were behind the
men. The Chancellor Sequier, who twenty years previously had
persecuted her so ruthlessly, stood before her, relating how
his carriage had been smashed, how he had been pursued and
had rushed into the Hotel d'O ---- , that the hotel was
immediately invaded, pillaged and devastated; happily he had
time to reach a closet hidden behind tapestry, in which he
was secreted by an old woman, together with his brother, the
Bishop of Meaux. Then the danger was so imminent, the
rioters came so near, uttering such threats, that the
chancellor thought his last hour had come and confessed
himself to his brother priest, so as to be all ready to die
in case he was discovered. Fortunately, however, he had not
been taken; the people, believing that he had escaped by
some back entrance, retired and left him at liberty to
retreat. Then, disguised in he clothes of the Marquis d'O
---- , he had left the hotel, stumbling over the bodies of
an officer and two guards who had been killed whilst
defending the street door.

During the recital Mazarin entered and glided noiselessly up
to the queen to listen.

"Well," said the queen, when the chancellor had finished
speaking; "what do you think of it all?"

"I think that matters look very gloomy, madame."

"But what step would you propose to me?"

"I could propose one to your majesty, but I dare not."

"You may, you may, sir," said the queen with a bitter smile;
"you were not so timid once."

The chancellor reddened and stammered some words.

"It is not a question of the past, but of the present," said
the queen; "you said you could give me advice -- what is
it?"

"Madame," said the chancellor, hesitating, "it would be to
release Broussel."

The queen, although already pale, became visibly paler and
her face was contracted.

"Release Broussel!" she cried, "never!"

At this moment steps were heard in the ante-room and without
any announcement the Marechal de la Meilleraie appeared at
the door.

"Ah, there you are, marechal," cried Anne of Austria
joyfully. "I trust you have brought this rabble to reason."

"Madame," replied the marechal, "I have left three men on
the Pont Neuf, four at the Halle, six at the corner of the
Rue de l'Arbre-Sec and two at the door of your palace --
fifteen in all. I have brought away ten or twelve wounded. I
know not where I have left my hat, and in all probability I
should have been left with my hat, had the coadjutor not
arrived in time to rescue me."

"Ah, indeed," said the queen, "it would have much astonished
me if that low cur, with his distorted legs, had not been
mixed up with all this."

"Madame," said La Meilleraie, "do not say too much against
him before me, for the service he rendered me is still
fresh."

"Very good," said the queen, "be as grateful as you like, it
does not implicate me; you are here safe and sound, that is
all I wished for; you are not only welcome, but welcome
back."

"Yes, madame; but I only came back on one condition -- that
I would transmit to your majesty the will of the people."

"The will!" exclaimed the queen, frowning. "Oh! oh! monsieur
marechal, you must indeed have found yourself in wondrous
peril to have undertaken so strange a commission!"

The irony with which these words were uttered did not escape
the marechal.

"Pardon, madame," he said, "I am not a lawyer, I am a mere
soldier, and probably, therefore, I do not quite comprehend
the value of certain words; I ought to have said the wishes,
and not the will, of the people. As for what you do me the
honor to say, I presume you mean I was afraid?"

The queen smiled.

"Well, then, madame, yes, I did feel fear; and though I have
been through twelve pitched battles and I cannot count how
many charges and skirmishes, I own for the third time in my
life I was afraid. Yes, and I would rather face your
majesty, however threatening your smile, than face those
demons who accompanied me hither and who sprung from I know
not whence, unless from deepest hell."

(" Bravo," said D'Artagnan in a whisper to Porthos; "well
answered.")

"Well," said the queen, biting her lips, whilst her
courtiers looked at each other with surprise, "what is the
desire of my people?"

"That Broussel shall be given up to them, madame."

"Never!" said the queen, "never!"

"Your majesty is mistress," said La Meilleraie, retreating a
few steps.

"Where are you going, marechal?" asked the queen.

"To give your majesty's reply to those who await it."

"Stay, marechal; I will not appear to parley with rebels."

"Madame, I have pledged my word, and unless you order me to
be arrested I shall be forced to return."

Anne of Austria's eyes shot glances of fire.

"Oh! that is no impediment, sir," said she; "I have had
greater men than you arrested -- Guitant!"

Mazarin sprang forward.

"Madame, "said he, "if I dared in my turn advise ---- "

"Would it be to give up Broussel, sir? If so, you can spare
yourself the trouble."

"No," said Mazarin; "although, perhaps, that counsel is as
good as any other."

"Then what may it be?"

"To call for monsieur le coadjuteur."

"The coadjutor!" cried the queen, "that dreadful mischief
maker! It is he who has raised all this revolt."

"The more reason," said Mazarin; "if he has raised it he can
put it down."

"And hold, madame," suggested Comminges, who was near a
window, out of which he could see; "hold, the moment is a
happy one, for there he is now, giving his blessing in the
square of the Palais Royal."

The queen sprang to the window.

"It is true," she said, "the arch hypocrite -- see!"

"I see," said Mazarin, "that everybody kneels before him,
although he be but coadjutor, whilst I, were I in his place,
though I am cardinal, should be torn to pieces. I persist,
then, madame, in my wish" (he laid an emphasis on the word),
"that your majesty should receive the coadjutor."

"And wherefore do you not say, like the rest, your will?"
replied the queen, in a low voice.

Mazarin bowed.

"Monsieur le marechal," said the queen, after a moment's
reflection, "go and find the coadjutor and bring him to me."

"And what shall I say to the people?"

"That they must have patience," said Anne, "as I have."

The fiery Spanish woman spoke in a tone so imperative that
the marechal made no reply; he bowed and went out.

(D'Artagnan turned to Porthos. "How will this end?" he said.

"We shall soon see," said Porthos, in his tranquil way.)

In the meantime Anne of Austria approached Comminges and
conversed with him in a subdued tone, whilst Mazarin glanced
uneasily at the corner occupied by D'Artagnan and Porthos.
Ere long the door opened and the marechal entered, followed
by the coadjutor.

"There, madame," he said, "is Monsieur Gondy, who hastens to
obey your majesty's summons."

The queen advanced a few steps to meet him, and then
stopped, cold, severe, unmoved, with her lower lip
scornfully protruded.

Gondy bowed respectfully.

"Well, sir," said the queen, "what is your opinion of this
riot?"

"That it is no longer a riot, madame," he replied, "but a
revolt."

"The revolt is at the door of those who think my people can
rebel," cried Anne, unable to dissimulate before the
coadjutor, whom she looked upon, and probably with reason,
as the promoter of the tumult. "Revolt! thus it is called by
those who have wished for this demonstration and who are,
perhaps, the cause of it; but, wait, wait! the king's
authority will put all this to rights."

"Was it to tell me that, madame," coldly replied Gondy,
"that your majesty admitted me to the honor of entering your
presence?"

"No, my dear coadjutor," said Mazarin; "it was to ask your
advice in the unhappy dilemma in which we find ourselves."

"Is it true," asked Gondy, feigning astonishment, "that her
majesty summoned me to ask for my opinion?"

"Yes," said the queen, "it is requested."

The coadjutor bowed.

"Your majesty wishes, then ---- "

"You to say what you would do in her place," Mazarin
hastened to reply.

The coadjutor looked at the queen, who replied by a sign in
the affirmative.

"Were I in her majesty's place," said Gondy, coldly, "I
should not hesitate; I should release Broussel."

"And if I do not give him up, what think you will be the
result?" exclaimed the queen.

"I believe that not a stone in Paris will remain unturned,"
put in the marechal.

"It was not your opinion that I asked," said the queen,
sharply, without even turning around.

"If it is I whom your majesty interrogates," replied the
coadjutor in the same calm manner, "I reply that I hold
monsieur le marechal's opinion in every respect."

The color mounted to the queen's face; her fine blue eyes
seemed to start out of her head and her carmine lips,
compared by all the poets of the day to a pomegranate in
flower, were trembling with anger. Mazarin himself, who was
well accustomed to the domestic outbreaks of this disturbed
household, was alarmed.

"Give up Broussel!" she cried; "fine counsel, indeed. Upon
my word! one can easily see it comes from a priest.

Gondy remained firm, and the abuse of the day seemed to
glide over his head as the sarcasms of the evening before
had done; but hatred and revenge were accumulating in his
heart silently and drop by drop. He looked coldly at the
queen, who nudged Mazarin to make him say something in his
turn.

Mazarin, according to his custom, was thinking much and
saying little.

"Ho! ho!" said he, "good advice, advice of a friend. I, too,
would give up that good Monsieur Broussel, dead or alive,
and all would be at an end."

"If you yield him dead, all will indeed be at an end, my
lord, but quite otherwise than you mean."

"Did I say `dead or alive?'" replied Mazarin. "It was only a
way of speaking. You know I am not familiar with the French
language, which you, monsieur le coadjuteur, both speak and
write so well."

("This is a council of state," D'Artagnan remarked to
Porthos; "but we held better ones at La Rochelle, with Athos
and Aramis."

"At the Saint Gervais bastion," said Porthos.

"There and elsewhere.")

The coadjutor let the storm pass over his head and resumed,
still with the same tranquillity:

"Madame, if the opinion I have submitted to you does not
please you it is doubtless because you have better counsels
to follow. I know too well the wisdom of the queen and that
of her advisers to suppose that they will leave the capital
long in trouble that may lead to a revolution."

"Thus, then, it is your opinion," said Anne of Austria, with
a sneer and biting her lips with rage, "that yesterday's
riot, which to-day is already a rebellion, to-morrow may
become a revolution?"

"Yes, madame," replied the coadjutor, gravely.

"But if I am to believe you, sir, the people seem to have
thrown off all restraint."

"It is a bad year for kings," said Gondy, shaking his head;
"look at England, madame."

"Yes; but fortunately we have no Oliver Cromwell in France,"
replied the queen.

"Who knows?" said Gondy; "such men are like thunderbolts --
one recognizes them only when they have struck."

Every one shuddered and there was a moment of silence,
during which the queen pressed her hand to her side,
evidently to still the beatings of her heart.

("Porthos," murmured D'Artagnan, "look well at that priest."

"Yes," said Porthos, "I see him. What then?"

"Well, he is a man."

Porthos looked at D'Artagnan in astonishment. Evidently he
did not understand his meaning.)

"Your majesty," continued the coadjutor, pitilessly, "is
about to take such measures as seem good to you, but I
foresee that they will be violent and such as will still
further exasperate the rioters."

"In that case, you, monsieur le coadjuteur, who have such
power over them and are at the same time friendly to us,"
said the queen, ironically, "will quiet them by bestowing
your blessing upon them."

"Perhaps it will be too late," said Gondy, still unmoved;
"perhaps I shall have lost all influence; while by giving up
Broussel your majesty will strike at the root of the
sedition and will gain the right to punish severely any
revival of the revolt."

"Have I not, then, that right?" cried the queen.

"If you have it, use it," replied Gondy.

("Peste!" said D'Artagnan to Porthos. "There is a man after
my own heart. Oh! if he were minister and I were his
D'Artagnan, instead of belonging to that beast of a Mazarin,
mordieu! what fine things we would do together!"

"Yes," said Porthos.)

The queen made a sign for every one, except Mazarin, to quit
the room; and Gondy bowed, as if to leave with the rest.

"Stay, sir," said Anne to him.

"Good," thought Gondy, "she is going to yield."

("She is going to have him killed," said D'Artagnan to
Porthos, "but at all events it shall not be by me. I swear
to Heaven, on the contrary, that if they fall upon him I
will fall upon them."

"And I, too," said Porthos.)

"Good," muttered Mazarin, sitting down, "we shall soon see
something startling."

The queen's eyes followed the retreating figures and when
the last had closed the door she turned away. It was evident
that she was making unnatural efforts to subdue her anger;
she fanned herself, smelled at her vinaigrette and walked up
and down. Gondy, who began to feel uneasy, examined the
tapestry with his eyes, touched the coat of mail which he
wore under his long gown and felt from time to time to see
if the handle of a good Spanish dagger, which was hidden
under his cloak, was well within reach.

"And now," at last said the queen, "now that we are alone,
repeat your counsel, monsieur le coadjuteur."

"It is this, madame: that you should appear to have
reflected, and publicly acknowledge an error, which
constitutes the extra strength of a strong government;
release Broussel from prison and give him back to the
people."

"Oh!" cried Anne, "to humble myself thus! Am I, or am I not,
the queen? This screaming mob, are they, or are they not, my
subjects? Have I friends? Have I guards? Ah! by Notre Dame!
as Queen Catherine used to say," continued she, excited by
her own words, "rather than give up this infamous Broussel
to them I will strangle him with my own hands!"

And she sprang toward Gondy, whom assuredly at that moment
she hated more than Broussel, with outstretched arms. The
coadjutor remained immovable and not a muscle of his face
was discomposed; only his glance flashed like a sword in
returning the furious looks of the queen.

("He were a dead man)" said the Gascon, "if there were still
a Vitry at the court and if Vitry entered at this moment;
but for my part, before he could reach the good prelate I
would kill Vitry at once; the cardinal would be infinitely
pleased with me."

"Hush!" said Porthos; "listen.")

"Madame," cried the cardinal, seizing hold of Anne and
drawing her back, "Madame, what are you about?"

Then he added in Spanish, "Anne, are you mad? You, a queen
to quarrel like a washerwoman! And do you not perceive that
in the person of this priest is represented the whole people
of Paris and that it is dangerous to insult him at this
moment, and if this priest wished it, in an hour you would
be without a crown? Come, then, on another occasion you can
be firm and strong; but to-day is not the proper time;
to-day, flatter and caress, or you are only a common woman."

(At the first words of this address D'Artagnan had seized
Porthos's arm, which he pressed with gradually increasing
force. When Mazarin ceased speaking he said to Porthos in a
low tone:

"Never tell Mazarin that I understand Spanish, or I am a
lost man and you are also."

"All right," said Porthos.)

This rough appeal, marked by the eloquence which
characterized Mazarin when he spoke in Italian or Spanish
and which he lost entirely in speaking French, was uttered
with such impenetrable expression that Gondy, clever
physiognomist as he was, had no suspicion of its being more
than a simple warning to be more subdued.

The queen, on her part, thus chided, softened immediately
and sat down, and in an almost weeping voice, letting her
arms fall by her side, said:

"Pardon me, sir, and attribute this violence to what I
suffer. A woman, and consequently subject to the weaknesses
of my sex, I am alarmed at the idea of civil war; a queen,
accustomed to be obeyed, I am excited at the first
opposition."

"Madame," replied Gondy, bowing, "your majesty is mistaken
in qualifying my sincere advice as opposition. Your majesty
has none but submissive and respectful subjects. It is not
the queen with whom the people are displeased; they ask for
Broussel and are only too happy, if you release him to them,
to live under your government."

Mazarin, who at the words, "It is not the queen with whom
the people are displeased," had pricked up his ears,
thinking that the coadjutor was about to speak of the cries,
"Down with Mazarin," and pleased with Gondy's suppression of
this fact, he said with his sweetest voice and his most
gracious expression:

"Madame, credit the coadjutor, who is one of the most able
politicians we have; the first available cardinal's hat
seems to belong already to his noble brow."

"Ah! how much you have need of me, cunning rogue!" thought
Gondy.

("And what will he promise us?" said D'Artagnan. "Peste, if
he is giving away hats like that, Porthos, let us look out
and both demand a regiment to-morrow. Corbleu! let the civil
war last but one year and I will have a constable's sword
gilt for me."

"And for me?" put in Porthos.

"For you? I will give you the baton of the Marechal de la
Meilleraie, who does not seem to be much in favor just
now.")

"And so, sir," said the queen, "you are seriously afraid of
a public tumult."

"Seriously," said Gondy, astonished at not having further
advanced; "I fear that when the torrent has broken its
embankment it will cause fearful destruction."

"And I," said the queen, "think that in such a case other
embankments should be raised to oppose it. Go; I will
reflect."

Gondy looked at Mazarin, astonished, and Mazarin approached
the queen to speak to her, but at this moment a frightful
tumult arose from the square of the Palais Royal.

Gondy smiled, the queen's color rose and Mazarin grew even
paler.

"What is that again?" he asked.

At this moment Comminges rushed into the room.

"Pardon, your majesty," he cried, "but the people have
dashed the sentinels against the gates and they are now
forcing the doors; what are your commands?"

"Listen, madame," said Gondy.

The moaning of waves, the noise of thunder, the roaring of a
volcano, cannot be compared with the tempest of cries heard
at that moment.

"What are my commands?" said the queen.

"Yes, for time presses."

"How many men have you about the Palais Royal?"

"Six hundred."

"Place a hundred around the king and with the remainder
sweep away this mob for me."

"Madame," cried Mazarin, "what are you about?"

"Go!" said the queen.

Comminges went out with a soldier's passive obedience.

At this moment a monstrous battering was heard. One of the
gates began to yield.

"Oh! madame," cried Mazarin, "you have ruined us all -- the
king, yourself and me."

At this cry from the soul of the frightened cardinal, Anne
became alarmed in her turn and would have recalled
Comminges.

"It is too late," said Mazarin, tearing his hair, "too
late!"

The gale had given way. Hoarse shouts were heard from the
excited mob. D'Artagnan put his hand to his sword, motioning
to Porthos to follow his example.

"Save the queen!" cried Mazarin to the coadjutor.

Gondy sprang to the window and threw it open; he recognized
Louvieres at the head of a troop of about three or four
thousand men.

"Not a step further," he shouted, "the queen is signing!"

"What are you saying?" asked the queen.

"The truth, madame," said Mazarin, placing a pen and a paper
before her, "you must;" then he added: "Sign, Anne, I
implore you -- I command you."

The queen fell into a chair, took the pen and signed.

The people, kept back by Louvieres, had not made another
step forward; but the awful murmuring, which indicates an
angry people, continued.

The queen had written, "The keeper of the prison at Saint
Germain will set Councillor Broussel at liberty;" and she
had signed it.

The coadjutor, whose eyes devoured her slightest movements,
seized the paper immediately the signature had been affixed
to it, returned to the window and waved it in his hand.

"This is the order," he said.

All Paris seemed to shout with joy, and then the air
resounded with the cries of "Long live Broussel!" "Long live
the coadjutor!"

"Long live the queen!" cried De Gondy; but the cries which
replied to his were poor and few, and perhaps he had but
uttered it to make Anne of Austria sensible of her weakness.

"And now that you have obtained what you want, go," said
she, "Monsieur de Gondy."

"Whenever her majesty has need of me," replied the
coadjutor, bowing, "her majesty knows I am at her command."

"Ah, cursed priest!" cried Anne, when he had retired,
stretching out her arm to the scarcely closed door, "one day
I will make you drink the dregs of the atrocious gall you
have poured out on me to-day."

Mazarin wished to approach her. "Leave me!" she exclaimed;
"you are not a man!" and she went out of the room.

"It is you who are not a woman," muttered Mazarin.

Then, after a moment of reverie, he remembered where he had
left D'Artagnan and Porthos and that they must have
overheard everything. He knit his brows and went direct to
the tapestry, which he pushed aside. The closet was empty.

At the queen's last word, D'Artagnan had dragged Porthos
into the gallery. Thither Mazarin went in his turn and found
the two friends walking up and down.

"Why did you leave the closet, Monsieur d'Artagnan?" asked
the cardinal.

"Because," replied D'Artagnan, "the queen desired every one
to leave and I thought that this command was intended for us
as well as for the rest."

"And you have been here since ---- "

"About a quarter of an hour," said D'Artagnan, motioning to
Porthos not to contradict him.

Mazarin saw the sign and remained convinced that D'Artagnan
had seen and heard everything; but he was pleased with his
falsehood.

"Decidedly, Monsieur d'Artagnan, you are the man I have been
seeking. You may reckon upon me and so may your friend."
Then bowing to the two musketeers with his most gracious
smile, he re-entered his closet more calmly, for on the
departure of De Gondy the uproar had ceased as though by
enchantment.

Misfortune refreshes the Memory.

Anne of Austria returned to her oratory, furious.

"What!" she cried, wringing her beautiful hands, "What! the
people have seen Monsieur de Conde, a prince of the blood
royal, arrested by my mother-in-law, Maria de Medicis; they
saw my mother-in-law, their former regent, expelled by the
cardinal; they saw Monsieur de Vendome, that is to say, the
son of Henry IV., a prisoner at Vincennes; and whilst these
great personages were imprisoned, insulted and threatened,
they said nothing; and now for a Broussel -- good God! what,
then, is to become of royalty?"

The queen unconsciously touched here upon the exciting
question. The people had made no demonstration for the
princes, but they had risen for Broussel; they were taking
the part of a plebeian and in defending Broussel they
instinctively felt they were defending themselves.

During this time Mazarin walked up and down the study,
glancing from time to time at his beautiful Venetian mirror,
starred in every direction. "Ah!" he said, "it is sad, I
know well, to be forced to yield thus; but, pshaw! we shall
have our revenge. What matters it about Broussel -- it is a
name, not a thing."

Mazarin, clever politician as he was, was for once mistaken;
Broussel was a thing, not a name.

The next morning, therefore, when Broussel made his entrance
into Paris in a large carriage, having his son Louvieres at
his side and Friquet behind the vehicle, the people threw
themselves in his way and cries of "Long live Broussel!"
"Long live our father!" resounded from all parts and was
death to Mazarin's ears; and the cardinal's spies brought
bad news from every direction, which greatly agitated the
minister, but was calmly received by the queen. The latter
seemed to be maturing in her mind some great stroke, a fact
which increased the uneasiness of the cardinal, who knew the
proud princess and dreaded much the determination of Anne of
Austria.

The coadjutor returned to parliament more a monarch than
king, queen, and cardinal, all three together. By his advice
a decree from parliament summoned the citizens to lay down
their arms and demolish the barricades. They now knew that
it required but one hour to take up arms again and one night
to reconstruct the barricades.

Rochefort had returned to the Chevalier d'Humieres his fifty
horsemen, less two, missing at roll call. But the chevalier
was himself at heart a Frondist and would hear nothing said
of compensation.

The mendicant had gone to his old place on the steps of
Saint Eustache and was again distributing holy water with
one hand and asking alms with the other. No one could
suspect that those two hands had been engaged with others in
drawing out from the social edifice the keystone of royalty.

Louvieres was proud and satisfied; he had taken revenge on
Mazarin and had aided in his father's deliverance from
prison. His name had been mentioned as a name of terror at
the Palais Royal. Laughingly he said to the councillor,
restored to his family:

"Do you think, father, that if now I should ask for a
company the queen would give it to me?"

D'Artagnan profited by this interval of calm to send away
Raoul, whom he had great difficulty in keeping shut up
during the riot, and who wished positively to strike a blow
for one party or the other. Raoul had offered some
opposition at first; but D'Artagnan made use of the Comte de
la Fere's name, and after paying a visit to Madame de
Chevreuse, Raoul started to rejoin the army.

Rochefort alone was dissatisfied with the termination of
affairs. He had written to the Duc de Beaufort to come and
the duke was about to arrive, and he world find Paris
tranquil. He went to the coadjutor to consult with him
whether it would not be better to send word to the duke to
stop on the road, but Gondy reflected for a moment, and then
said:

"Let him continue his journey."

"All is not then over?" asked Rochefort.

"My dear count, we have only just begun."

"What induces you to think so?"

"The knowledge that I have of the queen's heart; she will
not rest contented beaten."

"Is she, then, preparing for a stroke?"

"I hope so."

"Come, let us see what you know."

"I know that she has written to the prince to return in
haste from the army."

"Ah! ha!" said Rochefort, "you are right. We must let
Monsieur de Beaufort come."

In fact, the evening after this conversation the report was
circulated that the Prince de Conde had arrived. It was a
very simple, natural circumstance and yet it created a
profound sensation. It was said that Madame de Longueville,
for whom the prince had more than a brother's affection and
in whom he had confided, had been indiscreet. His confidence
had unveiled the sinister project of the queen.

Even on the night of the prince's return, some citizens,
bolder than the rest, such as the sheriffs, captains and the
quartermaster, went from house to house among their friends,
saying:

"Why do we not take the king and place him in the Hotel de
Ville? It is a shame to leave him to be educated by our
enemies, who will give him evil counsel; whereas, brought up
by the coadjutor, for instance, he would imbibe national
principles and love his people."

That night the question was secretly agitated and on the
morrow the gray and black cloaks, the patrols of armed
shop-people, and the bands of mendicants reappeared.

The queen had passed the night in lonely conference with the
prince, who had entered the oratory at midnight and did not
leave till five o'clock in the morning.

At five o'clock Anne went to the cardinal's room. If she had
not yet taken any repose, he at least was already up. Six
days had already passed out of the ten he had asked from
Mordaunt; he was therefore occupied in revising his reply to
Cromwell, when some one knocked gently at the door of
communication with the queen's apartments. Anne of Austria
alone was permitted to enter by that door. The cardinal
therefore rose to open it.

The queen was in a morning gown, but it became her still;
for, like Diana of Poictiers and Ninon, Anne of Austria
enjoyed the privilege of remaining ever beautiful;
nevertheless, this morning she looked handsomer than usual,
for her eyes had all the sparkle inward satisfaction adds to
expression.

"What is the matter, madame?" said Mazarin, uneasily. "You
seem secretly elated."

"Yes, Giulio," she said, "proud and happy; for I have found
the means of strangling this hydra."

"You are a great politician, my queen," said Mazarin; "let
us hear the means." And he hid what he had written by
sliding the letter under a folio of blank paper.

"You know," said the queen, "that they want to take the king
away from me?"

"Alas! yes, and to hang me."

"They shall not have the king."

"Nor hang me."

"Listen. I want to carry off my son from them, with
yourself. I wish that this event, which on the day it is
known will completely change the aspect of affairs, should
be accomplished without the knowledge of any others but
yourself, myself, and a third person."

"And who is this third person?"

"Monsieur le Prince."

"He has come, then, as they told me?"

"Last evening."

"And you have seen him?"

"He has just left me."

"And will he aid this project?"

"The plan is his own."

"And Paris?"

"He will starve it out and force it to surrender at
discretion."

"The plan is not wanting in grandeur; I see but one
impediment."

"What is it?"

"Impossibility."

"A senseless word. Nothing is impossible."

"On paper."

"In execution. We have money?"

"A little," said Mazarin, trembling, lest Anne should ask to
draw upon his purse.

"Troops?"

"Five or six thousand men."

"Courage?"

"Plenty."

"Then the thing is easy. Oh! do think of it, Giulio! Paris,
this odious Paris, waking up one morning without queen or
king, surrounded, besieged, famished -- having for its sole
resource its stupid parliament and their coadjutor with
crooked limbs!"

"Charming! charming!" said Mazarin. "I can imagine the
effect, I do not see the means."

"I will find the means myself."

"You are aware it will be war, civil war, furious,
devouring, implacable?"

"Oh! yes, yes, war," said Anne of Austria. "Yes, I will
reduce this rebellious city to ashes. I will extinguish the
fire with blood! I will perpetuate the crime and punishment
by making a frightful example. Paris!; I -- I detest, I
loathe it!"

"Very fine, Anne. You are now sanguinary; but take care. We
are not in the time of Malatesta and Castruccio Castracani.
You will get yourself decapitated, my beautiful queen, and
that would be a pity."

"You laugh."

"Faintly. It is dangerous to go to war with a nation. Look
at your brother monarch, Charles I. He is badly off, very
badly."

"We are in France, and I am Spanish."

"So much the worse; I had much rather you were French and
myself also; they would hate us both less."

"Nevertheless, you consent?"

"Yes, if the thing be possible."

"It is; it is I who tell you so; make preparations for
departure."

"I! I am always prepared to go, only, as you know, I never
do go, and perhaps shall go this time as little as before."

"In short, if I go, will you go too?"

"I will try."

"You torment me, Giulio, with your fears; and what are you
afraid of, then?"

"Of many things."

"What are they?"

Mazarin's face, smiling as it was, became clouded.

"Anne," said he, "you are but a woman and as a woman you may
insult men at your ease, knowing that you can do it with
impunity. You accuse me of fear; I have not so much as you
have, since I do not fly as you do. Against whom do they cry
out? is it against you or against myself? Whom would they
hang, yourself or me? Well, I can weather the storm -- I,
whom, notwithstanding, you tax with fear -- not with
bravado, that is not my way; but I am firm. Imitate me. Make
less hubbub and think more deeply. You cry very loud, you
end by doing nothing; you talk of flying ---- "

Mazarin shrugged his shoulders and taking the queen's hand
led her to the window.

"Look!" he said.

"Well?" said the queen, blinded by her obstinacy.

"Well, what do you see from this window? If I am not
mistaken those are citizens, helmeted and mailed, armed with
good muskets, as in the time of the League, and whose eyes
are so intently fixed on this window that they will see you
if you raise that curtain much; and now come to the other
side -- what do you see? Creatures of the people, armed with
halberds, guarding your doors. You will see the same at
every opening from this palace to which I should lead you.
Your doors are guarded, the airholes of your cellars are
guarded, and I could say to you, as that good La Ramee said
to me of the Duc de Beaufort, you must be either bird or
mouse to get out."

"He did get out, nevertheless."

"Do you think of escaping in the same way?"

"I am a prisoner, then?"

"Parbleu!" said Mazarin, "I have been proving it to you this
last hour."

And he quietly resumed his dispatch at the place where he
had been interrupted.

Anne, trembling with anger and scarlet with humiliation,
left the room, shutting the door violently after her.
Mazarin did not even turn around. When once more in her own
apartment Anne fell into a chair and wept; then suddenly
struck with an idea:

"I am saved!" she exclaimed, rising; "oh, yes! yes! I know a
man who will find the means of taking me from Paris, a man I
have too long forgotten." Then falling into a reverie, she
added, however, with an expression of joy, "Ungrateful woman
that I am, for twenty years I have forgotten this man, whom
I ought to have made a marechal of France. My mother-in-law
expended gold, caresses, dignities on Concini, who ruined
her; the king made Vitry marechal of France for an
assassination: while I have left in obscurity, in poverty,
the noble D'Artagnan, who saved me!"

And running to a table, on which were paper, pens and ink,
she hastily began to write.

The Interview.

It had been D'Artagnan's practice, ever since the riots, to
sleep in the same room as Porthos, and on this eventful
morning he was still there, sleeping, and dreaming that a
yellow cloud had overspread the sky and was raining gold
pieces into his hat, which he held out till it was
overflowing with pistoles. As for Porthos, he dreamed that
the panels of his carriage were not capacious enough to
contain the armorial bearings he had ordered to be painted
on them. They were both aroused at seven o'clock by the
entrance of an unliveried servant, who brought a letter for
D'Artagnan.

"From whom?" asked the Gascon.

"From the queen," replied the servant.

"Ho!" said Porthos, raising himself in his bed; "what does
she say?"

D'Artagnan requested the servant to wait in the next room
and when the door was closed he sprang up from his bed and
read rapidly, whilst Porthos looked at him with starting
eyes, not daring to ask a single question.

"Friend Porthos," said D'Artagnan, handing the letter to
him, "this time, at least, you are sure of your title of
baron, and I of my captaincy. Read for yourself and judge."

Porthos took the letter and with a trembling voice read the
following words:

"The queen wishes to speak to Monsieur d'Artagnan, who must
follow the bearer."

"Well!" exclaimed Porthos; "I see nothing in that very
extraordinary."

"But I see much that is very extraordinary in it," replied
D'Artagnan. "It is evident, by their sending for me, that
matters are becoming complicated. Just reflect a little what
an agitation the queen's mind must be in for her to have
remembered me after twenty years."

"It is true," said Porthos.

"Sharpen your sword, baron, load your pistols, and give some
corn to the horses, for I will answer for it,

something lightning-like will happen ere to-morrow."

"But, stop; do you think it can be a trap that they are
laying for us?" suggested Porthos, incessantly thinking how
his greatness must be irksome to inferior people.

"If it is a snare," replied D'Artagnan, "I shall scent it
out, be assured. If Mazarin is an Italian, I am a Gascon."

And D'Artagnan dressed himself in an instant.

Whilst Porthos, still in bed, was hooking on his cloak for
him, a second knock at the door was heard.

"Come in," exclaimed D'Artagnan; and another servant
entered.

"From His Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin," presenting a letter.

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos.

"A complicated affair," said Porthos; "where will you
begin?"

"It is arranged capitally; his eminence expects me in half
an hour."

"Good."

"My friend," said D'Artagnan, turning to the servant, "tell
his eminence that in half an hour I shall be at his
command."

"It is very fortunate," resumed the Gascon, when the valet
had retired, "that he did not meet the other one."

"Do you not think that they have sent for you, both for the
same thing?"

"I do not think it, I am certain of it."

"Quick, quick, D'Artagnan. Remember that the queen awaits
you, and after the queen, the cardinal, and after the
cardinal, myself."

D'Artagnan summoned Anne of Austria's servant and signified
that he was ready to follow him into the queen's presence.

The servant conducted him by the Rue des Petits Champs and
turning to the left entered the little garden gate leading
into the Rue Richelieu; then they gained the private
staircase and D'Artagnan was ushered into the oratory. A
certain emotion, for which he could not account, made the
lieutenant's heart beat: he had no longer the assurance of
youth; experience had taught him the importance of past
events. Formerly he would have approached the queen as a
young man who bends before a woman; but now it was a
different thing; he answered her summons as an humble
soldier obeys an illustrious general.

The silence of the oratory was at last disturbed by the
slight rustling of silk, and D'Artagnan started when he
perceived the tapestry raised by a white hand, which, by its
form, its color and its beauty he recognized as that royal
hand which had one day been presented to him to kiss. The
queen entered.

"It is you, Monsieur d'Artagnan," she said, fixing a gaze
full of melancholy interest on the countenance of the
officer, "and I know you well. Look at me well in your turn.
I am the queen; do you recognize me?"

"No, madame," replied D'Artagnan.

"But are you no longer aware," continued Anne, giving that
sweet expression to her voice which she could do at will,
"that in former days the queen had once need of a young,
brave and devoted cavalier -- that she found this cavalier
-- and that, although he might have thought that she had
forgotten him, she had kept a place for him in the depths of
her heart?"

"No, madame, I was ignorant of that," said the musketeer.

"So much the worse, sir," said Anne of Austria; "so much the
worse, at least for the queen, for to-day she has need of
the same courage and the same devotion."

"What!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, "does the queen, surrounded as
she is by such devoted servants, such wise counselors, men,
in short, so great by merit or position -- does she deign to
cast her eyes on an obscure soldier?"

Anne understood this covert reproach and was more moved than
irritated by it. She had many a time felt humiliated by the
self-sacrifice and disinterestedness shown by the Gascon
gentleman. She had allowed herself to be exceeded in
generosity.

"All that you tell me of those by whom I am surrounded,
Monsieur d'Artagnan, is doubtless true," said the queen,
"but I have confidence in you alone. I know that you belong
to the cardinal, but belong to me as well, and I will take
upon myself the making of your fortune. Come, will you do
to-day what formerly the gentleman you do not know did for
the queen?"

"I will do everything your majesty commands," replied
D'Artagnan.

The queen reflected for a moment and then, seeing the
cautious demeanor of the musketeer:

"Perhaps you like repose?" she said.

"I do not know, for I have never had it, madame."

"Have you any friends?"

"I had three, two of whom have left Paris, to go I know not
where. One alone is left to me, but he is one of those
known, I believe, to the cavalier of whom your majesty did
me the honor to speak."

"Very good," said the queen; "you and your friend are worth
an army."

"What am I to do, madame?"

"Return at five o'clock and I will tell you; but do not
breathe to a living soul, sir, the rendezvous which I give
you."

"No, madame."

"Swear it upon the cross."

"Madame, I have never been false to my word; when I say I
will not do a thing, I mean it."

The queen, although astonished at this language, to which
she was not accustomed from her courtiers, argued from it a
happy omen of the zeal with which D'Artagnan would serve her
in the accomplishment of her project. It was one of the
Gascon's artifices to hide his deep cunning occasionally
under an appearance of rough loyalty.

"Has the queen any further commands for me now?" asked
D'Artagnan.

"No, sir," replied Anne of Austria, "and you may retire
until the time that I mentioned to you."

D'Artagnan bowed and went out.

"Diable!" he exclaimed when the door was shut, "they seem to
have the greatest need of me just now."

Then, as the half hour had already glided by, he crossed the
gallery and knocked at the cardinal's door.

Bernouin introduced him.

"I come for your commands, my lord," he said.

And according to his custom D'Artagnan glanced rapidly
around and remarked that Mazarin had a sealed letter before
him. But it was so placed on the desk that he could not see
to whom it was addressed.

"You come from the queen?" said Mazarin, looking fixedly at
D'Artagnan.

"I! my lord -- who told you that?"

"Nobody, but I know it."

"I regret infinitely to tell you, my lord, that you are
mistaken," replied the Gascon, impudently, firm to the
promise he had just made to Anne of Austria.

"I opened the door of the ante-room myself and I saw you
enter at the end of the corridor."

"Because I was shown up the private stairs."

"How so?"

"I know not; it must have been a mistake."

Mazarin was aware that it was not easy to make D'Artagnan
reveal anything he was desirous of hiding, so he gave up,
for the time, the discovery of the mystery the Gascon was
concealing.

"Let us speak of my affairs," said Mazarin, "since you will
tell me naught of yours. Are you fond of traveling?"

"My life has been passed on the high road."

"Would anything retain you particularly in Paris?"

"Nothing but an order from a superior would retain me in
Paris."

"Very well. Here is a letter, which must be taken to its
address."

"To its address, my lord? But it has none."

In fact, the side of the letter opposite the seal was blank.

"I must tell you," resumed Mazarin, "that it is in a double
envelope."

"I understand; and I am to take off the first one when I
have reached a certain place?"

"Just so, take it and go. You have a friend, Monsieur du
Vallon, whom I like much; let him accompany you."

"The devil!" said D'Artagnan to himself. "He knows that we
overheard his conversation yesterday and he wants to get us
away from Paris."

"Do you hesitate?" asked Mazarin.

"No, my lord, and I will set out at once. There is one thing
only which I must request."

"What is it? Speak."

"That your eminence will go at once to the queen."

"What for?"

"Merely to say these words: `I am going to send Monsieur
d'Artagnan away and I wish him to set out directly.'"

"I told you," said Mazarin, "that you had seen the queen."

"I had the honor of saying to your eminence that there had
been some mistake."

"What is the meaning of that?"

"May I venture to repeat my prayer to your eminence?"

"Very well; I will go. Wait here for me." And looking
attentively around him, to see if he had left any of his
keys in his closets, Mazarin went out. Ten minutes elapsed,
during which D'Artagnan made every effort to read through
the first envelope what was written on the second. But he
did not succeed.

Mazarin returned, pale, and evidently thoughtful. He seated
himself at his desk and D'Artagnan proceeded to examine his
face, as he had just examined the letter he held, but the
envelope which covered his countenance appeared as
impenetrable as that which covered the letter.

"Ah!" thought the Gascon; "he looks displeased. Can it be
with me? He meditates. Is it about sending me to the
Bastile? All very fine, my lord, but at the very first hint
you give of such a thing I will strangle you and become
Frondist. I should be carried home in triumph like Monsieur
Broussel and Athos would proclaim me the French Brutus. It
would be exceedingly droll."

The Gascon, with his vivid imagination, had already seen the
advantage to be derived from his situation. Mazarin gave,
however, no order of the kind, but on the contrary began to
be insinuating.

"You were right," he said, "my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, and
you cannot set out yet. I beg you to return me that
dispatch."

D'Artagnan obeyed, and Mazarin ascertained that the seal was
intact.

"I shall want you this evening," he said "Return in two
hours."

"My lord," said D'Artagnan, "I have an appointment in two
hours which I cannot miss."

"Do not be uneasy," said Mazarin; "it is the same."

"Good!" thought D'Artagnan; "I fancied it was so."

"Return, then, at five o'clock and bring that worthy
Monsieur du Vallon with you. Only, leave him in the
ante-room, as I wish to speak to you alone."

D'Artagnan bowed, and thought: "Both at the same hour; both
commands alike; both at the Palais Royal. Monsieur de Gondy
would pay a hundred thousand francs for such a secret!"

"You are thoughtful," said Mazarin, uneasily.

"Yes, I was thinking whether we ought to come armed or not."

"Armed to the teeth!" replied Mazarin.

"Very well, my lord; it shall be so."

D'Artagnan saluted, went out and hastened to repeat to his
friend Mazarin's flattering promises, which gave Porthos an
indescribable happiness.

The Flight.

When D'Artagnan returned to the Palais Royal at five
o'clock, it presented, in spite of the excitement which
reigned in the town, a spectacle of the greatest rejoicing.
Nor was that surprising. The queen had restored Broussel and
Blancmesnil to the people and had therefore nothing to fear,
since the people had nothing more just then to ask for. The
return, also, of the conqueror of Lens was the pretext for
giving a grand banquet. The princes and princesses were
invited and their carriages had crowded the court since
noon; then after dinner the queen was to have a play in her
apartment. Anne of Austria had never appeared more brilliant
than on that day -- radiant with grace and wit. Mazarin
disappeared as they rose from table. He found D'Artagnan
waiting for him already at his post in the ante-room.

The cardinal advanced to him with a smile and taking him by
the hand led him into his study.

"My dear M. d'Artagnan," said the minister, sitting down, "I
am about to give you the greatest proof of confidence that a
minister can give an officer."

"I hope," said D'Artagnan, bowing, "that you give it, my
lord, without hesitation and with the conviction that I am
worthy of it."

"More worthy than any one in Paris my dear friend; therefore
I apply to you. We are about to leave this evening,"
continued Mazarin. "My dear M. d'Artagnan, the welfare of
the state is deposited in your hands." He paused.

"Explain yourself, my lord, I am listening."

"The queen has resolved to make a little excursion with the
king to Saint Germain."

"Aha!" said D'Artagnan, "that is to say, the queen wishes to
leave Paris."

"A woman's caprice -- you understand."

"Yes, I understand perfectly," said D'Artagnan.

"It was for this she summoned you this morning and that she
told you to return at five o'clock."

"Was it worth while to wish me to swear this morning that I
would mention the appointment to no one?" muttered
D'Artagnan. "Oh, women! women! whether queens or not, they
are always the same."

"Do you disapprove of this journey, my dear M. d'Artagnan?"
asked Mazarin, anxiously.

"I, my lord?" said D'Artagnan; "why should I?"

"Because you shrug your shoulders."

"It is a way I have of speaking to myself. I neither approve
nor disapprove, my lord; I merely await your commands."

"Good; it is you, accordingly, that I have pitched upon to
conduct the king and the queen to Saint Germain."

"Liar!" thought D'Artagnan.

"You see, therefore," continued the cardinal, perceiving
D'Artagnan's composure, "that, as I have told you, the
welfare of the state is placed in your hands."

"Yes, my lord, and I feel the whole responsibility of such a
charge."

"You accept, however?"

"I always accept."

"Do you think the thing possible?"

"Everything is possible."

"Shall you be attacked on the road?"

"Probably."

"And what will you do in that case?"

"I shall pass through those who attack me."

"And suppose you cannot pass through them?"

"So much the worse for them; I shall pass over them."

"And you will place the king and queen in safety also, at
Saint Germain?"

"Yes."

"On your life?"

"On my life."

"You are a hero, my friend," said Mazarin, gazing at the
musketeer with admiration.

D'Artagnan smiled.

"And I?" asked Mazarin, after a moment's silence.

"How? and you, my lord?"

"If I wish to leave?"

"That would be much more difficult."

"Why so?"

"Your eminence might be recognized."

"Even under this disguise?" asked Mazarin, raising a cloak
which covered an arm-chair, upon which lay a complete dress
for an officer, of pearl-gray and red, entirely embroidered
with silver.

"If your eminence is disguised it will be almost easy."

"Ah!" said Mazarin, breathing more freely.

"But it will be necessary for your eminence to do what the
other day you declared you should have done in our place --
cry, `Down with Mazarin!'"

"I will: `Down with Mazarin'"

"In French, in good French, my lord, take care of your
accent; they killed six thousand Angevins in Sicily because
they pronounced Italian badly. Take care that the French do
not take their revenge on you for the Sicilian vespers."

"I will do my best."

"The streets are full of armed men," continued D'Artagnan.
"Are you sure that no one is aware of the queen's project?"

Mazarin reflected.

"This affair would give a fine opportunity for a traitor, my
lord; the chance of being attacked would be an excuse for
everything."

Mazarin shuddered, but he reflected that a man who had the
least intention to betray would not warn first.

"And therefore," added he, quietly, "I have not confidence
in every one; the proof of which is, that I have fixed upon
you to escort me."

"Shall you not go with the queen?"

"No," replied Mazarin.

"Then you will start after the queen?"

"No," said Mazarin again.

"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, who began to understand.

"Yes," continued the cardinal. "I have my plan. With the
queen I double her risk; after the queen her departure would
double mine; then, the court once safe, I might be
forgotten. The great are often ungrateful."

"Very true," said D'Artagnan, fixing his eyes, in spite of
himself, on the queen's diamond, which Mazarin wore on his
finger. Mazarin followed the direction of his eyes and
gently turned the hoop of the ring inside.

"I wish," he said, with his cunning smile, "to prevent them
from being ungrateful to me."

"It is but Christian charity," replied D'Artagnan, "not to
lead one's neighbors into temptation."

"It is exactly for that reason," said Mazarin, "that I wish
to start before them."

D'Artagnan smiled -- he was just the man to understand the
astute Italian. Mazarin saw the smile and profited by the
moment.

"You will begin, therefore, by taking me first out of Paris,
will you not, my dear M. d'Artagnan?"

"A difficult commission, my lord," replied D'Artagnan,
resuming his serious manner.

"But," said Mazarin, "you did not make so many difficulties
with regard to the king and queen."

"The king and the queen are my king and queen," replied the
musketeer, "my life is theirs and I must give it for them.
If they ask it what have I to say?"

"That is true," murmured Mazarin, in a low tone, "but as thy
life is not mine I suppose I must buy it, must I not?" and
sighing deeply he began to turn the hoop of his ring outside
again. D'Artagnan smiled. These two men met at one point and
that was, cunning; had they been actuated equally by
courage, the one would have done great things for the other.

"But, also," said Mazarin, "you must understand that if I
ask this service from you it is with the intention of being
grateful."

"Is it still only an intention, your eminence?" asked
D'Artagnan.

"Stay," said Mazarin, drawing the ring from his finger, "my
dear D'Artagnan, there is a diamond which belonged to you
formerly, it is but just it should return to you; take it, I
pray."

D'Artagnan spared Mazarin the trouble of insisting, and
after looking to see if the stone was the same and assuring
himself of the purity of its water, he took it and passed it
on his finger with indescribable pleasure.

"I valued it much," said Mazarin, giving a last look at it;
"nevertheless, I give it to you with great pleasure."

"And I, my lord," said D'Artagnan, "accept it as it is
given. Come, let us speak of your little affairs. You wish
to leave before everybody and at what hour?"

"At ten o'clock."

"And the queen, at what time is it her wish to start?"

"At midnight."

"Then it is possible. I can get you out of Paris and leave
you beyond the barriere, and can return for her."

"Capital; but how will you get me out of Paris?"

"Oh! as to that, you must leave it to me."

"I give you absolute power, therefore; take as large an
escort as you like."

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"It seems to me, however," said Mazarin, "the safest
method."

"Yes, for you, my lord, but not for the queen; you must
leave it to me and give me the entire direction of the
undertaking."

"Nevertheless ---- "

"Or find some one else," continued D'Artagnan, turning his
back.

"Oh!" muttered Mazarin, "I do believe he is going off with
the diamond! M. d'Artagnan, my dear M. d'Artagnan," he
called out in a coaxing voice, "will you answer for
everything?"

"I will answer for nothing. I will do my best."

"Well, then, let us go -- I must trust to you."

"It is very fortunate," said D'Artagnan to himself.

"You will be here at half-past nine."

"And I shall find your eminence ready?"

"Certainly, quite ready."

"Well, then, it is a settled thing; and now, my lord, will
you obtain for me an audience with the queen?"

"For what purpose?"

"I wish to receive her majesty's commands from her own
lips."

"She desired me to give them to you."

"She may have forgotten something."

"You really wish to see her?"

"It is indispensable, my lord."

Mazarin hesitated for one instant, but D'Artagnan was firm.

"Come, then," said the minister; "I will conduct you to her,
but remember, not one word of our conversation."

"What has passed between us concerns ourselves alone. my
lord," replied D'Artagnan.

"Swear to be mute."

"I never swear, my lord, I say yes or no; and, as I am a
gentleman, I keep my word."

"Come, then, I see that I must trust unreservedly to you."

"Believe me, my lord, it will be your best plan."

"Come," said Mazarin, conducting D'Artagnan into the queen's
oratory and desiring him to wait there. He did not wait
long, for in five minutes the queen entered in full gala
costume. Thus dressed she scarcely appeared thirty-five
years of age. She was still exceedingly handsome.

"It is you, Monsieur D'Artagnan," she said, smiling
graciously; "I thank you for having insisted on seeing me."

"I ought to ask your majesty's pardon, but I wished to
receive your commands from your own mouth."

"Do you accept the commission which I have intrusted to
you?"

"With gratitude."

"Very well, be here at midnight."

"I will not fail."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," continued the queen, "I know your
disinterestedness too well to speak of my own gratitude at
such a moment, but I swear to you that I shall not forget
this second service as I forgot the first."

"Your majesty is free to forget or to remember, as it
pleases you; and I know not what you mean," said D'Artagnan,
bowing.

"Go, sir," said the queen, with her most bewitching smile,
"go and return at midnight."

And D'Artagnan retired, but as he passed out he glanced at
the curtain through which the queen had entered and at the
bottom of the tapestry he remarked the tip of a velvet
slipper.

"Good," thought he; "Mazarin has been listening to discover
whether I betrayed him. In truth, that Italian puppet does
not deserve the services of an honest man."

D'Artagnan was not less exact to his appointment and at
half-past nine o'clock he entered the ante-room.

He found the cardinal dressed as an officer, and he looked
very well in that costume, which, as we have already said,
he wore elegantly; only he was very pale and trembled
slightly.

"Quite alone?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"And that worthy Monsieur du Vallon, are we not to enjoy his
society?"

"Certainly, my lord; he is waiting in his carriage at the
gate of the garden of the Palais Royal."

"And we start in his carriage, then?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And with us no other escort but you two?"

"Is it not enough? One of us would suffice."

"Really, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the cardinal,
"your coolness startles me."

"I should have thought, on the contrary, that it ought to
have inspired you with confidence."

"And Bernouin -- do I not take him with me?"

"There is no room for him, he will rejoin your eminence."

"Let us go," said Mazarin, "since everything must be done as
you wish."

"My lord, there is time to draw back," said D'Artagnan, "and
your eminence is perfectly free."

"Not at all, not at all," said Mazarin; "let us be off."

And so they descended the private stair, Mazarin leaning on
the arm of D'Artagnan a hand the musketeer felt trembling.
At last, after crossing the courts of the Palais Royal,
where there still remained some of the conveyances of late
guests, they entered the garden and reached the little gate.
Mazarin attempted to open it by a key which he took from his
pocket, but with such shaking fingers that he could not find
the keyhole.

"Give it to me," said D'Artagnan, who when the gate was open
deposited the key in his pocket, reckoning upon returning by
that gate.

The steps were already down and the door open. Musqueton
stood at the door and Porthos was inside the carriage.

"Mount, my lord," said D'Artagnan to Mazarin, who sprang
into the carriage without waiting for a second bidding.
D'Artagnan followed him, and Musqueton, having closed the
door, mounted behind the carriage with many groans. He had
made some difficulties about going, under pretext that he
still suffered from his wound, but D'Artagnan had said to
him:

"Remain if you like, my dear Monsieur Mouston, but I warn
you that Paris will be burnt down to-night;" upon which
Musqueton had declared, without asking anything further,
that he was ready to follow his master and Monsieur
d'Artagnan to the end of the world.

The carriage started at a measured pace, without betraying
by the slightest sign that it contained people in a hurry.
The cardinal wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and
looked around him. On his left was Porthos, whilst
D'Artagnan was on his right; each guarded a door and served
as a rampart to him on either side. Before him, on the front
seat, lay two pairs of pistols -- one in front of Porthos
and the other of D'Artagnan. About a hundred paces from the
Palais Royal a patrol stopped the carriage.

"Who goes?" asked the captain.

"Mazarin!" replied D'Artagnan, bursting into a laugh. The
cardinal's hair stood on end. But the joke appeared an
excellent one to the citizens, who, seeing the conveyance
without escort and unarmed, would never have believed in the
possibility of so great an imprudence.

"A good journey to ye," they cried, allowing it to pass.

"Hem!" said D'Artagnan, "what does my lord think of that
reply?"

"Man of talent!" cried Mazarin.

"In truth," said Porthos, "I understand; but now ---- "

About the middle of the Rue des Petits Champs they were
stopped by a second patrol.

"Who goes there?" inquired the captain of the patrol.

"Keep back, my lord," said D'Artagnan. And Mazarin buried
himself so far behind the two friends that he disappeared,
completely hidden between them.

"Who goes there?" cried the same voice, impatiently whilst
D'Artagnan perceived that they had rushed to the horses'
heads. But putting hid head out of the carriage:

"Eh! Planchet," said he.

The chief approached, and it was indeed Planchet; D'Artagnan
had recognized the voice of his old servant.

"How, sir!" said Planchet, "is it you?"

"Eh! mon Dieu! yes, my good friend, this worthy Porthos has
just received a sword wound and I am taking him to his
country house at Saint Cloud."

"Oh! really," said Planchet.

"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "if you can still speak, say a
word, my dear Porthos, to this good Planchet."

"Planchet, my friend," said Porthos, in a melancholy voice,
"I am very ill; should you meet a doctor you will do me a
favor by sending him to me."

"Oh! good Heaven," said Planchet, "what a misfortune! and
how did it happen?"

"I will tell you all about it," replied Musqueton.

Porthos uttered a deep groan.

"Make way for us, Planchet," said D'Artagnan in a whisper to
him, "or he will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked,
my friend."

Planchet shook his head with the air of a man who says, "In
that case things look ill." Then he exclaimed, turning to
his men:

"Let them pass; they are friends.

The carriage resumed its course, and Mazarin, who had held
his breath, ventured to breathe again.

"Bricconi!" muttered he.

A few steps in advance of the gate of Saint Honore they met
a third troop; this latter party was composed of ill-looking
fellows, who resembled bandits more than anything else; they
were the men of the beggar of Saint Eustache.

"Attention, Porthos!" cried D'Artagnan.

Porthos placed his hand on the pistols.

"What is it?" asked Mazarin.

"My lord, I think we are in bad company."

A man advanced to the door with a kind of scythe in his
hand. "Qui vive?" he asked.

"Eh, rascal!" said D'Artagnan, "do you not recognize his
highness the prince's carriage?"

"Prince or not," said the man, "open. We are here to guard
the gate, and no one whom we do not know shall pass."

"What is to be done?" said Porthos.

"Pardieu! pass," replied D'Artagnan.

"But how?" asked Mazarin.

"Through or over; coachman, gallop on."

The coachman raised his whip.

"Not a step further," said the man, who appeared to be the
captain, "or I will hamstring your horses."

"Peste!" said Porthos, "it would be a pity; animals which
cost me a hundred pistoles each."

"I will pay you two hundred for them," said Mazarin.

"Yes, but when once they are hamstrung, our necks will be
strung next."

"If one of them comes to my side," asked Porthos, "must I
kill him?"

"Yes, by a blow of your fist, if you can; we will not fire
but at the last extremity."

"I can do it," said Porthos.

"Come and open, then!" cried D'Artagnan to the man with the
scythe, taking one of the pistols up by the muzzle and
preparing to strike with the handle. And as the man
approached, D'Artagnan, in order to have more freedom for
his actions, leaned half out of the door; his eyes were
fixed upon those of the mendicant, which were lighted up by
a lantern. Without doubt he recognized D'Artagnan, for he
became deadly pale; doubtless the musketeer knew him, for
his hair stood up on his head.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan!" he cried, falling back a step; "it is
Monsieur d'Artagnan! let him pass."

D'Artagnan was perhaps about to reply, when a blow, similar
to that of a mallet falling on the head of an ox, was heard.
The noise was caused by Porthos, who had just knocked down
his man.

D'Artagnan turned around and saw the unfortunate man upon
his back about four paces off.

"'Sdeath!" cried he to the coachman. "Spur your horses!
whip! get on!"

The coachman bestowed a heavy blow of the whip upon his
horses; the noble animals bounded forward; then cries of men
who were knocked down were heard; then a double concussion
was felt, and two of the wheels seemed to pass over a round
and flexible body. There was a moment's silence, then the
carriage cleared the gate.

"To Cours la Reine!" cried D'Artagnan to the coachman; then
turning to Mazarin he said, "Now, my lord, you can say five
paters and five aves, in thanks to Heaven for your
deliverance. You are safe -- you are free."

Mazarin replied only by a groan; he could not believe in
such a miracle. Five minutes later the carriage stopped,
having reached Cours la Reine.

"Is my lord pleased with his escort?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Enchanted, monsieur," said Mazarin, venturing his head out
of one of the windows; "and now do as much for the queen."

"It will not be so difficult," replied D'Artagnan, springing
to the ground. "Monsieur du Vallon, I commend his eminence
to your care."

"Be quite at ease," said Porthos, holding out his hand,
which D'Artagnan took and shook in his.

"Oh!" cried Porthos, as if in pain.

D'Artagnan looked with surprise at his friend.

"What is the matter, then?" he asked.

"I think I have sprained my wrist,' said Porthos.

"The devil! why, you strike like a blind or a deaf man."

"It was necessary; my man was going to fire a pistol at me;
but you -- how did you get rid of yours?"

"Oh, mine," replied D'Artagnan, "was not a man."

"What was it then?"

"It was an apparition."

"And ---- "

"I charmed it away."

Without further explanation D'Artagnan took the pistols
which were upon the front seat, placed them in his belt,
wrapped himself in his cloak, and not wishing to enter by
the same gate as that through which they had left, he took
his way toward the Richelieu gate.

The Carriage of Monsieur le Coadjuteur.

Instead of returning, then, by the Saint Honore gate,
D'Artagnan, who had time before him, walked around and
re-entered by the Porte Richelieu. He was approached to be
examined, and when it was discovered by his plumed hat and
his laced coat, that he was an officer of the musketeers, he
was surrounded, with the intention of making him cry, "Down
with Mazarin!" The demonstration did not fail to make him
uneasy at first; but when he discovered what it meant, he
shouted it in such a voice that even the most exacting were
satisfied. He walked down the Rue Richelieu, meditating how
he should carry off the queen in her turn, for to take her
in a carriage bearing the arms of France was not to be
thought of, when he perceived an equipage standing at the
door of the hotel belonging to Madame de Guemenee.

He was struck by a sudden idea.

"Ah, pardieu!" he exclaimed; "that would be fair play."

And approaching the carriage, he examined the arms on the
panels and the livery of the coachman on his box. This
scrutiny was so much the more easy, the coachman being sound
asleep.

"It is, in truth, monsieur le coadjuteur's carriage," said
D'Artagnan; "upon my honor I begin to think that Heaven
favors us."

He mounted noiselessly into the chariot and pulled the silk
cord which was attached to the coachman's little finger.

"To the Palais Royal," he called out.

The coachman awoke with a start and drove off in the
direction he was desired, never doubting but that the order
had come from his master. The porter at the palace was about
to close the gates, but seeing such a handsome equipage he
fancied that it was some visit of importance and the
carriage was allowed to pass and to stop beneath the porch.
It was then only the coachman perceived the grooms were not
behind the vehicle; he fancied monsieur le coadjuteur had
sent them back, and without dropping the reins he sprang
from his box to open the door. D'Artagnan, in his turn,
sprang to the ground, and just at the moment when the
coachman, alarmed at not seeing his master, fell back a
step, he seized him by his collar with the left, whilst with
the right hand he placed the muzzle of a pistol at his
breast.

"Pronounce one single word," muttered D'Artagnan, "and you
are a dead man."

The coachman perceived at once, by the expression of the man
who thus addressed him, that he had fallen into a trap, and
he remained with his mouth wide open and his eyes
portentously staring.

Two musketeers were pacing the court, to whom D'Artagnan
called by their names.

"Monsieur de Belliere," said he to one of them, "do me the
favor to take the reins from the hands of this worthy man,
mount upon the box and drive to the door of the private
stair, and wait for me there; it is an affair of importance
on the service of the king."

The musketeer, who knew that his lieutenant was incapable of
jesting with regard to the service, obeyed without a word,
although he thought the order strange. Then turning toward
the second musketeer, D'Artagnan said:

"Monsieur du Verger, help me to place this man in a place of
safety."

The musketeer, thinking that his lieutenant had just
arrested some prince in disguise, bowed, and drawing his
sword, signified that he was ready. D'Artagnan mounted the
staircase, followed by his prisoner, who in his turn was
followed by the soldier, and entered Mazarin's ante-room.
Bernouin was waiting there, impatient for news of his
master.

"Well, sir?" he said.

"Everything goes on capitally, my dear Monsieur Bernouin,
but here is a man whom I must beg you to put in a safe
place."

"Where, then, sir?"

"Where you like, provided that the place which you shall
choose has iron shutters secured by padlocks and a door that
can be locked."

"We have that, sir," replied Bernouin; and the poor coachman
was conducted to a closet, the windows of which were barred
and which looked very much like a prison.

"And now, my good friend," said D'Artagnan to him, "I must
invite you to deprive yourself, for my sake, of your hat and
cloak."

The coachman, as we can well understand, made no resistance;
in fact, he was so astonished at what had happened to him
that he stammered and reeled like a drunken man; D'Artagnan
deposited his clothes under the arm of one of the valets.

"And now, Monsieur du Verger," he said, "shut yourself up
with this man until Monsieur Bernouin returns to open the
door. The duty will be tolerably long and not very amusing,
I know; but," added he, seriously, "you understand, it is on
the king's service."

"At your command, lieutenant," replied the musketeer, who
saw the business was a serious one.

"By-the-bye," continued D'Artagnan, "should this man attempt
to fly or to call out, pass your sword through his body."

The musketeer signified by a nod that these commands should
be obeyed to the letter, and D'Artagnan went out, followed
by Bernouin. Midnight struck.

"Lead me into the queen's oratory," said D'Artagnan,
"announce to her I am here, and put this parcel, with a
well-loaded musket, under the seat of the carriage which is
waiting at the foot of the private stair."

Bernouin conducted D'Artagnan to the oratory, where he sat
down pensively. Everything had gone on as usual at the
Palais Royal. As we said before, by ten o'clock almost all
the guests had dispersed; those who were to fly with the
court had the word of command and they were each severally
desired to be from twelve o'clock to one at Cours la Reine.

At ten o'clock Anne of Austria had entered the king's room.
Monsieur had just retired, and the youthful Louis, remaining
the last, was amusing himself by placing some lead soldiers
in a line of battle, a game which delighted him much. Two
royal pages were playing with him.

"Laporte," said the queen, "it is time for his majesty to go
to bed."

The king asked to remain up, having, he said, no wish to
sleep; but the queen was firm.

"Are you not going to-morrow morning at six o'clock, Louis,
to bathe at Conflans? I think you wished to do so of your
own accord?"

"You are right, madame," said the king, "and I am ready to
retire to my room when you have kissed me. Laporte, give the
light to Monsieur the Chevalier de Coislin."

The queen touched with her lips the white, smooth brow the
royal child presented to her with a gravity which already
partook of etiquette.

"Go to sleep soon, Louis," said the queen, "for you must be
awakened very early."

"I will do my best to obey you, madame," said the youthful
king, "but I have no inclination to sleep."

"Laporte," said Anne of Austria, in an undertone, "find some
very dull book to read to his majesty, but do not undress
yourself."

The king went out, accompanied by the Chevalier de Coislin,
bearing the candlestick, and then the queen returned to her
own apartment. Her ladies -- that is to say Madame de Bregy,
Mademoiselle de Beaumont, Madame de Motteville, and
Socratine, her sister, so called on account of her sense --
had just brought into her dressing-room the remains of the
dinner, on which, according to her usual custom, she supped.
The queen then gave her orders, spoke of a banquet which the
Marquis de Villequier was to give to her on the day after
the morrow, indicated the persons she would admit to the
honor of partaking of it, announced another visit on the
following day to Val-de-Grace, where she intended to pay her
devotions, and gave her commands to her senior valet to
accompany her. When the ladies had finished their supper the
queen feigned extreme fatigue and passed into her bedroom.
Madame de Motteville, who was on especial duty that evening,
followed to aid and undress her. The queen then began to
read, and after conversing with her affectionately for a few
minutes, dismissed her.

It was at this moment D'Artagnan entered the courtyard of
the palace, in the coadjutor's carriage, and a few seconds
later the carriages of the ladies-in-waiting drove out and
the gates were shut after them.

A few minutes after twelve o'clock Bernouin knocked at the
queen's bedroom door, having come by the cardinal's secret
corridor. Anne of Austria opened the door to him herself.
She was dressed, that is to say, in dishabille, wrapped in a
long, warm dressing-gown.

"It is you, Bernouin," she said. "Is Monsieur d'Artagnan
there?"

"Yes, madame, in your oratory. He is waiting till your
majesty is ready."

"I am. Go and tell Laporte to wake and dress the king, and
then pass on to the Marechal de Villeroy and summon him to
me."

Bernouin bowed and retired.

The queen entered her oratory, which was lighted by a single
lamp of Venetian crystal, She saw D'Artagnan, who stood
expecting her.

"Is it you?" she said.

"Yes, madame."

"Are you ready?"

"I am."

"And his eminence, the cardinal?"

"Has got off without any accident. He is awaiting your
majesty at Cours la Reine."

"But in what carriage do we start?"

"I have provided for everything; a carriage below is waiting
for your majesty."

"Let us go to the king."

D'Artagnan bowed and followed the queen. The young Louis was
already dressed, with the exception of his shoes and
doublet; he had allowed himself to be dressed, in great
astonishment, overwhelming Laporte with questions, who
replied only in these words, "Sire, it is by the queen's
commands."

The bedclothes were thrown back, exposing the king's bed
linen, which was so worn that here and there holes could be
seen. It was one of the results of Mazarin's niggardliness.

The queen entered and D'Artagnan remained at the door. As
soon as the child perceived the queen he escaped from
Laporte and ran to meet her. Anne then motioned to
D'Artagnan to approach, and he obeyed.

"My son," said Anne of Austria, pointing to the musketeer,
calm, standing uncovered, "here is Monsieur d'Artagnan, who
is as brave as one of those ancient heroes of whom you like
so much to hear from my women. Remember his name well and
look at him well, that his face may not be forgotten, for
this evening he is going to render us a great service."

The young king looked at the officer with his large-formed
eye, and repeated:

"Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"That is it, my son."

The young king slowly raised his little hand and held it out
to the musketeer; the latter bent on his knee and kissed it.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," repeated Louis; "very well, madame."

At this moment they were startled by a noise as if a tumult
were approaching.

"What is that?" exclaimed the queen.

"Oh, oh!" replied D'Artagnan, straining both at the same
time his quick ear and his intelligent glance, "it is the
murmur of the populace in revolution."

"We must fly," said the queen.

"Your majesty has given me the control of this business; we
had better wait and see what they want."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan!"

"I will answer for everything."

Nothing is so catching as confidence. The queen, full of
energy and courage, was quickly alive to these two virtues
in others.

"Do as you like," she said, "I rely upon you."

"Will your majesty permit me to give orders in your name
throughout this business?"

"Command, sir."

"What do the people want this time?" demanded the king.

"We are about to ascertain, sire," replied D'Artagnan, as he
rapidly left the room.

The tumult continued to increase and seemed to surround the
Palais Royal entirely. Cries were heard from the interior,
of which they could not comprehend the sense. It was evident
that there was clamor and sedition.

The king, half dressed, the queen and Laporte remained each
in the same state and almost in the same place, where they
were listening and waiting. Comminges, who was on guard that
night at the Palais Royal, ran in. He had about two hundred
men in the courtyards and stables, and he placed them at the
queen's disposal.

"Well," asked Anne of Austria, when D'Artagnan reappeared,
"what does it mean?"

"It means, madame, that the report has spread that the queen
has left the Palais Royal, carrying off the king, and the
people ask to have proof to the contrary, or threaten to
demolish the Palais Royal."

"Oh, this time it is too much!" exclaimed the queen, "and I
will prove to them I have not left."

D'Artagnan saw from the expression of the queen's face that
she was about to issue some violent command. He approached
her and said in a low voice:

"Has your majesty still confidence in me?"

This voice startled her. "Yes, sir," she replied, "every
confidence; speak."

"Will the queen deign to follow my advice?"

"Speak."

"Let your majesty dismiss M. de Comminges and desire him to
shut himself up with his men in the guardhouse and in the
stables."

Comminges glanced at D'Artagnan with the envious look with
which every courtier sees a new favorite spring up.

"You hear, Comminges?" said the queen.

D'Artagnan went up to him; with his usual quickness he
caught the anxious glance.

"Monsieur de Comminges," he said, "pardon me; we both are
servants of the queen, are we not? It is my turn to be of
use to her; do not envy me this happiness."

Comminges bowed and left.

"Come," said D'Artagnan to himself, "I have got one more
enemy."

"And now," said the queen, addressing D'Artagnan, "what is
to be done? for you hear that, instead of becoming calmer,
the noise increases."

"Madame," said D'Artagnan, "the people want to see the king
and they must see him."

"What! must see him! Where -- on the balcony?"

"Not at all, madame, but here, sleeping in his bed."

"Oh, your majesty," exclaimed Laporte, "Monsieur d'Artagnan
is right."

The queen became thoughtful and smiled, like a woman to whom
duplicity is no stranger.

"Without doubt," she murmured.

"Monsieur Laporte," said D'Artagnan, "go and announce to the
people through the grating that they are going to be
satisfied and that in five minutes they shall not only see
the king, but they shall see him in bed; add that the king
sleeps and that the queen begs that they will keep silence,
so as not to awaken him."

"But not every one; a deputation of two or four people."

"Every one, madame."

"But reflect, they will keep us here till daybreak.

"It shall take but a quarter of an hour, I answer for
everything, madame; believe me, I know the people; they are
like a great child, who only wants humoring. Before the
sleeping king they will be mute, gentle and timid as lambs."

"Go, Laporte," said the queen.

The young king approached his mother and said, "Why do as
these people ask?"

"It must be so, my son," said Anne of Austria.

"But if they say, `it must be' to me, am I no longer king?"

The queen remained silent.

"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "will your majesty permit me to ask
you a question?"

Louis XIV. turned around, astonished that any one should
dare to address him. But the queen pressed the child's hand.

"Yes, sir." he said.

"Does your majesty remember, when playing in the park of
Fontainebleau, or in the palace courts at Versailles, ever
to have seen the sky grow suddenly dark and heard the sound
of thunder?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Well, then, this noise of thunder, however much your
majesty may have wished to continue playing, has said, `go
in, sire. You must do so.'"

"Certainly, sir; but they tell me that the noise of thunder
is the voice of God."

"Well then, sire," continued D'Artagnan, "listen to the
noise of the people; you will perceive that it resembles
that of thunder."

In truth at that moment a terrible murmur was wafted to them
by the night breeze; then all at once it ceased.

"Hold, sire," said D'Artagnan, "they have just told the
people that you are asleep; you see, you still are king."

The queen looked with surprise at this strange man, whose
brilliant courage made him the equal of the bravest, and who
was, by his fine and quick intelligence, the equal of the
most astute.

Laporte entered.

"Well, Laporte?" asked the queen.

"Madame," he replied, "Monsieur d'Artagnan's prediction has
been accomplished; they are calm, as if by enchantment. The
doors are about to be opened and in five minutes they will
be here."

"Laporte," said the queen, "suppose you put one of your sons
in the king's place; we might be off during the time."

"If your majesty desires it," said Laporte, "my sons, like
myself, are at the queen's service."

"Not at all," said D'Artagnan; "should one of them know his
majesty and discover but a substitute, all would be lost."

"You are right, sir, always right," said Anne of Austria.
"Laporte, place the king in bed."

Laporte placed the king, dressed as he was, in the bed and
then covered him as far as the shoulders with the sheet. The
queen bent over him and kissed his brow.

"Pretend to sleep, Louis," said she.

"Yes," said the king, "but I do not wish to be touched by
any of those men."

"Sire, I am here," said D'Artagnan, "and I give you my word,
that if a single man has the audacity, his life shall pay
for it."

"And now what is to be done?" asked the queen, "for I hear
them."

"Monsieur Laporte, go to them and again recommend silence.
Madame, wait at the door, whilst I shall be at the head of
the king's bed, ready to die for him."

Laporte went out; the queen remained standing near the
hangings, whilst D'Artagnan glided behind the curtains.

Then the heavy and collected steps of a multitude of men
were heard, and the queen herself raised the tapestry
hangings and put her finger on her lips.

On seeing the queen, the men stopped short, respectfully.

"Enter, gentlemen, enter," said the queen.

There was then amongst that crowd a moment's hesitation,
which looked like shame. They had expected resistance, they
had expected to be thwarted, to have to force the gates, to
overturn the guards. The gates had opened of themselves, and
the king, ostensibly at least, had no other guard at his
bed-head but his mother. The foremost of them stammered and
attempted to fall back.

"Enter, gentlemen," said Laporte, "since the queen desires
you so to do."

Then one more bold than the rest ventured to pass the door
and to advance on tiptoe. This example was imitated by the
rest, until the room filled silently, as if these men had
been the humblest, most devoted courtiers. Far beyond the
door the heads of those who were not able to enter could be
seen, all craning to their utmost height to try and see.

D'Artagnan saw it all through an opening he had made in the
curtain, and in the very first man who entered he recognized
Planchet.

"Sir," said the queen to him, thinking he was the leader of
the band, "you wished to see the king and therefore I
determined to show him to you myself. Approach and look at
him and say if we have the appearance of people who wish to
run away."

"No, certainly," replied Planchet, rather astonished at the
unexpected honor conferred upon him.

"You will say, then, to my good and faithful Parisians,"
continued Anne, with a smile, the expression of which did
not deceive D'Artagnan, "that you have seen the king in bed,
asleep, and the queen also ready to retire."

"I shall tell them, madame, and those who accompany me will
say the same thing; but ---- "

"But what?" asked Anne of Austria.

"Will your majesty pardon me," said Planchet, "but is it
really the king who is lying there?"

Anne of Austria started. "If," she said, "there is one among
you who knows the king, let him approach and say whether it
is really his majesty lying there."

A man wrapped in a cloak, in the folds of which his face was
hidden, approached and leaned over the bed and looked.

For one second, D'Artagnan thought the man had some evil
design and he put his hand to his sword; but in the movement
made by the man in stooping a portion of his face was
uncovered and D'Artagnan recognized the coadjutor.

"It is certainly the king," said the man, rising again. "God
bless his majesty!"

"Yes," repeated the leader in a whisper, "God bless his
majesty!" and all these men, who had entered enraged, passed
from anger to pity and blessed the royal infant in their
turn.

"Now,', said Planchet, "let us thank the queen. My friends,
retire."

They all bowed, and retired by degrees as noiselessly as
they had entered. Planchet, who had been the first to enter,
was the last to leave. The queen stopped him.

"What is your name, my friend?" she said.

Planchet, much surprised at the inquiry, turned back.

"Yes," continued the queen, "I think myself as much honored
to have received you this evening as if you had been a
prince, and I wish to know your name."

"Yes," thought Planchet, "to treat me as a prince. No, thank
you."

D'Artagnan trembled lest Planchet, seduced, like the crow in
the fable, should tell his name, and that the queen, knowing
his name, would discover that Planchet had belonged to him.

"Madame," replied Planchet, respectfully, "I am called
Dulaurier, at your service."

"Thank you, Monsieur Dulaurier," said the queen; "and what
is your business?"

"Madame, I am a clothier in the Rue Bourdonnais."

"That is all I wished to know," said the queen. "Much
obliged to you, Monsieur Dulaurier. You will hear again from
me."

"Come, come," thought D'Artagnan, emerging from behind the
curtain, "decidedly Monsieur Planchet is no fool; it is
evident he has been brought up in a good school."

The different actors in this strange scene remained facing
one another, without uttering a single word; the queen
standing near the door, D'Artagnan half out of his hiding
place, the king raised on his elbow, ready to fall down on
his bed again at the slightest sound that would indicate the
return of the multitude, but instead of approaching, the
noise became more and more distant and very soon it died
entirely away.

The queen breathed more freely. D'Artagnan wiped his damp
forehead and the king slid off his bed, saying, "Let us go."

At this moment Laporte reappeared.

"Well?" asked the queen

"Well, madame," replied the valet, "I followed them as far
as the gates. They announced to all their comrades that they
had seen the king and that the queen had spoken to them;
and, in fact, they went away quite proud and happy."

"Oh, the miserable wretches!" murmured the queen, "they
shall pay dearly for their boldness, and it is I who promise
this."

Then turning to D'Artagnan, she said:

"Sir, you have given me this evening the best advice I have
ever received. Continue, and say what we must do now."

"Monsieur Laporte," said D'Artagnan, "finish dressing his
majesty."

"We may go, then?" asked the queen.

"Whenever your majesty pleases. You have only to descend by
the private stairs and you will find me at the door."

"Go, sir," said the queen; "I will follow you."

D'Artagnan went down and found the carriage at its post and
the musketeer on the box. D'Artagnan took out the parcel
which he had desired Bernouin to place under the seat. It
may be remembered that it was the hat and cloak belonging to
Monsieur de Gondy's coachman.

He placed the cloak on his shoulders and the hat on his
head, whilst the musketeer got off the box.

"Sir," said D'Artagnan, "you will go and release your
companion, who is guarding the coachman. You must mount your
horse and proceed to the Rue Tiquetonne, Hotel de la
Chevrette, whence you will take my horse and that of
Monsieur du Vallon, which you must saddle and equip as if
for war, and then you will leave Paris, bringing them with
you to Cours la Reine. If, when you arrive at Cours la
Reine, you find no one, you must go on to Saint Germain. On
the king's service."

The musketeer touched his cap and went away to execute the
orders thus received.

D'Artagnan mounted the box, having a pair of pistols in his
belt, a musket under his feet and a naked sword behind him.

The queen appeared, and was followed by the king and the
Duke d'Anjou, his brother.

"Monsieur the coadjutor's carriage!" she exclaimed, falling
back.

"Yes, madame," said D'Artagnan; "but get in fearlessly, for
I myself will drive you."

The queen uttered a cry of surprise and entered the
carriage, and the king and monsieur took their places at her
side.

"Come, Laporte," said the queen.

"How, madame!" said the valet, "in the same carriage as your
majesties?"

"It is not a matter of royal etiquette this evening, but of
the king's safety. Get in, Laporte."

Laporte obeyed.

"Pull down the blinds," said D'Artagnan.

"But will that not excite suspicion, sir?" asked the queen.

"Your majesty's mind may be quite at ease," replied the
officer; "I have my answer ready."

The blinds were pulled down and they started at a gallop by
the Rue Richelieu. On reaching the gate the captain of the
post advanced at the head of a dozen men, holding a lantern
in his hand.

D'Artagnan signed to them to draw near.

"Do you recognize the carriage?" he asked the sergeant.

"No," replied the latter.

"Look at the arms."

The sergeant put the lantern near the panel.

"They are those of monsieur le coadjuteur," he said.

"Hush; he is enjoying a ride with Madame de Guemenee."

The sergeant began to laugh.

"Open the gate," he cried. "I know who it is!" Then putting
his face to the lowered blinds, he said:

"I wish you joy, my lord!"

"Impudent fellow!" cried D'Artagnan, "you will get me turned
off."

The gate groaned on its hinges, and D'Artagnan, seeing the
way clear, whipped his horses, who started at a canter, and
five minutes later they had rejoined the cardinal.

"Musqueton!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, "draw up the blinds of
his majesty's carriage."

"It is he!" cried Porthos.

"Disguised as a coachman!" exclaimed Mazarin.

"And driving the coadjutor's carriage!" said the queen.

"Corpo di Dio! Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said Mazarin, "you are
worth your weight in gold."

How D'Artagnan and Porthos earned by selling Straw, the one
Two Hundred and Nineteen, and the other Two Hundred and
Fifteen Louis d'or.

Mazarin was desirous of setting out instantly for Saint
Germain, but the queen declared that she should wait for the
people whom she had appointed to meet her. However, she
offered the cardinal Laporte's place, which he accepted and
went from one carriage to the other.

It was not without foundation that a report of the king's
intention to leave Paris by night had been circulated. Ten
or twelve persons had been in the secret since six o'clock,
and howsoever great their prudence might be, they could not
issue the necessary orders for the departure without
suspicion being generated. Besides, each individual had one
or two others for whom he was interested; and as there could
be no doubt but that the queen was leaving Paris full of
terrible projects of vengeance, every one had warned parents
and friends of what was about to transpire; so that the news
of the approaching exit ran like a train of lighted
gunpowder along the streets.

The first carriage which arrived after that of the queen was
that of the Prince de Conde, with the princess and dowager
princess. Both these ladies had been awakened in the middle
of the night and did not know what it all was about. The
second contained the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, the tall
young Mademoiselle and the Abbe de la Riviere; and the
third, the Duke de Longueville and the Prince de Conti,
brother and brother-in-law of Conde. They all alighted and
hastened to pay their respects to the king and queen in
their coach. The queen fixed her eyes upon the carriage they
had left, and seeing that it was empty, she said:

"But where is Madame de Longueville?"

"Ah, yes, where is my sister?" asked the prince.

"Madame de Longueville is ill," said the duke, "and she
desired me to excuse her to your majesty."

Anne gave a quick glance to Mazarin, who answered by an
almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"What do you say of this?" asked the queen.

"I say that she is a hostage for the Parisians," answered
the cardinal.

"Why is she not come?" asked the prince in a low voice,
addressing his brother.

"Silence," whispered the duke, "she has her reasons."

"She will ruin us!" returned the prince.

"She will save us," said Conti.

Carriages now arrived in crowds; those of the Marechal de
Villeroy, Guitant, Villequier and Comminges came into the
line. The two musketeers arrived in their turn, holding the
horses of D'Artagnan and Porthos in their hands. These two
instantly mounted, the coachman of the latter replacing
D'Artagnan on the coach-box of the royal coach. Musqueton
took the place of the coachman, and drove standing, for
reasons known to himself, like Automedon of antiquity.

The queen, though occupied by a thousand details, tried to
catch the Gascon's eye; but he, with his wonted prudence,
had mingled with the crowd.

"Let us be the avant guard," said he to Porthos, "and find
good quarters at Saint Germain; nobody will think of us, and
for my part I am greatly fatigued."

"As for me," replied Porthos, "I am falling asleep, which is
strange, considering we have not had any fighting; truly the
Parisians are idiots."

"Or rather, we are very clever," said D'Artagnan.

"Perhaps."

"And how is your wrist?"

"Better; but do you think that we've got them this time?"

"Got what?"

"You your command, and I my title?"

"I'faith! yes -- I should expect so; besides, if they
forget, I shall take the liberty of reminding them."

"The queen's voice! she is speaking," said Porthos; "I think
she wants to ride on horseback."

"Oh, she would like it, but ---- "

"But what?"

"The cardinal won't allow it. Gentlemen," he said,
addressing the two musketeers, "accompany the royal
carriage, we are going forward to look for lodgings."

D'Artagnan started off for Saint Germain, followed by
Porthos.

"We will go on, gentlemen," said the queen.

And the royal carriage drove on, followed by the other
coaches and about fifty horsemen.

They reached Saint German without any accident; on
descending, the queen found the prince awaiting her,
bare-headed, to offer her his hand.

"What an awakening for the Parisians!" said the queen,
radiant.

"It is war," said the prince.

"Well, then, let it be war! Have we not on our side the
conqueror of Rocroy, of Nordlingen, of Lens?"

The prince bowed low.

It was then three o'clock in the morning. The queen walked
first, every one followed her. About two hundred persons had
accompanied her in her flight.

"Gentlemen," said the queen, laughing, "pray take up your
abode in the chateau; it is large, and there will be no want
of room for you all; but, as we never thought of coming
here, I am informed that there are, in all, only three beds
in the whole establishment, one for the king, one for me
---- "

"And one for the cardinal," muttered the prince.

"Am I -- am I, then, to sleep on the floor?" asked Gaston
d'Orleans, with a forced smile.

"No, my prince," replied Mazarin, "the third bed is intended
for your highness."

"But your eminence?" replied the prince.

"I," answered Mazarin, "I shall not sleep at all; I have
work to do."

Gaston desired that he should be shown into the room wherein
he was to sleep, without in the least concerning himself as
to where his wife and daughter were to repose.

"Well, for my part, I shall go to bed," said D'Artagnan;
"come, Porthos."

Porthos followed the lieutenant with that profound
confidence he ever had in the wisdom of his friend. They
walked from one end of the chateau to the other, Porthos
looking with wondering eyes at D'Artagnan, who was counting
on his fingers.

"Four hundred, at a pistole each, four hundred pistoles."

"Yes," interposed Porthos, "four hundred pistoles; but who
is to make four hundred pistoles?"

"A pistole is not enough," said D'Artagnan, "'tis worth a
louis."

"What is worth a louis?"

"Four hundred, at a louis each, make four hundred louis."

"Four hundred?" said Porthos.

"Yes, there are two hundred of them, and each of them will
need two, which will make four hundred."

"But four hundred what?"

"Listen!" cried D'Artagnan.

But as there were all kinds of people about, who were in a
state of stupefaction at the unexpected arrival of the
court, he whispered in his friend's ear.

"I understand," answered Porthos, "I understand you
perfectly, on my honor; two hundred louis, each of us, would
be making a pretty thing of it; but what will people say?"

"Let them say what they will; besides, how will they know
that we are doing it?"

"But who will distribute these things?" asked Porthos.

"Isn't Musqueton there?"

"But he wears my livery; my livery will be known," replied
Porthos.

"He can turn his coat inside out."

"You are always in the right, my dear friend," cried
Porthos; "but where the devil do you discover all the
notions you put into practice?"

D'Artagnan smiled. The two friends turned down the first
street they came to. Porthos knocked at the door of a house
to the right, whilst D'Artagnan knocked at the door of a
house to the left.

"Some straw," they said.

"Sir, we don't keep any," was the reply of the people who
opened the doors; "but please ask at the hay dealer's."

"Where is the hay dealer's?"

"At the last large door in the street."

"Are there any other people in Saint Germain who sell
straw?"

"Yes; there's the landlord of the Lamb, and Gros-Louis the
farmer; they both live in the Rue des Ursulines."

"Very well."

D'Artagnan went instantly to the hay dealer and bargained
with him for a hundred and fifty trusses of straw, which he
obtained, at the rate of three pistoles each. He went
afterward to the innkeeper and bought from him two hundred
trusses at the same price. Finally, Farmer Louis sold them
eighty trusses, making in all four hundred and thirty.

There was no more to be had in Saint Germain. This foraging
did not occupy more than half an hour. Musqueton, duly
instructed, was put at the head of this sudden and new
business. He was cautioned not to let a bit of straw out of
his hands under a louis the truss, and they intrusted to him
straw to the amount of four hundred and thirty louis.
D'Artagnan, taking with him three trusses of straw, returned
to the chateau, where everybody, freezing with cold and more
than half asleep, envied the king, the queen, and the Duke
of Orleans, on their camp beds. The lieutenant's entrance
produced a burst of laughter in the great drawing-room; but
he did not appear to notice that he was the object of
general attention, but began to arrange, with so much
cleverness, nicety and gayety, his straw bed, that the
mouths of all these poor creatures, who could not go to
sleep, began to water.

"Straw!" they all cried out, "straw! where is there any to
be found?"

"I can show you," answered the Gascon.

And he conducted them to Musqueton, who freely distributed
the trusses at the rate of a louis apiece. It was thought
rather dear, but people wanted to sleep, and who would not
give even two or three louis for a few hours of sound sleep?

D'Artagnan gave up his bed to any one who wanted it, making
it over about a dozen times; and since he was supposed to
have paid, like the others, a louis for his truss of straw,
he pocketed in that way thirty louis in less than half an
hour. At five o'clock in the morning the straw was worth
eighty francs a truss and there was no more to be had.

D'Artagnan had taken the precaution to set apart four
trusses for his own use. He put in his pocket the key of the
room where he had hidden them, and accompanied by Porthos
returned to settle with Musqueton, who, naively, and like
the worthy steward that he was, handed them four hundred and
thirty louis and kept one hundred for himself.

Musqueton, who knew nothing of what was going on in the
chateau, wondered that the idea had not occurred to him
sooner. D'Artagnan put the gold in his hat, and in going
back to the chateau settled the reckoning with Porthos, each
of them had cleared two hundred and fifteen louis.

Porthos, however, found that he had no straw left for
himself. He returned to Musqueton, but the steward had sold
the last wisp. He then repaired to D'Artagnan, who, thanks
to his four trusses of straw, was in the act of making up
and tasting, by anticipation, the luxury of a bed so soft,
so well stuffed at the head, so well covered at the foot,
that it would have excited the envy of the king himself, if
his majesty had not been fast asleep in his own. D'Artagnan
could on no account consent to pull his bed to pieces again
for Porthos, but for a consideration of four louis that the
latter paid him for it, he consented that Porthos should
share his couch with him. He laid his sword at the head, his
pistols by his side, stretched his cloak over his feet,
placed his felt hat on the top of his cloak and extended
himself luxuriously on the straw, which rustled under him.
He was already enjoying the sweet dream engendered by the
possession of two hundred and nineteen louis, made in a
quarter of an hour, when a voice was heard at the door of
the hall, which made him stir.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan!" it cried.

"Here!" cried Porthos, "here!"

Porthos foresaw that if D'Artagnan was called away he should
remain the sole possessor of the bed. An officer approached.

"I am come to fetch you, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"From whom?"

"His eminence sent me."

"Tell my lord that I'm going to sleep, and I advise him, as
a friend, to do the same."

"His eminence is not gone to bed and will not go to bed, and
wants you instantly."

"The devil take Mazarin, who does not know when to sleep at
the proper time. What does he want with me? Is it to make me
a captain? In that case I will forgive him."

And the musketeer rose, grumbling, took his sword, hat,
pistols, and cloak, and followed the officer, whilst
Porthos, alone and sole possessor of the bed, endeavored to
follow the good example of falling asleep, which his
predecessor had set him.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the cardinal, on perceiving him,
"I have not forgotten with what zeal you have served me. I
am going to prove to you that I have not."

"Good," thought the Gascon, "this is a promising beginning."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," he resumed, "do you wish to become a
captain?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And your friend still longs to be made a baron?"

"At this very moment, my lord, he no doubt dreams that he is
one already."

"Then," said Mazarin, taking from his portfolio the letter
which he had already shown D'Artagnan, "take this dispatch
and carry it to England."

D'Artagnan looked at the envelope; there was no address on
it.

"Am I not to know to whom to present it?"

"You will know when you reach London; at London you may tear
off the outer envelope."

"And what are my instructions?"

"To obey in every particular the man to whom this letter is
addressed. You must set out for Boulogne. At the Royal Arms
of England you will find a young gentleman named Mordaunt."

"Yes, my lord; and what am I to do with this young
gentleman?"

"Follow wherever he leads you."

D'Artagnan looked at the cardinal with a stupefied air.

"There are your instructions," said Mazarin; "go!"

"Go! 'tis easy to say so, but that requires money, and I
haven't any."

"Ah!" replied Mazarin, "so you have no money?"

"None, my lord."

"But the diamond I gave you yesterday?"

"I wish to keep it in remembrance of your eminence."

Mazarin sighed.

"'Tis very dear living in England, my lord, especially as
envoy extraordinary."

"Zounds!" replied Mazarin, "the people there are very
sedate, and their habits, since the revolution, simple; but
no matter."

He opened a drawer and took out a purse.

"What do you say to a thousand crowns?"

D'Artagnan pouted out his lower lip in a most extraordinary
manner.

"I reply, my lord, 'tis but little, as certainly I shall not
go alone."

"I suppose not. Monsieur du Vallon, that worthy gentleman,
for, with the exception of yourself, Monsieur d'Artagnan,
there's not a man in France that I esteem and love so much
as him ---- "

"Then, my lord," replied D'Artagnan, pointing to the purse
which Mazarin still held, "if you love and esteem him so
much, you -- understand me?"

"Be it so! on his account I add two hundred crowns."

"Scoundrel!" muttered D'Artagnan. "But on our return," he
said aloud, "may we, that is, my friend and I, depend on
having, he his barony, and I my promotion?"

"On the honor of Mazarin."

"I should like another sort of oath better," said D'Artagnan
to himself; then aloud, "May I not offer my duty to her
majesty the queen?"

"Her majesty is asleep and you must set off directly,"
replied Mazarin; "go, pray, sir ---- "

"One word more, my lord; if there's any fighting where I'm
going, must I fight?"

"You are to obey the commands of the personage to whom I
have addressed the inclosed letter."

"'Tis well," said D'Artagnan, holding out his hand to
receive the money. "I offer my best respects and services to
you, my lord."

D'Artagnan then, returning to the officer, said:

"Sir, have the kindness also to awaken Monsieur du Vallon
and to say 'tis by his eminence's order, and that I shall
await him at the stables."

The officer went off with an eagerness that showed the
Gascon that he had some personal interest in the matter.

Porthos was snoring most musically when some one touched him
on the shoulder.

"I come from the cardinal," said the officer.

"Heigho!" said Porthos, opening his large eyes; "what have
you got to say?"

"That his eminence has ordered you to England and that
Monsieur d'Artagnan is waiting for you in the stables."

Porthos sighed heavily, arose, took his hat, his pistols,
and his cloak, and departed, casting a look of regret upon
the couch where he had hoped to sleep so well.

No sooner had he turned his back than the officer laid
himself down in it, and he had scarcely crossed the
threshold before his successor, in his turn, was snoring
immoderately. It was very natural, he being the only person
in the whole assemblage, except the king, the queen, and the
Duke of Orleans, who slept gratuitously.

In which we hear Tidings of Aramis.

D'Artagnan went straight to the stables; day was just
dawning. He found his horse and that of Porthos fastened to
the manger, but to an empty manger. He took pity on these
poor animals and went to a corner of the stable, where he
saw a little straw, but in doing so he struck his foot
against a human body, which uttered a cry and arose on its
knees, rubbing its eyes. It was Musqueton, who, having no
straw to lie upon, had helped himself to that of the horses.

"Musqueton," cried D'Artagnan, "let us be off! Let us set
off."

Musqueton, recognizing the voice of his master's friend, got
up suddenly, and in doing so let fall some louis which he
had appropriated to himself illegally during the night.

"Ho! ho!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, picking up a louis and
displaying it; "here's a louis that smells confoundedly of
straw."

Musqueton blushed so confusedly that the Gascon began to
laugh at him and said:

"Porthos would be angry, my dear Monsieur Musqueton, but I
pardon you, only let us remember that this gold must serve
us as a joke, so be gay -- come along."

Musqueton instantly assumed a jovial countenance, saddled
the horses quickly and mounted his own without making faces
over it.

Whilst this went on, Porthos arrived with a very cross look
on his face, and was astonished to find the lieutenant
resigned and Musqueton almost merry.

"Ah, that's it!" he cried, "you have your promotion and I my
barony."

"We are going to fetch our brevets," said D'Artagnan, "and
when we come back, Master Mazarin will sign them."

"And where are we going?" asked Porthos.

"To Paris first; I have affairs to settle."

And they both set out for Paris.

On arriving at its gates they were astounded to see the
threatening aspect of the capital. Around a broken-down
carriage the people were uttering imprecations, whilst the
persons who had attempted to escape were made prisoners --
that is to say, an old man and two women. On the other hand,
as the two friends approached to enter, they showed them
every kind of civility, thinking them deserters from the
royal party and wishing to bind them to their own.

"What is the king doing?" they asked.

"He is asleep."

"And the Spanish woman?"

"Dreaming."

"And the cursed Italian?"

"He is awake, so keep on the watch, as they are gone away;
it's for some purpose, rely on it. But as you are the
strongest, after all," continued D'Artagnan, "don't be
furious with old men and women, and keep your wrath for more
appropriate occasions."

The people listened to these words and let go the ladies,
who thanked D'Artagnan with an eloquent look.

"Now! onward!" cried the Gascon.

And they continued their way, crossing the barricades,
getting the chains about their legs, pushed about,
questioning and questioned.

In the place of the Palais Royal D'Artagnan saw a sergeant,
who was drilling six or seven hundred citizens. It was
Planchet, who brought into play profitably the recollections
of the regiment of Piedmont.

In passing before D'Artagnan he recognized his former
master.

"Good-day, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Planchet proudly.

"Good-day, Monsieur Dulaurier," replied D'Artagnan.

Planchet stopped short, staring at D'Artagnan. The first
row, seeing their sergeant stop, stopped in their turn, and
so on to the very last.

"These citizens are dreadfully ridiculous," observed
D'Artagnan to Porthos and went on his way.

Five minutes afterward he entered the hotel of La Chevrette,
where pretty Madeleine, the hostess, came to him.

"My dear Mistress Turquaine," said the Gascon, "if you
happen to have any money, lock it up quickly; if you happen
to have any jewels, hide them directly; if you happen to
have any debtors, make them pay you, or any creditors, don't
pay them."

"Why, prithee?" asked Madeleine.

"Because Paris is going to be reduced to dust and ashes like
Babylon, of which you have no doubt heard tell."

"And are you going to leave me at such a time?"

"This very instant."

"And where are you going?"

"Ah, if you could tell me that, you would be doing me a
service."

"Ah, me! ah, me!

"Have you any letters for me?" inquired D'Artagnan, wishing
to signify to the hostess that her lamentations were
superfluous and that therefore she had better spare him
demonstrations of her grief.

"There's one just arrived," and she handed the letter to
D'Artagnan.

"From Athos!" cried D'Artagnan, recognizing the handwriting.

"Ah!" said Porthos, "let us hear what he says."

D'Artagnan opened the letter and read as follows:

"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Du Vallon, my good friends, perhaps
this may be the last time that you will ever hear from me.
Aramis and I are very unhappy; but God, our courage, and the
remembrance of our friendship sustain us. Think often of
Raoul. I intrust to you certain papers which are at Blois;
and in two months and a half, if you do not hear of us, take
possession of them.

"Embrace, with all your heart, the vicomte, for your
devoted, friend,

"ATHOS."

"I believe, by Heaven," said D'Artagnan, "that I shall
embrace him, since he's upon our road; and if he is so
unfortunate as to lose our dear Athos, from that very day he
becomes my son."

"And I," said Porthos, "shall make him my sole heir."

"Let us see, what more does Athos say?"

"Should you meet on your journey a certain Monsieur
Mordaunt, distrust him, in a letter I cannot say more."

"Monsieur Mordaunt!" exclaimed the Gascon, surprised.

"Monsieur Mordaunt! 'tis well," said Porthos, "we shall
remember that; but see, there is a postscript from Aramis."

"So there is," said D'Artagnan, and he read:

"We conceal the place where we are, dear friends, knowing
your brotherly affection and that you would come and die
with us were we to reveal it."

"Confound it," interrupted Porthos, with an explosion of
passion which sent Musqueton to the other end of the room;
"are they in danger of dying?"

D'Artagnan continued:

"Athos bequeaths to you Raoul, and I bequeath to you my
revenge. If by any good luck you lay your hand on a certain
man named Mordaunt, tell Porthos to take him into a corner
and to wring his neck. I dare not say more in a letter.

"ARAMIS.

"If that is all, it is easily done," said Porthos.

"On the contrary," observed D'Artagnan, with a vexed look;
"it would be impossible."

"How so?"

"It is precisely this Monsieur Mordaunt whom we are going to
join at Boulogne and with whom we cross to England."

"Well, suppose instead of joining this Monsieur Mordaunt we
were to go and join our friends?" said Porthos, with a
gesture fierce enough to have frightened an army.

"I did think of it, but this letter has neither date nor
postmark."

"True," said Porthos. And he began to wander about the room
like a man beside himself, gesticulating and half drawing
his sword out of the scabbard.

As to D'Artagnan, he remained standing like a man in
consternation, with the deepest affliction depicted on his
face.

"Ah, this is not right; Athos insults us; he wishes to die
alone; it is bad, bad, bad."

Musqueton, witnessing this despair, melted into tears in a
corner of the room.

"Come," said D'Artagnan, "all this leads to nothing. Let us
go on. We will embrace Raoul, and perhaps he will have news
of Athos."

"Stop -- an idea!" cried Porthos; "indeed, my dear
D'Artagnan, I don't know how you manage, but you are always
full of ideas; let us go and embrace Raoul."

"Woe to that man who should happen to contradict my master
at this moment," said Musqueton to himself; "I wouldn't give
a farthing for his life."

They set out. On arriving at the Rue Saint Denis, the
friends found a vast concourse of people. It was the Duc de
Beaufort, who was coming from the Vendomois and whom the
coadjutor was showing to the Parisians, intoxicated with
joy. With the duke's aid they already considered themselves
invincible.

The two friends turned off into a side street to avoid
meeting the prince, and so reached the Saint Denis gate.

"Is it true," said the guard to the two cavaliers, "that the
Duc de Beaufort has arrived in Paris?"

"Nothing more certain; and the best proof of it is," said
D'Artagnan, "that he has dispatched us to meet the Duc de
Vendome, his father, who is coming in his turn."

"Long live De Beaufort!" cried the guards, and they drew
back respectfully to let the two friends pass. Once across
the barriers these two knew neither fatigue nor fear. Their
horses flew, and they never ceased speaking of Athos and
Aramis.

The camp had entered Saint Omer; the friends made a little
detour and went to the camp, and gave the army an exact
account of the flight of the king and queen. They found
Raoul near his tent, reclining on a truss of hay, of which
his horse stole some mouthfuls; the young man's eyes were
red and he seemed dejected. The Marechal de Grammont and the
Comte de Guiche had returned to Paris and he was quite
lonely. And as soon as he saw the two cavaliers he ran to
them with open arms.

"Oh, is it you, dear friends? Did you come here to fetch me?
Will you take me away with you? Do you bring me tidings of
my guardian?"

"Have you not received any?" said D'Artagnan to the youth.

"Alas! sir, no, and I do not know what has become of him; so
that I am really so unhappy that I weep."

In fact, tears rolled down his cheeks.

Porthos turned aside, in order not to show by his honest
round face what was passing in his mind.

"Deuce take it!" cried D'Artagnan, more moved than he had
been for a long time, "don't despair, my friend, if you have
not received any letters from the count, we have received
one."

"Oh, really!" cried Raoul.

"And a comforting one, too," added D'Artagnan, seeing the
delight that his intelligence gave the young man.

"Have you it?" asked Raoul

"Yes -- that is, I had it," repined the Gascon, making
believe to find it. "Wait, it ought to be there in my
pocket; it speaks of his return, does it not, Porthos?"

All Gascon as he was, D'Artagnan could not bear alone the
weight of that falsehood.

"Yes," replied Porthos, coughing.

"Eh, give it to me!" said the young man.

"Eh! I read it a little while since. Can I have lost it? Ah!
confound it! yes, my pocket has a hole in it."

"Oh, yes, Monsieur Raoul!" said Musqueton, "the letter was
very consoling. These gentlemen read it to me and I wept for
joy."

"But at any rate, you know where he is, Monsieur
d'Artagnan?" asked Raoul, somewhat comforted.

"Ah! that's the thing!" replied the Gascon. "Undoubtedly I
know it, but it is a mystery."

"Not to me, I hope?"

"No, not to you, so I am going to tell you where he is."

Porthos devoured D'Artagnan with wondering eyes.

"Where the devil shall I say that he is, so that he cannot
try to rejoin him?" thought D'Artagnan.

"Well, where is he, sir?" asked Raoul, in a soft and coaxing
voice.

"He is at Constantinople."

"Among the Turks!" exclaimed Raoul, alarmed. "Good heavens!
how can you tell me that?"

"Does that alarm you?" cried D'Artagnan. "Pooh! what are the
Turks to such men as the Comte de la Fere and the Abbe
d'Herblay?"

"Ah, his friend is with him?" said Raoul. "That comforts me
a little."

"Has he wit or not -- this demon D'Artagnan?" said Porthos,
astonished at his friend's deception.

"Now, sir," said D'Artagnan, wishing to change the
conversation, "here are fifty pistoles that the count has
sent you by the same courier. I suppose you have no more
money and that they will be welcome."

"I have still twenty pistoles, sir."

"Well, take them; that makes seventy."

"And if you wish for more," said Porthos, putting his hand
to his pocket ----

"Thank you, sir," replied Raoul, blushing; "thank you a
thousand times."

At this moment Olivain appeared. "Apropos," said D'Artagnan,
loud enough for the servant to hear him, "are you satisfied
with Olivain?"

"Yes, in some respects, tolerably well."

Olivain pretended to have heard nothing and entered the
tent.

"What fault do you find with the fellow?"

"He is a glutton."

"Oh, sir!" cried Olivain, reappearing at this accusation.

"And a little bit of a thief."

"Oh, sir! oh!"

"And, more especially, a notorious coward."

"Oh, oh! sir! you really vilify me!" cried Olivain.

"The deuce!" cried D'Artagnan. "Pray learn, Monsieur
Olivain, that people like us are not to be served by
cowards. Rob your master, eat his sweetmeats, and drink his
wine; but, by Jove! don't be a coward, or I shall cut off
your ears. Look at Monsieur Mouston, see the honorable
wounds he has received, observe how his habitual valor has
given dignity to his countenance."

Musqueton was in the third heaven and would have embraced
D'Artagnan had he dared; meanwhile he resolved to sacrifice
his life for him on the next occasion that presented itself.

"Send away that fellow, Raoul," said the Gascon; "for if
he's a coward he will disgrace thee some day."

"Monsieur says I am coward," cried Olivain, "because he
wanted the other day to fight a cornet in Grammont's
regiment and I refused to accompany him."

"Monsieur Olivain, a lackey ought never to disobey," said
D'Artagnan, sternly; then taking him aside, he whispered to
him: "Thou hast done right; thy master was in the wrong;
here's a crown for thee, but should he ever be insulted and
thou cost not let thyself be cut in quarters for him, I will
cut out thy tongue. Remember that."

Olivain bowed and slipped the crown into his pocket.

"And now, Raoul," said the Gascon, "Monsieur du Vallon and I
are going away as ambassadors, where, I know not; but should
you want anything, write to Madame Turquaine, at La
Chevrette, Rue Tiquetonne and draw upon her purse as on a
banker -- with economy; for it is not so well filled as that
of Monsieur d'Emery."

And having, meantime, embraced his ward, he passed him into
the robust arms of Porthos, who lifted him up from the
ground and held him a moment suspended near the noble heart
of the formidable giant.

"Come," said D'Artagnan, "let us go."

And they set out for Boulogne, where toward evening they
arrived, their horses flecked with foam and dark with
perspiration.

At ten steps from the place where they halted was a young
man in black, who seemed waiting for some one, and who, from
the moment he saw them enter the town, never took his eyes
off them.

D'Artagnan approached him, and seeing him stare so fixedly,
said:

"Well, friend! I don't like people to quiz me!"

"Sir," said the young man, "do you not come from Paris, if
you please?"

D'Artagnan thought it was some gossip who wanted news from
the capital.

"Yes, sir," he said, in a softened tone.

"Are you not going to put up at the `Arms of England'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you not charged with a mission from his eminence,
Cardinal Mazarin?"

"Yes, sir."

"In that case, I am the man you have to do with. I am M.
Mordaunt."

"Ah!" thought D'Artagnan, "the man I am warned against by
Athos."

"Ah!" thought Porthos, "the man Aramis wants me to
strangle."

They both looked searchingly at the young man, who
misunderstood the meaning of that inquisition.

"Do you doubt my word?" he said. "In that case I can give
you proofs."

"No, sir," said D'Artagnan; "and we place ourselves at your
orders."

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Mordaunt, "we must set out
without delay, to-day is the last day granted me by the
cardinal. My ship is ready, and had you not come I must have
set off without you, for General Cromwell expects my return
impatiently."

"So!" thought the lieutenant, "'tis to General Cromwell that
our dispatches are addressed."

"Have you no letter for him?" asked the young man.

"I have one, the seal of which I am not to break till I
reach London; but since you tell me to whom it is addressed,
'tis useless to wait till then."

D'Artagnan tore open the envelope of the letter. It was
directed to "Monsieur Oliver Cromwell, General of the Army
of the English Nation."

"Ah!" said D'Artagnan; "a singular commission."

"Who is this Monsieur Oliver Cromwell?" inquired Porthos.

"Formerly a brewer," replied the Gascon.

"Perhaps Mazarin wishes to make a speculation in beer, as we
did in straw," said Porthos.

"Come, come, gentlemen," said Mordaunt, impatiently, "let us
depart."

"What!" exclaimed Porthos "without supper? Cannot Monsieur
Cromwell wait a little?"

"Yes, but I?" said Mordaunt.

"Well, you," said Porthos, "what then?"

"I cannot wait."

"Oh! as to you, that is not my concern, and I shall sup
either with or without your permission."

The young man's eyes kindled in secret, but he restrained
himself.

"Monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "you must excuse famished
travelers. Besides, our supper can't delay you much. We will
hasten on to the inn; you will meanwhile proceed on foot to
the harbor. We will take a bite and shall be there as soon
as you are."

"Just as you please, gentlemen, provided we set sail," he
said.

"The name of your ship?" inquired D'Artagnan.

"The Standard."

"Very well; in half an hour we shall be on board."

And the friends, spurring on their horses, rode to the
hotel, the "Arms of England."

"What do you say of that young man?" asked D'Artagnan, as
they hurried along.

"I say that he doesn't suit me at all," said Porthos, "and
that I feel a strong itching to follow Aramis's advice."

"By no means, my dear Porthos; that man is a messenger of
General Cromwell; it would insure for us a poor reception, I
imagine, should it be announced to him that we had twisted
the neck of his confidant."

"Nevertheless," said Porthos, "I have always noticed that
Aramis gives good advice."

"Listen," returned D'Artagnan, "when our embassy is finished
---- "

"Well?"

"If it brings us back to France ---- "

"Well?"

"Well, we shall see."

At that moment the two friends reached the hotel, "Arms of
England," where they supped with hearty appetite and then at
once proceeded to the port.

There they found a brig ready to set sail, upon the deck of
which they recognized Mordaunt walking up and down
impatiently.

"It is singular," said D'Artagnan, whilst the boat was
taking them to the Standard, "it is astonishing how that
young man resembles some one I must have known, but who it
was I cannot yet remember."

A few minutes later they were on board, but the embarkation
of the horses was a longer matter than that of the men, and
it was eight o'clock before they raised anchor.

The young man stamped impatiently and ordered all sail to be
spread.

Porthos, completely used up by three nights without sleep
and a journey of seventy leagues on horseback, retired to
his cabin and went to sleep.

D'Artagnan, overcoming his repugnance to Mordaunt, walked
with him upon the deck and invented a hundred stories to
make him talk.

Musqueton was seasick.

The Scotchman.

And now our readers must leave the Standard to sail
peaceably, not toward London, where D'Artagnan and Porthos
believed they were going, but to Durham, whither Mordaunt
had been ordered to repair by the letter he had received
during his sojourn at Boulogne, and accompany us to the
royalist camp, on this side of the Tyne, near Newcastle.

There, placed between two rivers on the borders of Scotland,
but still on English soil, the tents of a little army
extended. It was midnight. Some Highlanders were listlessly
keeping watch. The moon, which was partially obscured by
heavy clouds, now and then lit up the muskets of the
sentinels, or silvered the walls, the roofs, and the spires
of the town that Charles I. had just surrendered to the
parliamentary troops, whilst Oxford and Newark still held
out for him in the hopes of coming to some arrangement.

At one of the extremities of the camp, near an immense tent,
in which the Scottish officers were holding a kind of
council, presided over by Lord Leven, their commander, a man
attired as a cavalier lay sleeping on the turf, his right
hand extended over his sword.

About fifty paces off, another man, also appareled as a
cavalier, was talking to a Scotch sentinel, and, though a
foreigner, he seemed to understand without much difficulty
the answers given in the broad Perthshire dialect.

As the town clock of Newcastle struck one the sleeper awoke,
and with all the gestures of a man rousing himself out of
deep sleep he looked attentively about him; perceiving that
he was alone he rose and making a little circuit passed
close to the cavalier who was speaking to the sentinel. The
former had no doubt finished his questions, for a moment
later he said good-night and carelessly followed the same
path taken by the first cavalier.

In the shadow of a tent the former was awaiting him.

"Well, my dear friend?" said he, in as pure French as has
ever been uttered between Rouen and Tours.

"Well, my friend, there is not a moment to lose; we must let
the king know immediately."

"Why, what is the matter?"

"It would take too long to tell you, besides, you will hear
it all directly and the least word dropped here might ruin
all. We must go and find Lord Winter."

They both set off to the other end of the camp, but as it
did not cover more than a surface of five hundred feet they
quickly arrived at the tent they were looking for.

"Tony, is your master sleeping?" said one of the two
cavaliers to a servant who was lying in the outer
compartment, which served as a kind of ante-room.

"No, monsieur le comte," answered the servant, "I think not;
or at least he has not long been so, for he was pacing up
and down for more than two hours after he left the king, and
the sound of his footsteps has only ceased during the last
ten minutes. However, you may look and see," added the
lackey, raising the curtained entrance of the tent.

Lord Winter was seated near an aperture, arranged as a
window to let in the night air, his eyes mechanically
following the course of the moon, intermittently veiled, as
we before observed, by heavy clouds. The two friends
approached Winter, who, with his head on his hands, was
gazing at the heavens; he did not hear them enter and
remained in the same attitude till he felt a hand upon his
shoulder.

He turned around, recognized Athos and Aramis and held out
his hand to them.

"Have you observed," said he to them, "what a blood-red
color the moon has to-night?"

"No," replied Athos; "I thought it looked much the same as
usual."

"Look, again, chevalier," returned Lord Winter.

"I must own," said Aramis, "I am like the Comte de la Fere
-- I can see nothing remarkable about it."

"My lord," said Athos, "in a position so precarious as ours
we must examine the earth and not the heavens. Have you
studied our Scotch troops and have you confidence in them?"

"The Scotch?" inquired Winter. "What Scotch?"

"Ours, egad!" exclaimed Athos. "Those in whom the king has
confided -- Lord Leven's Highlanders."

"No," said Winter, then he paused; "but tell me, can you not
perceive the russet tint which marks the heavens?"

"Not the least in the world," said Aramis and Athos at once.

"Tell me," continued Winter, always possessed by the same
idea, "is there not a tradition in France that Henry IV.,
the evening before the day he was assassinated, when he was
playing at chess with M. de Bassompiere, saw clots of blood
upon the chessboard?"

"Yes," said Athos, "and the marechal has often told me so
himself."

"Then it was so," murmured Winter, "and the next day Henry
IV. was killed."

"But what has this vision of Henry IV. to do with you, my
lord?" inquired Aramis.

"Nothing; and indeed I am mad to trouble you with such
things, when your coming to my tent at such an hour
announces that you are the bearers of important news."

"Yes, my lord," said Athos, "I wish to speak to the king."

"To the king! but the king is asleep."

"I have something important to reveal to him."

"Can it not be put off till to-morrow?"

"He must know it this moment, and perhaps it is already too
late."

"Come, then," said Lord Winter.

Lord Winter's tent was pitched by the side of the royal
marquee, a kind of corridor communicating between the two.
This corridor was guarded, not by a sentinel, but by a
confidential servant, through whom, in case of urgency,
Charles could communicate instantly with his faithful
subject.

"These gentlemen are with me," said Winter.

The lackey bowed and let them pass. As he had said, on a
camp bed, dressed in his black doublet, booted, unbelted,
with his felt hat beside him, lay the king, overcome by
sleep and fatigue. They advanced, and Athos, who was the
first to enter, gazed a moment in silence on that pale and
noble face, framed in its long and now untidy, matted hair,
the blue veins showing through the transparent temples, his
eyes seemingly swollen by tears.

Athos sighed deeply; the sigh woke the king, so lightly did
he sleep.

He opened his eyes.

"Ah!" said he, raising himself on his elbow, "is it you,
Comte de la Fere?"

"Yes, sire," replied Athos.

"You watch while I sleep and you have come to bring me some
news?"

"Alas, sire," answered Athos, "your majesty has guessed
aright."

"It is bad news?"

"Yes, sire."

"Never mind; the messenger is welcome. You never come to me
without conferring pleasure. You whose devotion recognizes
neither country nor misfortune, you who are sent to me by
Henrietta; whatever news you bring, speak out."

"Sire, Cromwell has arrived this night at Newcastle."

"Ah!" exclaimed the king, "to fight?"

"No, sire, but to buy your majesty."

"What did you say?"

"I said, sire, that four hundred thousand pounds are owing
to the Scottish army."

"For unpaid wages; yes, I know it. For the last year my
faithful Highlanders have fought for honor alone."

Athos smiled.

"Well, sir, though honor is a fine thing, they are tired of
fighting for it, and to-night they have sold you for two
hundred thousand pounds -- that is to say, for half what is
owing them."

"Impossible!" cried the king, "the Scotch sell their king
for two hundred thousand pounds! And who is the Judas who
has concluded this infamous bargain?"

"Lord Leven."

"Are you certain of it, sir?"

"I heard it with my own ears."

The king sighed deeply, as if his heart would break, and
then buried his face in his hands.

"Oh! the Scotch," he exclaimed, "the Scotch I called `my
faithful,' to whom I trusted myself when I could have fled
to Oxford! the Scotch, my brothers! But are you well
assured, sir?"

"Lying behind the tent of Lord Leven, I raised it and saw
all, heard all!"

"And when is this to be consummated?"

"To-day -- this morning; so your majesty must perceive there
is no time to lose!"

"To do what? since you say I am sold."

"To cross the Tyne, reach Scotland and rejoin Lord Montrose,
who will not sell you."

"And what shall I do in Scotland? A war of partisans,
unworthy of a king."

"The example of Robert Bruce will absolve you, sire."

"No, no! I have fought too long; they have sold me, they
shall give me up, and the eternal shame of treble treason
shall fall on their heads."

"Sire," said Athos, "perhaps a king should act thus, but not
a husband and a father. I have come in the name of your wife
and daughter and of the children you have still in London,
and I say to you, `Live, sire,' -- it is the will of
Heaven."

The king raised himself, buckled on his belt, and passing
his handkerchief over his moist forehead, said:

"Well, what is to be done?"

"Sire, have you in the army one regiment on which you can
implicitly rely?"

"Winter," said the king, "do you believe in the fidelity of
yours?"

"Sire, they are but men, and men are become both weak and
wicked. I will not answer for them. I would confide my life
to them, but I should hesitate ere I trusted them with your
majesty's."

"Well!" said Athos, "since you have not a regiment, we are
three devoted men. It is enough. Let your majesty mount on
horseback and place yourself in the midst of us; we will
cross the Tyne, reach Scotland, and you will be saved."

"Is this your counsel also, Winter?" inquired the king.

"Yes, sire."

"And yours, Monsieur d'Herblay?"

"Yes, sire."

"As you wish, then. Winter, give the necessary orders."

Winter then left the tent; in the meantime the king finished
his toilet. The first rays of daybreak penetrated the
aperture of the tent as Winter re-entered it.

"All is ready, sire," said he.

"For us, also?" inquired Athos.

"Grimaud and Blaisois are holding your horses, ready
saddled."

"In that case," exclaimed Athos, "let us not lose an
instant, but set off."

"Come," added the king.

"Sire," said Aramis, "will not your majesty acquaint some of
your friends of this?"

"Friends!" answered Charles, sadly, "I have but three -- one
of twenty years, who has never forgotten me, and two of a
week's standing, whom I shall never forget. Come, gentlemen,
come!"

The king quitted his tent and found his horse ready waiting
for him. It was a chestnut that the king had ridden for
three years and of which he was very fond.

The horse neighed with pleasure at seeing him.

"Ah!" said the king, "I was unjust; here is a creature that
loves me. You at least will be faithful to me, Arthur."

The horse, as if it understood these words, bent its red
nostrils toward the king's face, and parting his lips
displayed all its teeth, as if with pleasure.

"Yes, yes," said the king, caressing it with his hand, "yes,
my Arthur, thou art a fond and faithful creature."

After this little scene Charles threw himself into the
saddle, and turning to Athos, Aramis and Winter, said:

"Now, gentlemen, I am at your service."

But Athos was standing with his eyes fixed on a black line
which bordered the banks of the Tyne and seemed to extend
double the length of the camp.

"What is that line?" cried Athos, whose vision was still
rather obscured by the uncertain shades and demi-tints of
daybreak. "What is that line? I did not observe it
yesterday."

"It must be the fog rising from the river," said the king.

"Sire, it is something more opaque than the fog."

"Indeed!" said Winter, "it appears to me like a bar of red
color."

"It is the enemy, who have made a sortie from Newcastle and
are surrounding us!" exclaimed Athos.

"The enemy!" cried the king.

"Yes, the enemy. It is too late. Stop a moment; does not
that sunbeam yonder, just by the side of the town, glitter
on the Ironsides?"

This was the name given the cuirassiers, whom Cromwell had
made his body-guard.

"Ah!" said the king, "we shall soon see whether my
Highlanders have betrayed me or not."

"What are you going to do?" exclaimed Athos.

"To give them the order to charge, and run down these
miserable rebels."

And the king, putting spurs to his horse, set off to the
tent of Lord Leven.

"Follow him," said Athos.

"Come!" exclaimed Aramis.

"Is the king wounded?" cried Lord Winter. "I see spots of
blood on the ground." And he set off to follow the two
friends.

He was stopped by Athos.

"Go and call out your regiment," said he; "I can foresee
that we shall have need of it directly."

Winter turned his horse and the two friends rode on. It had
taken but two minutes for the king to reach the tent of the
Scottish commander; he dismounted and entered.

The general was there, surrounded by the more prominent
chiefs.

"The king!" they exclaimed, as all rose in bewilderment.

Charles was indeed in the midst of them, his hat on his
head, his brows bent, striking his boot with his riding
whip.

"Yes, gentlemen, the king in person, the king who has come
to ask for some account of what has happened."

"What is the matter, sire?" exclaimed Lord Leven.

"It is this, sir," said the king, angrily, "that General
Cromwell has reached Newcastle; that you knew it and I was
not informed of it; that the enemy have left the town and
are now closing the passages of the Tyne against us; that
our sentinels have seen this movement and I have been left
unacquainted with it; that, by an infamous treaty you have
sold me for two hundred thousand pounds to Parliament. Of
this treaty, at least, I have been warned. This is the
matter, gentlemen; answer and exculpate yourselves, for I
stand here to accuse you."

"Sire," said Lord Leven, with hesitation, "sire, your
majesty has been deceived by false reports."

"My own eyes have seen the enemy extend itself between
myself and Scotland; and I can almost say that with my own
ears I have heard the clauses of the treaty debated."

The Scotch chieftains looked at each other in their turn
with frowning brows.

"Sire," murmured Lord Leven, crushed by shame, "sire, we are
ready to give you every proof of our fidelity."

"I ask but one," said the king; "put the army in battle
array and face the enemy."

"That cannot be, sire," said the earl.

"How, cannot be? What hinders it?" exclaimed the king.

"Your majesty is well aware that there is a truce between us
and the English army."

"And if there is a truce the English army has broken it by
quitting the town, contrary to the agreement which kept it
there. Now, I tell you, you must pass with me through this
army across to Scotland, and if you refuse you may choose
betwixt two names, which the contempt of all honest men will
brand you with -- you are either cowards or traitors!"

The eyes of the Scotch flashed fire; and, as often happens
on such occasions, from shame they passed to effrontery and
two heads of clans advanced upon the king.

"Yes," said they, "we have promised to deliver Scotland and
England from him who for the last five-and-twenty years has
sucked the blood and gold of Scotland and England. We have
promised and we will keep our promise. Charles Stuart, you
are our prisoner."

And both extended their hands as if to seize the king, but
before they could touch him with the tips of their fingers,
both had fallen, one dead, the other stunned.

Aramis had passed his sword through the body of the first
and Athos had knocked down the other with the butt end of
his pistol.

Then, as Lord Leven and the other chieftains recoiled before
this unexpected rescue, which seemed to come from Heaven for
the prince they already thought was their prisoner, Athos
and Aramis dragged the king from the perjured assembly into
which he had so imprudently ventured, and throwing
themselves on horseback all three returned at full gallop to
the royal tent.

On their road they perceived Lord Winter marching at the
head of his regiment. The king motioned him to accompany
them.

The Avenger.

They all four entered the tent; they had no plan ready --
they must think of one.

The king threw himself into an arm-chair. "I am lost," said
he.

"No, sire," replied Athos. "You are only betrayed."

The king sighed deeply.

"Betrayed! yes betrayed by the Scotch, amongst whom I was
born, whom I have always loved better than the English. Oh,
traitors that ye are!"

"Sire," said Athos, "this is not a moment for recrimination,
but a time to show yourself a king and a gentleman. Up,
sire! up! for you have here at least three men who will not
betray you. Ah! if we had been five!" murmured Athos,
thinking of D'Artagnan and Porthos.

"What do you say?" inquired Charles, rising.

"I say, sire, that there is now but one way open. Lord
Winter answers for his regiment, or at least very nearly so
-- we will not split straws about words -- let him place
himself at the head of his men, we will place ourselves at
the side of your majesty, and we will mow a swath through
Cromwell's army and reach Scotland."

"There is another method," said Aramis. "Let one of us put
on the dress and mount the king's horse. Whilst they pursue
him the king might escape."

"It is good advice," said Athos, "and if the king will do
one of us the honor we shall be truly grateful to him."

"What do you think of this counsel, Winter?" asked the king,
looking with admiration at these two men, whose chief idea
seemed to be how they could take on their shoulders all the
dangers that assailed him.

"I think the only chance of saving your majesty has just
been proposed by Monsieur d'Herblay. I humbly entreat your
majesty to choose quickly, for we have not an instant to
lose."

"But if I accept, it is death, or at least imprisonment, for
him who takes my place."

"He will have had the glory of having saved his king," cried
Winter.

The king looked at his old friend with tears in his eyes;
undid the Order of the Saint Esprit which he wore, to honor
the two Frenchmen who were with him, and passed it around
Winter's neck, who received on his knees this striking proof
of his sovereign's confidence and friendship.

"It is right," said Athos; "he has served your majesty
longer than we have."

The king overheard these words and turned around with tears
in his eyes.

"Wait a moment, sir," said he; "I have an order for each of
you also."

He turned to a closet where his own orders were locked up,
and took out two ribbons of the Order of the Garter.

"These cannot be for us," said Athos.

"Why not, sir?" asked Charles.

"Such are for royalty, and we are simple commoners."

"Speak not of crowns. I shall not find amongst them such
great hearts as yours. No, no, you do yourselves injustice;
but I am here to do you justice. On your knees, count."

Athos knelt down and the king passed the ribbon down from
left to right as usual, raised his sword, and instead of
pronouncing the customary formula, "I make you a knight. Be
brave, faithful and loyal," he said, "You are brave,
faithful and loyal. I knight you, monsieur le comte."

Then turning to Aramis, he said:

"It is now your turn, monsieur le chevalier."

The same ceremony recommenced, with the same words, whilst
Winter unlaced his leather cuirass, that he might disguise
himself like the king. Charles, having proceeded with Aramis
as with Athos, embraced them both.

"Sire," said Winter, who in this trying emergency felt all
his strength and energy fire up, "we are ready."

The king looked at the three gentlemen. "Then we must fly!"
said he.

"Flying through an army, sire," said Athos, "in all
countries in the world is called charging."

"Then I shall die, sword in hand," said Charles. "Monsieur
le comte, monsieur le chevalier, if ever I am king ---- "

"Sire, you have already done us more honor than simple
gentlemen could ever aspire to, therefore gratitude is on
our side. But we must not lose time. We have already wasted
too much."

The king again shook hands with all three, exchanged hats
with Winter and went out.

Winter's regiment was ranged on some high ground above the
camp. The king, followed by the three friends, turned his
steps that way. The Scotch camp seemed as if at last
awakened; the soldiers had come out of their tents and taken
up their station in battle array.

"Do you see that?" said the king. "Perhaps they are penitent
and preparing to march."

"If they are penitent," said Athos, "let them follow us."

"Well!" said the king, "what shall we do?"

"Let us examine the enemy's army."

At the same instant the eyes of the little group were fixed
on the same line which at daybreak they had mistaken for fog
and which the morning sun now plainly showed was an army in
order of battle. The air was soft and clear, as it generally
is at that early hour of the morning. The regiments, the
standards, and even the colors of the horses and uniforms
were now clearly distinct.

On the summit of a rising ground, a little in advance of the
enemy, appeared a short and heavy looking man; this man was
surrounded by officers. He turned a spyglass toward the
little group amongst which the king stood.

"Does this man know your majesty personally?" inquired
Aramis.

Charles smiled.

"That man is Cromwell," said he.

"Then draw down your hat, sire, that he may not discover the
substitution."

"Ah!" said Athos, "how much time we have lost."

"Now," said the king, "give the word and let us start."

"Will you not give it, sire?" asked Athos.

"No; I make you my lieutenant-general," said the king.

"Listen, then, Lord Winter. Proceed, sire, I beg. What we
are going to say does not concern your majesty."

The king, smiling, turned a few steps back.

"This is what I propose to do," said Athos. "We will divide
our regiments into two squadrons. You will put yourself at
the head of the first. We and his majesty will lead the
second. If no obstacle occurs we will both charge together,
force the enemy's line and throw ourselves into the Tyne,
which we must cross, either by fording or swimming; if, on
the contrary, any repulse should take place, you and your
men must fight to the last man, whilst we and the king
proceed on our road. Once arrived at the brink of the river,
should we even find them three ranks deep, as long as you
and your regiment do your duty, we will look to the rest."

"To horse!" said Lord Winter.

"To horse!" re-echoed Athos; "everything is arranged and
decided."

"Now, gentlemen," cried the king, "forward! and rally to the
old cry of France, `Montjoy and St. Denis!' The war cry of
England is too often in the mouths of traitors."

They mounted -- the king on Winter's horse and Winter on
that of the king; then Winter took his place at the head of
the first squadron, and the king, with Athos on his right
and Aramis on his left, at the head of the second.

The Scotch army stood motionless and silent, seized with
shame at sight of these preparations.

Some of the chieftains left the ranks and broke their swords
in two.

"There," said the king, "that consoles me; they are not all
traitors."

At this moment Winter's voice was raised with the cry of
"Forward!"

The first squadron moved off; the second followed, and
descended from the plateau. A regiment of cuirassiers,
nearly equal as to numbers, issued from behind the hill and
came full gallop toward it.

The king pointed this out.

"Sire," said Athos, "we foresaw this; and if Lord Winter's
men but do their duty, we are saved, instead of lost."

At this moment they heard above all the galloping and
neighing of the horses Winter's voice crying out:

"Sword in hand!"

At these words every sword was drawn, and glittered in the
air like lightning.

"Now, gentlemen," said the king in his turn, excited by this
sight, "come, gentlemen, sword in hand!"

But Aramis and Athos were the only ones to obey this command
and the king's example.

"We are betrayed," said the king in a low voice.

"Wait a moment," said Athos, "perhaps they do not recognize
your majesty's voice, and await the order of their captain."

"Have they not heard that of their colonel? But look! look!"
cried the king, drawing up his horse with a sudden jerk,
which threw it on its haunches, and seizing the bridle of
Athos's horse.

"Ah, cowards! traitors!" screamed Lord Winter, whose voice
they heard, whilst his men, quitting their ranks, dispersed
all over the plain.

About fifteen men were ranged around him and awaited the
charge of Cromwell's cuirassiers.

"Let us go and die with them!" said the king.

"Let us go," said Athos and Aramis.

"All faithful hearts with me!" cried out Winter.

This voice was heard by the two friends, who set off, full
gallop.

"No quarter!" cried a voice in French, answering to that of
Winter, which made them tremble.

As for Winter, at the sound of that voice he turned pale,
and was, as it were, petrified.

It was the voice of a cavalier mounted on a magnificent
black horse, who was charging at the head of the English
regiment, of which, in his ardor, he was ten steps in
advance.

"'Tis he!" murmured Winter, his eyes glazed and he allowed
his sword to fall to his side.

"The king! the king!" cried out several voices, deceived by
the blue ribbon and chestnut horse of Winter; "take him
alive."

"No! it is not the king!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Lord
Winter, you are not the king; you are my uncle."

At the same moment Mordaunt, for it was he, leveled his
pistol at Winter; it went off and the ball entered the heart
of the old cavalier, who with one bound on his saddle fell
back into the arms of Athos, murmuring: "He is avenged!"

"Think of my mother!" shouted Mordaunt, as his horse plunged
and darted off at full gallop.

"Wretch!" exclaimed Aramis, raising his pistol as he passed
by him; but the powder flashed in the pan and it did not go
off.

At this moment the whole regiment came up and they fell upon
the few men who had held out, surrounding the two Frenchmen.
Athos, after making sure that Lord Winter was really dead,
let fall the corpse and said:

"Come, Aramis, now for the honor of France!" and the two
Englishmen who were nearest to them fell, mortally wounded.

At the same moment a fearful "hurrah!" rent the air and
thirty blades glittered about their heads.

Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell upon
Athos, twined arms of steel around him, and tearing his
sword from him, said in his ear:

"Silence! yield -- you yield to me, do you not?"

A giant had seized also Aramis's two wrists, who struggled
in vain to release himself from this formidable grasp.

"D'Art ---- " exclaimed Athos, whilst the Gascon covered his
mouth with his hand.

"I am your prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to
Porthos.

"Fire, fire!" cried Mordaunt, returning to the group
surrounding the two friends.

"And wherefore fire?" said the colonel; "every one has
yielded."

"It is the son of Milady," said Athos to D'Artagnan.

"I recognize him."

"It is the monk," whispered Porthos to Aramis.

"I know it."

And now the ranks began to open. D'Artagnan held the bridle
of Athos's horse and Porthos that of Aramis. Both of them
attempted to lead his prisoner off the battle-field.

This movement revealed the spot where Winter's body had
fallen. Mordaunt had found it out and was gazing on his dead
relative with an expression of malignant hatred.

Athos, though now cool and collected, put his hand to his
belt, where his loaded pistols yet remained.

"What are you about?" said D'Artagnan.

"Let me kill him."

"We are all four lost, if by the least gesture you discover
that you recognize him."

Then turning to the young man he exclaimed:

"A fine prize! a fine prize, friend Mordaunt; we have both
myself and Monsieur du Vallon, taken two Knights of the
Garter, nothing less."

"But," said Mordaunt, looking at Athos and Aramis with
bloodshot eyes, "these are Frenchmen, I imagine."

"I'faith, I don't know. Are you French, sir?" said he to
Athos.

"I am," replied the latter, gravely.

"Very well, my dear sir, you are the prisoner of a fellow
countryman."

"But the king -- where is the king?" exclaimed Athos,
anxiously.

D'Artagnan vigorously seized his prisoner's hand, saying:

"Eh! the king? We have secured him."

"Yes," said Aramis, "through an infamous act of treason."

Porthos pressed his friend's hand and said to him:

"Yes, sir, all is fair in war, stratagem as well as force;
look yonder!"

At this instant the squadron, that ought to have protected
Charles's retreat, was advancing to meet the English
regiments. The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked
alone in a great empty space. He appeared calm, but it was
evidently not without a mighty effort. Drops of perspiration
trickled down his face, and from time to time he put a
handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood that rilled
from it.

"Behold Nebuchadnezzar!" exclaimed an old Puritan soldier,
whose eyes flashed at the sight of the man they called the
tyrant.

"Do you call him Nebuchadnezzar?" said Mordaunt, with a
terrible smile; "no, it is Charles the First, the king, the
good King Charles, who despoils his subjects to enrich
himself."

Charles glanced a moment at the insolent creature who
uttered this, but did not recognize him. Nevertheless, the
calm religious dignity of his countenance abashed Mordaunt.

"Bon jour, messieurs!" said the king to the two gentlemen
who were held by D'Artagnan and Porthos. "The day has been
unfortunate, but it is not your fault, thank God! But where
is my old friend Winter?"

The two gentlemen turned away their heads in silence.

"In Strafford's company," said Mordaunt, tauntingly.

Charles shuddered. The demon had known how to wound him. The
remembrance of Strafford was a source of lasting remorse to
him, the shadow that haunted him by day and night. The king
looked around him. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was
Winter's. He uttered not a word, nor shed a tear, but a
deadly pallor spread over his face; he knelt down on the
ground, raised Winter's head, and unfastening the Order of
the Saint Esprit, placed it on his own breast.

"Lord Winter is killed, then?" inquired D'Artagnan, fixing
his eyes on the corpse.

"Yes," said Athos, "by his own nephew."

"Come, he was the first of us to go; peace be to him! he was
an honest man," said D'Artagnan.

"Charles Stuart," said the colonel of the English regiment,
approaching the king, who had just put on the insignia of
royalty, "do you yield yourself a prisoner?"

"Colonel Tomlison," said Charles, "kings cannot yield; the
man alone submits to force."

"Your sword."

The king drew his sword and broke it on his knee.

At this moment a horse without a rider, covered with foam,
his nostrils extended and eyes all fire, galloped up, and
recognizing his master, stopped and neighed with pleasure;
it was Arthur.

The king smiled, patted it with his hand and jumped lightly
into the saddle.

"Now, gentlemen," said he, "conduct me where you will."

Turning back again, he said, "I thought I saw Winter move;
if he still lives, by all you hold most sacred, do not
abandon him."

"Never fear, King Charles," said Mordaunt, "the bullet
pierced his heart."

"Do not breathe a word nor make the least sign to me or
Porthos," said D'Artagnan to Athos and Aramis, "that you
recognize this man, for Milady is not dead; her soul lives
in the body of this demon."

The detachment now moved toward the town with the royal
captive; but on the road an aide-de-camp, from Cromwell,
sent orders that Colonel Tomlison should conduct him to
Holdenby Castle.

At the same time couriers started in every direction over
England and Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was the
prisoner of Oliver Cromwell.

Oliver Cromwell.

"Have you been to the general?" said Mordaunt to D'Artagnan
and Porthos; "you know he sent for you after the action."

"We want first to put our prisoners in a place of safety,"
replied D'Artagnan. "Do you know, sir, these gentlemen are
each of them worth fifteen hundred pounds?"

"Oh, be assured," said Mordaunt, looking at them with an
expression he vainly endeavoured to soften, "my soldiers
will guard them, and guard them well, I promise you."

"I shall take better care of them myself," answered
D'Artagnan; "besides, all they require is a good room, with
sentinels, or their simple parole that they will not attempt
escape. I will go and see about that, and then we shall have
the honor of presenting ourselves to the general and
receiving his commands for his eminence."

"You think of starting at once, then?" inquired Mordaunt.

"Our mission is ended, and there is nothing more to detain
us now but the good pleasure of the great man to whom we
were sent."

The young man bit his lips and whispered to his sergeant:

"You will follow these men and not lose sight of them; when
you have discovered where they lodge, come and await me at
the town gate."

The sergeant made a sign of comprehension.

Instead of following the knot of prisoners that were being
taken into the town, Mordaunt turned his steps toward the
rising ground from whence Cromwell had witnessed the battle
and on which he had just had his tent pitched.

Cromwell had given orders that no one was to be allowed
admission; but the sentinel, who knew that Mordaunt was one
of the most confidential friends of the general, thought the
order did not extend to the young man. Mordaunt, therefore,
raised the canvas, and saw Cromwell seated before a table,
his head buried in his hands, his back being turned.

Whether he heard Mordaunt or not as he entered, Cromwell did
not move. Mordaunt remained standing near the door. At last,
after a few moments, Cromwell raised his head, and, as if he
divined that some one was there, turned slowly around.

"I said I wished to be alone," he exclaimed, on seeing the
young man.

"They thought this order did not concern me, sir;
nevertheless, if you wish it, I am ready to go."

"Ah! is it you, Mordaunt?" said Cromwell, the cloud passing
away from his face; "since you are here, it is well; you may
remain."

"I come to congratulate you."

"To congratulate me -- what for?"

"On the capture of Charles Stuart. You are now master of
England."

"I was much more really so two hours ago."

"How so, general?"

"Because England had need of me to take the tyrant, and now
the tyrant is taken. Have you seen him?"

"Yes, sir." said Mordaunt.

"What is his bearing?"

Mordaunt hesitated; but it seemed as though he was
constrained to tell the truth.

"Calm and dignified," said he.

"What did he say?"

"Some parting words to his friends."

"His friends!" murmured Cromwell. "Has he any friends?" Then
he added aloud, "Did he make any resistance?"

"No, sir, with the exception of two or three friends every
one deserted him; he had no means of resistance."

"To whom did he give up his sword?"

"He did not give it up; he broke it."

"He did well; but instead of breaking it, he might have used
it to still more advantage."

There was a momentary pause.

"I heard that the colonel of the regiment that escorted
Charles was killed," said Cromwell, staring very fixedly at
Mordaunt.

"Yes, sir."

"By whom?" inquired Cromwell.

"By me."

"What was his name?"

"Lord Winter."

"Your uncle?" exclaimed Cromwell.

"My uncle," answered Mordaunt; "but traitors to England are
no longer members of my family."

Cromwell observed the young man a moment in silence, then,
with that profound melancholy Shakespeare describes so well:

"Mordaunt," he said, "you are a terrible servant."

"When the Lord commands," said Mordaunt, "His commands are
not to be disputed. Abraham raised the knife against Isaac,
and Isaac was his son."

"Yes," said Cromwell, "but the Lord did not suffer that
sacrifice to be accomplished."

"I have looked around me," said Mordaunt, "and I have seen
neither goat nor kid caught among the bushes of the plain."

Cromwell bowed. "You are strong among the strong, Mordaunt,"
he said; "and the Frenchmen, how did they behave?"

"Most fearlessly."

"Yes, yes," murmured Cromwell; "the French fight well; and
if my glass was good and I mistake not, they were foremost
in the fight."

"They were," replied Mordaunt.

"After you, however," said Cromwell.

"It was the fault of their horses, not theirs."

Another pause

"And the Scotch?"

"They kept their word and never stirred," said Mordaunt.

"Wretched men!"

"Their officers wish to see you, sir."

"I have no time to see them. Are they paid?"

"Yes, to-night."

"Let them be off and return to their own country, there to
hide their shame, if its hills are high enough; I have
nothing more to do with them nor they with me. And now go,
Mordaunt."

"Before I go," said Mordaunt, "I have some questions and a
favor to ask you, sir."

"A favor from me?"

Mordaunt bowed.

"I come to you, my leader, my head, my father, and I ask
you, master, are you contented with me?"

Cromwell looked at him with astonishment. The young man
remained immovable.

"Yes," said Cromwell; "you have done, since I knew you, not
only your duty, but more than your duty; you have been a
faithful friend, a cautious negotiator, a brave soldier."

"Do you remember, sir it was my idea, the Scotch treaty, for
giving up the king?"

"Yes, the idea was yours. I had no such contempt for men
before."

"Was I not a good ambassador in France?"

"Yes, for Mazarin has granted what I desire."

"Have I not always fought for your glory and interests?"

"Too ardently, perhaps; it is what I have just reproached
you for. But what is the meaning of all these questions?"

"To tell you, my lord, that the moment has now arrived when,
with a single word, you may recompense all these services."

"Oh!" said Oliver, with a slight curl of his lip, "I forgot
that every service merits some reward and that up to this
moment you have not been paid."

"Sir, I can take my pay at this moment, to the full extent
of my wishes."

"How is that?"

"I have the payment under my hand; I almost possess it."

"What is it? Have they offered you money? Do you wish a
step, or some place in the government?"

"Sir, will you grant me my request?"

"Let us hear what it is, first."

"Sir, when you have told me to obey an order did I ever
answer, `Let me see that order '?"

"If, however, your wish should be one impossible to
fulfill?"

"When you have cherished a wish and have charged me with its
fulfillment, have I ever replied, `It is impossible'?"

"But a request preferred with so much preparation ---- "

"Ah, do not fear, sir," said Mordaunt, with apparent
simplicity: "it will not ruin you."

"Well, then," said Cromwell, "I promise, as far as lies in
my power, to grant your request; proceed."

"Sir, two prisoners were taken this morning, will you let me
have them?"

"For their ransom? have they then offered a large one?"
inquired Cromwell.

"On the contrary, I think they are poor, sir."

"They are friends of yours, then?"

"Yes, sir," exclaimed Mordaunt, "they are friends, dear
friends of mine, and I would lay down my life for them."

"Very well, Mordaunt," exclaimed Cromwell, pleased at having
his opinion of the young man raised once more; "I will give
them to you; I will not even ask who they are; do as you
like with them."

"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed Mordaunt, "thank you; my life is
always at your service, and should I lose it I should still
owe you something; thank you; you have indeed repaid me
munificently for my services."

He threw himself at the feet of Cromwell, and in spite of
the efforts of the Puritan general, who did not like this
almost kingly homage, he took his hand and kissed it.

"What!" said Cromwell, arresting him for a moment as he
arose; "is there nothing more you wish? neither gold nor
rank?"

"You have given me all you can give me, and from to-day your
debt is paid."

And Mordaunt darted out of the general's tent, his heart
beating and his eyes sparkling with joy.

Cromwell gazed a moment after him.

"He has slain his uncle!" he murmured. "Alas! what are my
servants? Possibly this one, who asks nothing or seems to
ask nothing, has asked more in the eyes of Heaven than those
who tax the country and steal the bread of the poor. Nobody
serves me for nothing. Charles, who is my prisoner, may
still have friends, but I have none!"

And with a deep sigh he again sank into the reverie that had
been interrupted by Mordaunt.

Jesus Seigneur.

Whilst Mordaunt was making his way to Cromwell's tent,
D'Artagnan and Porthos had brought their prisoners to the
house which had been assigned to them as their dwelling at
Newcastle.

The order given by Mordaunt to the sergeant had been heard
by D'Artagnan, who accordingly, by an expressive glance,
warned Athos and Aramis to exercise extreme caution. The
prisoners, therefore, had remained silent as they marched
along in company with their conquerors -- which they could
do with the less difficulty since each of them had
occupation enough in answering his own thoughts.

It would be impossible to describe Musqueton's astonishment
when from the threshold of the door he saw the four friends
approaching, followed by a sergeant with a dozen men. He
rubbed his eyes, doubting if he really saw before him Athos
and Aramis; and forced at last to yield to evidence, he was
on the point of breaking forth in exclamations when he
encountered a glance from the eyes of Porthos, the
repressive force of which he was not inclined to dispute.

Musqueton remained glued to the door, awaiting the
explanation of this strange occurrence. What upset him
completely was that the four friends seemed to have no
acquaintance with one another.

The house to which D'Artagnan and Porthos conducted Athos
and Aramis was the one assigned to them by General Cromwell
and of which they had taken possession on the previous
evening. It was at the corner of two streets and had in the
rear, bordering on the side street, stables and a sort of
garden. The windows on the ground floor, according to a
custom in provincial villages, were barred, so that they
strongly resembled the windows of a prison.

The two friends made the prisoners enter the house first,
whilst they stood at the door, desiring Musqueton to take
the four horses to the stable.

"Why don't we go in with them?" asked Porthos.

"We must first see what the sergeant wishes us to do,"
replied D'Artagnan.

The sergeant and his men took possession of the little
garden.

D'Artagnan asked them what they wished and why they had
taken that position.

"We have had orders," answered the man, "to help you in
taking care of your prisoners."

There could be no fault to find with this arrangement; on
the contrary, it seemed to be a delicate attention, to be
gratefully received; D'Artagnan, therefore, thanked the man
and gave him a crown piece to drink to General Cromwell's
health.

The sergeant answered that Puritans never drank, and put the
crown piece in his pocket.

"Ah!" said Porthos, "what a fearful day, my dear
D'Artagnan!"

"What! a fearful day, when to-day we find our friends?"

"Yes; but under what circumstances?"

"'Tis true that our position is an awkward one; but let us
go in and see more clearly what is to be done."

"Things look black enough," replied Porthos; "I understand
now why Aramis advised me to strangle that horrible
Mordaunt."

"Silence!" cried the Gascon; "do not utter that name."

"But," argued Porthos, "I speak French and they are all
English."

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos with that air of wonder which a
cunning man cannot help feeling at displays of crass
stupidity.

But as Porthos on his side could not comprehend his
astonishment, he merely pushed him indoors, saying, "Let us
go in."

They found Athos in profound despondency; Aramis looked
first at Porthos and then at D'Artagnan, without speaking,
but the latter understood his meaning look.

"You want to know how we came here? 'Tis easily guessed.
Mazarin sent us with a letter to General Cromwell."

"But how came you to fall into company with Mordaunt, whom I
bade you distrust?" asked Athos.

"And whom I advised you to strangle, Porthos," said Aramis.

"Mazarin again. Cromwell had sent him to Mazarin. Mazarin
sent us to Cromwell. There is a certain fatality in it."

"Yes, you are right, D'Artagnan, a fatality that will
separate and ruin us! So, my dear Aramis, say no more about
it and let us prepare to submit to destiny."

"Zounds! on the contrary, let us speak about it; for it was
agreed among us, once for all, that we should always hold
together, though engaged on opposing sides."

"Yes," added Athos, "I now ask you, D'Artagnan, what side
you are on? Ah! behold for what end the wretched Mazarin has
made use of you. Do you know in what crime you are to-day
engaged? In the capture of a king, his degradation and his
murder."

"Oh! oh!" cried Porthos, "do you think so?"

"You are exaggerating, Athos; we are not so far gone as
that," replied the lieutenant.

"Good heavens! we are on the very eve of it. I say, why is
the king taken prisoner? Those who wish to respect him as a
master would not buy him as a slave. Do you think it is to
replace him on the throne that Cromwell has paid for him two
hundred thousand pounds sterling? They will kill him, you
may be sure of it."

"I don't maintain the contrary," said D'Artagnan. "But
what's that to us? I am here because I am a soldier and have
to obey orders -- I have taken an oath to obey, and I do
obey; but you who have taken no such oath, why are you here
and what cause do you represent?"

"That most sacred in the world," said Athos; "the cause of
misfortune, of religion, royalty. A friend, a wife, a
daughter, have done us the honor to call us to their aid. We
have served them to the best of our poor means, and God will
recompense the will, forgive the want of power. You may see
matters differently, D'Artagnan, and think otherwise. I will
not attempt to argue with you, but I blame you."

"Heyday!" cried D'Artagnan, "what matters it to me, after
all, if Cromwell, who's an Englishman, revolts against his
king, who is a Scotchman? I am myself a Frenchman. I have
nothing to do with these things -- why hold me responsible?"

"Yes," said Porthos.

"Because all gentlemen are brothers, because you are a
gentleman, because the kings of all countries are the first
among gentlemen, because the blind populace, ungrateful and
brutal, always takes pleasure in pulling down what is above
them. And you, you, D'Artagnan, a man sprung from the
ancient nobility of France, bearing an honorable name,
carrying a good sword, have helped to give up a king to
beersellers, shopkeepers, and wagoners. Ah! D'Artagnan!
perhaps you have done your duty as a soldier, but as a
gentleman, I say that you are very culpable."

D'Artagnan was chewing the stalk of a flower, unable to
reply and thoroughly uncomfortable; for when turned from the
eyes of Athos he encountered those of Aramis.

"And you, Porthos," continued the count, as if in
consideration for D'Artagnan's embarrassment, "you, the best
heart, the best friend, the best soldier that I know -- you,
with a soul that makes you worthy of a birth on the steps of
a throne, and who, sooner or later, must receive your reward
from an intelligent king -- you, my dear Porthos, you, a
gentleman in manners, in tastes and in courage, you are as
culpable as D'Artagnan."

Porthos blushed, but with pleasure rather than with
confusion; and yet, bowing his head, as if humiliated, he
said:

"Yes, yes, my dear count, I feel that you are right."

Athos arose.

"Come," he said, stretching out his hand to D'Artagnan,
"come, don't be sullen, my dear son, for I have said all
this to you, if not in the tone, at least with the feelings
of a father. It would have been easier to me merely to have
thanked you for preserving my life and not to have uttered a
word of all this."

"Doubtless, doubtless, Athos. But here it is: you have
sentiments, the devil knows what, such as every one can't
entertain. Who could suppose that a sensible man could leave
his house, France, his ward -- a charming youth, for we saw
him in the camp -- to fly to the aid of a rotten, worm-eaten
royalty, which is going to crumble one of these days like an
old hovel. The sentiments you air are certainly fine, so
fine that they are superhuman."

"However that may be, D'Artagnan," replied Athos, without
falling into the snare which his Gascon friend had prepared
for him by an appeal to his parental love, "however that may
be, you know in the bottom of your heart that it is true;
but I am wrong to dispute with my master. D'Artagnan, I am
your prisoner -- treat me as such."

"Ah! pardieu!" said D'Artagnan, "you know you will not be my
prisoner very long."

"No," said Aramis, "they will doubtless treat us like the
prisoners of the Philipghauts."

"And how were they treated?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Why," said Aramis, "one-half were hanged and the other half
were shot."

"Well, I," said D'Artagnan "I answer that while there
remains a drop of blood in my veins you will be neither
hanged nor shot. Sang Diou! let them come on! Besides -- do
you see that door, Athos?"

"Yes; what then?"

"Well, you can go out by that door whenever you please; for
from this moment you are free as the air."

"I recognize you there, my brave D'Artagnan," replied Athos;
"but you are no longer our masters. That door is guarded,
D'Artagnan; you know that."

"Very well, you will force it," said Porthos. "There are
only a dozen men at the most."

"That would be nothing for us four; it is too much for us
two. No, divided as we now are, we must perish. See the
fatal example: on the Vendomois road, D'Artagnan, you so
brave, and you, Porthos, so valiant and so strong -- you
were beaten; to-day Aramis and I are beaten in our turn. Now
that never happened to us when we were four together. Let us
die, then, as De Winter has died; as for me, I will fly only
on condition that we all fly together."

"Impossible," said D'Artagnan; "we are under Mazarin's
orders."

"I know it and I have nothing more to say; my arguments lead
to nothing; doubtless they are bad, since they have not
determined minds so just as yours."

"Besides," said Aramis, "had they taken effect it would be
still better not to compromise two excellent friends like
D'Artagnan and Porthos. Be assured, gentlemen, we shall do
you honor in our dying. As for myself, I shall be proud to
face the bullets, or even the rope, in company with you,
Athos; for you have never seemed to me so grand as you are
to-day."

D'Artagnan said nothing, but, after having gnawed the flower
stalk, he began to bite his nails. At last:

"Do you imagine," he resumed, "that they mean to kill you?
And wherefore should they do so? What interest have they in
your death? Moreover, you are our prisoners."

"Fool!" cried Aramis; "knowest thou not, then, Mordaunt? I
have but exchanged with him one look, yet that look
convinced me that we were doomed."

"The truth is, I'm very sorry that I did not strangle him as
you advised me," said Porthos.

"Eh! I make no account of the harm Mordaunt can do!" cried
D'Artagnan. "Cap de Diou! if he troubles me too much I will
crush him, the insect! Do not fly, then. It is useless; for
I swear to you that you are as safe here as you were twenty
years, ago -- you, Athos, in the Rue Ferou, and you, Aramis,
in the Rue de Vaugirard."

"Stop," cried Athos, extending his hand to one of the grated
windows by which the room was lighted; "you will soon know
what to expect, for here he is."

"Who?"

"Mordaunt."

In fact, looking at the place to which Athos pointed,
D'Artagnan saw a cavalier coming toward the house at full
gallop.

It was Mordaunt.

D'Artagnan rushed out of the room.

Porthos wanted to follow him.

"Stay," said D'Artagnan, "and do not come till you hear me
drum my fingers on the door."

When Mordaunt arrived opposite the house he saw D'Artagnan
on the threshold and the soldiers lying on the grass here
and there, with their arms.

"Halloo!" he cried, "are the prisoners still there?"

"Yes, sir," answered the sergeant, uncovering.

"'Tis well; order four men to conduct them to my lodging."

Four men prepared to do so.

"What is it?" said D'Artagnan, with that jeering manner
which our readers have so often observed in him since they
made his acquaintance. "What is the matter, if you please?"

"Sir," replied Mordaunt, "I have ordered the two prisoners
we made this morning to be conducted to my lodging."

"Wherefore, sir? Excuse curiosity, but I wish to be
enlightened on the subject."

"Because these prisoners, sir, are at my disposal and I
choose to dispose of them as I like."

"Allow me -- allow me, sir," said D'Artagnan, "to observe
you are in error. The prisoners belong to those who take
them and not to those who only saw them taken. You might
have taken Lord Winter -- who, 'tis said, was your uncle --
prisoner, but you preferred killing him; 'tis well; we, that
is, Monsieur du Vallon and I, could have killed our
prisoners -- we preferred taking them."

Mordaunt's very lips grew white with rage.

D'Artagnan now saw that affairs were growing worse and he
beat the guard's march upon the door. At the first beat
Porthos rushed out and stood on the other side of the door.

This movement was observed by Mordaunt.

"Sir!" he thus addressed D'Artagnan, "your resistance is
useless; these prisoners have just been given me by my
illustrious patron, Oliver Cromwell."

These words struck D'Artagnan like a thunderbolt. The blood
mounted to his temples, his eyes became dim; he saw from
what fountainhead the ferocious hopes of the young man
arose, and he put his hand to the hilt of his sword.

As for Porthos, he looked inquiringly at D'Artagnan.

This look of Porthos's made the Gascon regret that he had
summoned the brute force of his friend to aid him in an
affair which seemed to require chiefly cunning.

"Violence," he said to himself, "would spoil all;
D'Artagnan, my friend, prove to this young serpent that thou
art not only stronger, but more subtle than he is."

"Ah!" he said, making a low bow, "why did you not begin by
saying that, Monsieur Mordaunt? What! are you sent by
General Oliver Cromwell, the most illustrious captain of the
age?"

"I have this instant left him," replied Mordaunt, alighting,
in order to give his horse to a soldier to hold.

"Why did you not say so at once, my dear sir! all England is
with Cromwell; and since you ask for my prisoners, I bend,
sir, to your wishes. They are yours; take them."

Mordaunt, delighted, advanced, Porthos looking at D'Artagnan
with open-mouthed astonishment. Then D'Artagnan trod on his
foot and Porthos began to understand that this was merely
acting.

Mordaunt put his foot on the first step of the door and,
with his hat in hand, prepared to pass by the two friends,
motioning to the four men to follow him.

"But, pardon," said D'Artagnan, with the most charming smile
and putting his hand on the young man's shoulder, "if the
illustrious General Oliver Cromwell has disposed of our
prisoners in your favour, he has, of course, made that act
of donation in writing."

Mordaunt stopped short.

"He has given you some little writing for me -- the least
bit of paper which may show that you come in his name. Be
pleased to give me that scrap of paper so that I may
justify, by a pretext at least, my abandoning my countrymen.
Otherwise, you see, although I am sure that General Oliver
Cromwell can intend them no harm, it would have a bad
appearance."

Mordaunt recoiled; he felt the blow and discharged a
terrible look at D'Artagnan, who responded by the most
amiable expression that ever graced a human countenance.

"When I tell you a thing, sir," said Mordaunt, "you insult
me by doubting it."

"I!" cried D'Artagnan, "I doubt what you say!" God keep me
from it, my dear Monsieur Mordaunt! On the contrary, I take
you to be a worthy and accomplished gentleman. And then,
sir, do you wish me to speak freely to you?" continued
D'Artagnan, with his frank expression.

"Speak out, sir," said Mordaunt.

"Monsieur du Vallon, yonder, is rich and has forty thousand
francs yearly, so he does not care about money. I do not
speak for him, but for myself."

"Well, sir? What more?"

"Well -- I -- I'm not rich. In Gascony 'tis no dishonor,
sir, nobody is rich; and Henry IV., of glorious memory, who
was the king of the Gascons, as His Majesty Philip IV. is
the king of the Spaniards, never had a penny in his pocket."

"Go on, sir, I see what you wish to get at; and if it is
simply what I think that stops you, I can obviate the
difficulty."

"Ah, I knew well," said the Gascon, "that you were a man of
talent. Well, here's the case, here's where the saddle hurts
me, as we French say. I am an officer of fortune, nothing
else; I have nothing but what my sword brings me in -- that
is to say, more blows than banknotes. Now, on taking
prisoners, this morning, two Frenchmen, who seemed to me of
high birth -- in short, two knights of the Garter -- I said
to myself, my fortune is made. I say two, because in such
circumstances, Monsieur du Vallon, who is rich, always gives
me his prisoners."

Mordaunt, completely deceived by the wordy civility of
D'Artagnan, smiled like a man who understands perfectly the
reasons given him, and said:

"I shall have the order signed directly, sir, and with it
two thousand pistoles; meanwhile, let me take these men
away."

"No," replied D'Artagnan; "what signifies a delay of half an
hour? I am a man of order, sir; let us do things in order."

"Nevertheless," replied Mordaunt, "I could compel you; I
command here."

"Ah, sir!" said D'Artagnan, "I see that although we have had
the honor of traveling in your company you do not know us.
We are gentlemen; we are, both of us, able to kill you and
your eight men -- we two only. For Heaven's sake don't be
obstinate, for when others are obstinate I am obstinate
likewise, and then I become ferocious and headstrong, and
there's my friend, who is even more headstrong and ferocious
than myself. Besides, we are sent here by Cardinal Mazarin,
and at this moment represent both the king and the cardinal,
and are, therefore, as ambassadors, able to act with
impunity, a thing that General Oliver Cromwell, who is
assuredly as great a politician as he is a general, is quite
the man to understand. Ask him then, for the written order.
What will that cost you my dear Monsieur Mordaunt?"

"Yes, the written order," said Porthos, who now began to
comprehend what D'Artagnan was aiming at, "we ask only for
that."

However inclined Mordaunt was to have recourse to violence,
he understood the reasons D'Artagnan had given him; besides,
completely ignorant of the friendship which existed between
the four Frenchmen, all his uneasiness disappeared when he
heard of the plausible motive of the ransom. He decided,
therefore, not only to fetch the order, but the two thousand
pistoles, at which he estimated the prisoners. He therefore
mounted his horse and disappeared.

"Good!" thought D'Artagnan; "a quarter of an hour to go to
the tent, a quarter of an hour to return; it is more than we
need." Then turning, without the least change of
countenance, to Porthos, he said, looking him full in the
face: "Friend Porthos, listen to this; first, not a syllable
to either of our friends of what you have heard; it is
unnecessary for them to know the service we are going to
render them."

"Very well; I understand."

"Go to the stable; you will find Musqueton there; saddle
your horses, put your pistols in your saddle-bags, take out
the horses and lead them to the street below this, so that
there will be nothing to do but mount them; all the rest is
my business."

Porthos made no remark, but obeyed, with the sublime
confidence he had in his friend.

"I go," he said, "only, shall I enter the chamber where
those gentlemen are?"

"No, it is not worth while."

"Well, do me the kindness to take my purse. which I left on
the mantelpiece."

"All right."

He then proceeded, with his usual calm gait, to the stable
and went into the very midst of the soldiery, who, foreigner
as he was, could not help admiring his height and the
enormous strength of his great limbs.

At the corner of the street he met Musqueton and took him
with him.

D'Artagnan, meantime, went into the house, whistling a tune
which he had begun before Porthos went away.

"My dear Athos, I have reflected on your arguments and I am
convinced. I am sorry to have had anything to do with this
matter. As you say, Mazarin is a knave. I have resolved to
fly with you, not a word -- be ready. Your swords are in the
corner; do not forget them, they are in many circumstances
very useful; there is Porthos's purse, too."

He put it into his pocket. The two friends were perfectly
stupefied.

"Well, pray, is there anything to be so surprised at?" he
said. "I was blind; Athos has made me see, that's all; come
here."

The two friends went near him.

"Do you see that street? There are the horses. Go out by the
door, turn to the right, jump into your saddles, all will be
right; don't be uneasy at anything except mistaking the
signal. That will be the signal when I call out -- Jesus
Seigneur!"

"But give us your word that you will come too, D'Artagnan,"
said Athos.

"I swear I will, by Heaven."

"'Tis settled," said Aramis; "at the cry `Jesus Seigneur' we
go out, upset all that stands in our way, run to our horses,
jump into our saddles, spur them; is that all?"

"Exactly."

"See, Aramis, as I have told you, D'Artagnan is first
amongst us all," said Athos.

"Very true," replied the Gascon, "but I always run away from
compliments. Don't forget the signal: `Jesus Seigneur!'" and
he went out as he came in, whistling the self-same air.

The soldiers were playing or sleeping; two of them were
singing in a corner, out of tune, the psalm: "On the rivers
of Babylon."

D'Artagnan called the sergeant. "My dear friend, General
Cromwell has sent Monsieur Mordaunt to fetch me. Guard the
prisoners well, I beg of you."

The sergeant made a sign, as much as to say he did not
understand French, and D'Artagnan tried to make him
comprehend by signs and gestures. Then he went into the
stable; he found the five horses saddled, his own amongst
the rest.

"Each of you take a horse by the bridle," he said to Porthos
and Musqueton; "turn to the left, so that Athos and Aramis
may see you clearly from the window."

"They are coming, then?" said Porthos.

"In a moment."

"You didn't forget my purse?"

"No; be easy."

"Good."

Porthos and Musqueton each took a horse by the bridle and
proceeded to their post.

Then D'Artagnan, being alone, struck a light and lighted a
small bit of tinder, mounted his horse and stopped at the
door in the midst of the soldiers. There, caressing as he
pretended, the animal with his hand, he put this bit of
burning tinder in his ear. It was necessary to be as good a
horseman as he was to risk such a scheme, for no sooner had
the animal felt the burning tinder than he uttered a cry of
pain and reared and jumped as if he had been mad.

The soldiers, whom he was nearly trampling, ran away.

"Help! help!" cried D'Artagnan; "stop -- my horse has the
staggers."

In an instant the horse's eyes grew bloodshot and he was
white with foam.

"Help!" cried D'Artagnan. "What! will you let me be killed?
Jesus Seigneur!"

No sooner had he uttered this cry than the door opened and
Athos and Aramis rushed out. The coast, owing to the
Gascon's stratagem, was clear.

"The prisoners are escaping! the prisoners are escaping!"
cried the sergeant.

"Stop! stop!" cried D'Artagnan, giving rein to his famous
steed, who, darting forth, overturned several men.

"Stop! stop!" cried the soldiers, and ran for their arms.

But the prisoners were in their saddles and lost no time
hastening to the nearest gate.

In the middle of the street they saw Grimaud and Blaisois,
who were coming to find their masters. With one wave of his
hand Athos made Grimaud, who followed the little troop,
understand everything, and they passed on like a whirlwind,
D'Artagnan still directing them from behind with his voice.

They passed through the gate like apparitions, without the
guards thinking of detaining them, and reached the open
country.

All this time the soldiers were calling out, "Stop! stop!"
and the sergeant, who began to see that he was the victim of
an artifice, was almost in a frenzy of despair. Whilst all
this was going on, a cavalier in full gallop was seen
approaching. It was Mordaunt with the order in his hand.

"The prisoners!" he exclaimed, jumping off his horse.

The sergeant had not the courage to reply; he showed him the
open door, the empty room. Mordaunt darted to the steps,
understood all, uttered a cry, as if his very heart was
pierced, and fell fainting on the stone steps.

In which it is shown that under the most trying
Circumstances noble Natures never lose their Courage, nor
good Stomachs their Appetites.

The little troop, without looking behind them or exchanging
a word, fled at a rapid gallop, fording a little stream, of
which none of them knew the name, and leaving on their left
a town which Athos declared to be Durham. At last they came
in sight of a small wood, and spurring their horses afresh,
rode in its direction.

As soon as they had disappeared behind a green curtain
sufficiently thick to conceal them from the sight of any one
who might be in pursuit they drew up to hold a council
together. The two grooms held the horses, that they might
take a little rest without being unsaddled, and Grimaud was
posted as sentinel.

"Come, first of all," said Athos to D'Artagnan, "my friend,
that I may shake hands with you -- you, our rescuer -- you,
the true hero of us all."

"Athos is right -- you have my adoration," said Aramis, in
his turn pressing his hand. "To what are you not equal, with
your superior intelligence, infallible eye, your arm of iron
and your enterprising mind!"

"Now," said the Gascon, "that is all well, I accept for
Porthos and myself everything -- thanks and compliments; we
have plenty of time to spare."

The two friends, recalled by D'Artagnan to what was also due
to Porthos, pressed his hand in their turn.

"And now," said Athos, "it is not our plan to run anywhere
and like madmen, but we must map up our campaign. What shall
we do?"

"What are we going to do, i'faith? It is not very difficult
to say."

"Tell us, then, D'Artagnan."

"We are going to reach the nearest seaport, unite our little
resources, hire a vessel and return to France. As for me I
will give my last sou for it. Life is the greatest treasure,
and speaking candidly, ours hangs by a thread."

"What do you say to this, Du Vallon?"

"I," said Porthos, "I am entirely of D'Artagnan's opinion;
this is a `beastly' country, this England."

"You are quite decided, then, to leave it?" asked Athos of
D'Artagnan.

"Egad! I don't see what is to keep me here."

A glance was exchanged between Athos and Aramis.

"Go, then, my friends," said the former, sighing.

"How, go then?" exclaimed D'Artagnan. "Let us go, you mean?"

"No, my friend," said Athos, "you must leave us."

"Leave you!" cried D'Artagnan, quite bewildered at this
unexpected announcement.

"Bah!" said Porthos, "why separate, since we are all
together?"

"Because you can and ought to return to France; your mission
is accomplished, but ours is not."

"Your mission is not accomplished?" exclaimed D'Artagnan,
looking in astonishment at Athos.

"No, my friend," replied Athos, in his gentle but decided
voice, "we came here to defend King Charles; we have but ill
defended him -- it remains for us to save him!"

"To save the king?" said D'Artagnan, looking at Aramis as he
had looked at Athos.

Aramis contented himself by making a sign with his head.

D'Artagnan's countenance took an expression of the deepest
compassion; he began to think he had to do with madmen.

"You cannot be speaking seriously, Athos!" said he; "the
king is surrounded by an army, which is conducting him to
London. This army is commanded by a butcher, or the son of a
butcher -- it matters little -- Colonel Harrison. His
majesty, I can assure you, will be tried on his arrival in
London; I have heard enough from the lips of Oliver Cromwell
to know what to expect."

A second look was exchanged between Athos and Aramis.

"And when the trial is ended there will be no delay in
putting the sentence into execution," continued D'Artagnan.

"And to what penalty do you think the king will be
condemned?" asked Athos.

"The penalty of death, I greatly fear; they have gone too
far for him to pardon them, and there is nothing left to
them but one thing, and that is to kill him. Have you never
heard what Oliver Cromwell said when he came to Paris and
was shown the dungeon at Vincennes where Monsieur de Vendome
was imprisoned?"

"What did he say?" asked Porthos.

"`Princes must be knocked on the head.'"

"I remember it," said Athos.

"And you fancy he will not put his maxim into execution, now
that he has got hold of the king?"

"On the contrary, I am certain he will do so. But then that
is all the more reason why we should not abandon the august
head so threatened."

"Athos, you are becoming mad."

"No, my friend," Athos gently replied, "but De Winter sought
us out in France and introduced us, Monsieur d'Herblay and
myself, to Madame Henrietta. Her majesty did us the honor to
ask our aid for her husband. We engaged our word; our word
included everything. It was our strength, our intelligence,
our life, in short, that we promised. It remains now for us
to keep our word. Is that your opinion, D'Herblay?"

"Yes," said Aramis, "we have promised."

"Then," continued Athos, "we have another reason; it is this
-- listen: In France at this moment everything is poor and
paltry. We have a king ten years old, who doesn't yet know
what he wants; we have a queen blinded by a belated passion;
we have a minister who governs France as he would govern a
great farm -- that is to say, intent only on turning out all
the gold he can by the exercise of Italian cunning and
invention; we have princes who set up a personal and
egotistic opposition, who will draw from Mazarin's hands
only a few ingots of gold or some shreds of power granted as
bribes. I have served them without enthusiasm -- God knows
that I estimated them at their real value, and that they are
not high in my esteem -- but on principle. To-day I am
engaged in a different affair. I have encountered misfortune
in a high place, a royal misfortune, a European misfortune;
I attach myself to it. If we can succeed in saving the king
it will be good; if we die for him it will be grand."

"So you know beforehand you must perish!" said D'Artagnan.

"We fear so, and our only regret is to die so far from both
of you."

"What will you do in a foreign land, an enemy's country?"

"I traveled in England when I was young, I speak English
like an Englishman, and Aramis, too, knows something of the
language. Ah! if we had you, my friends! With you,
D'Artagnan, with you, Porthos -- all four reunited for the
first time for twenty years -- we would dare not only
England, but the three kingdoms put together!"

"And did you promise the queen," resumed D'Artagnan,
petulantly, "to storm the Tower of London, to kill a hundred
thousand soldiers, to fight victoriously against the wishes
of the nation and the ambition of a man, and when that man
is Cromwell? Do not exaggerate your duty. In Heaven's name,
my dear Athos, do not make a useless sacrifice. When I see
you merely, you look like a reasonable being; when you
speak, I seem to have to do with a madman. Come, Porthos,
join me; say frankly, what do you think of this business?"

"Nothing good," replied Porthos.

"Come," continued D'Artagnan, who, irritated that instead of
listening to him Athos seemed to be attending to his own
thoughts, "you have never found yourself the worse for my
advice. Well, then, believe me, Athos, your mission is
ended, and ended nobly; return to France with us."

"Friend," said Athos, "our resolution is irrevocable."

"Then you have some other motive unknown to us?"

Athos smiled and D'Artagnan struck his hand together in
anger and muttered the most convincing reasons that he could
discover; but to all these reasons Athos contented himself
by replying with a calm, sweet smile and Aramis by nodding
his head.

"Very well," cried D'Artagnan, at last, furious, "very well,
since you wish it, let us leave our bones in this beggarly
land, where it is always cold, where fine weather is a fog,
fog is rain, and rain a deluge; where the sun represents the
moon and the moon a cream cheese; in truth, whether we die
here or elsewhere matters little, since we must die."

"Only reflect, my good fellow," said Athos, "it is but dying
rather sooner."

"Pooh! a little sooner or a little later, it isn't worth
quarreling over."

"If I am astonished at anything," remarked Porthos,
sententiously, "it is that it has not already happened."

"Oh, it will happen, you may be sure," said D'Artagnan. "So
it is agreed, and if Porthos makes no objection ---- "

"I," said Porthos, "I will do whatever you please; and
besides, I think what the Comte de la Fere said just now is
very good."

"But your future career, D'Artagnan -- your ambition,
Porthos?"

"Our future, our ambition!" replied D'Artagnan, with
feverish volubility. "Need we think of that since we are to
save the king? The king saved -- we shall assemble our
friends together -- we will head the Puritans -- reconquer
England; we shall re-enter London -- place him securely on
his throne ---- "

"And he will make us dukes and peers," said Porthos, whose
eyes sparkled with joy at this imaginary prospect.

"Or he will forget us," added D'Artagnan.

"Oh!" said Porthos.

"Well, that has happened, friend Porthos. It seems to me
that we once rendered Anne of Austria a service not much
less than that which to-day we are trying to perform for
Charles I.; but, none the less, Anne of Austria has
forgotten us for twenty years."

"Well, in spite of that, D'Artagnan," said Athos, "you are
not sorry that you were useful to her?"

"No, indeed," said D'Artagnan; "I admit even that in my
darkest moments I find consolation in that remembrance."

"You see, then, D'Artagnan, though princes often are
ungrateful, God never is."

"Athos," said D'Artagnan, "I believe that were you to fall
in with the devil, you would conduct yourself so well that
you would take him with you to Heaven."

"So, then?" said Athos, offering his hand to D'Artagnan.

"'Tis settled," replied D'Artagnan. "I find England a
charming country, and I stay -- but on one condition only."

"What is it?"

"That I am not forced to learn English."

"Well, now," said Athos, triumphantly, "I swear to you, my
friend, by the God who hears us -- I believe that there is a
power watching over us, and that we shall all four see
France again."

"So be it!" said D'Artagnan, "but I -- I confess I have a
contrary conviction."

"Our good D'Artagnan," said Aramis, "represents among us the
opposition in parliament, which always says no, and always
does aye."

"But in the meantime saves the country," added Athos.

"Well, now that everything is decided," cried Porthos,
rubbing his hands, "suppose we think of dinner! It seems to
me that in the most critical positions of our lives we have
always dined."

"Oh! yes, speak of dinner in a country where for a feast
they eat boiled mutton, and as a treat drink beer. What the
devil did you come to such a country for, Athos? But I
forgot," added the Gascon, smiling, "pardon, I forgot you
are no longer Athos; but never mind, let us hear your plan
for dinner, Porthos."

"My plan!"

"Yes, have you a plan?"

"No! I am hungry, that is all."

"Pardieu, if that is all, I am hungry, too; but it is not
everything to be hungry, one must find something to eat,
unless we browse on the grass, like our horses ---- "

"Ah!" exclaimed Aramis, who was not quite so indifferent to
the good things of the earth as Athos, "do you remember,
when we were at Parpaillot, the beautiful oysters that we
ate?"

"And the legs of mutton of the salt marshes," said Porthos,
smacking his lips.

"But," suggested D'Artagnan, "have we not our friend
Musqueton, who managed for us so well at Chantilly,
Porthos?"

"Yes," said Porthos, "we have Musqueton, but since he has
been steward, he has become very heavy; never mind, let us
call him, and to make sure that he will reply agreeably ----

"Here! Mouston," cried Porthos.

Mouston appeared, with a most piteous face.

"What is the matter, my dear M. Mouston?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Are you ill?"

"Sir, I am very hungry," replied Mouston.

"Well, it is just for that reason that we have called you,
my good M. Mouston. Could you not procure us a few of those
nice little rabbits, and some of those delicious partridges,
of which you used to make fricassees at the hotel ---- ?
'Faith, I do not remember the name of the hotel."

"At the hotel of ---- ," said Porthos; "by my faith -- nor
do I remember it either."

"It does not matter; and a few of those bottles of old
Burgundy wine, which cured your master so quickly of his
sprain!"

"Alas! sir," said Musqueton, "I much fear that what you ask
for are very rare things in this detestable and barren
country, and I think we should do better to go and seek
hospitality from the owner of a little house we see on the
fringe of the forest."

"How! is there a house in the neighborhood?" asked
D'Artagnan.

"Yes, sir," replied Musqueton.

"Well, let us, as you say, go and ask a dinner from the
master of that house. What is your opinion, gentlemen, and
does not M. Mouston's suggestion appear to you full of
sense?"

"Oh!" said Aramis, "suppose the master is a Puritan?"

"So much the better, mordioux!" replied D'Artagnan; "if he
is a Puritan we will inform him of the capture of the king,
and in honor of the news he will kill for us his fatted
hens."

"But if he should be a cavalier?" said Porthos.

"In that case we will put on an air of mourning and he will
pluck for us his black fowls."

"You are very happy," exclaimed Athos, laughing, in spite of
himself, at the sally of the irresistible Gascon; "for you
see the bright side of everything."

"What would you have?" said D'Artagnan. "I come from a land
where there is not a cloud in the sky."

"It is not like this, then," said Porthos stretching out his
hand to assure himself whether a chill sensation he felt on
his cheek was not really caused by a drop of rain.

"Come, come," said D'Artagnan, "more reason why we should
start on our journey. Halloo, Grimaud!"

Grimaud appeared.

"Well, Grimaud, my friend, have you seen anything?" asked
the Gascon.

"Nothing!" replied Grimaud.

"Those idiots!" cried Porthos, "they have not even pursued
us. Oh! if we had been in their place!"

"Yes, they are wrong," said D'Artagnan. "I would willingly
have said two words to Mordaunt in this little desert. It is
an excellent spot for bringing down a man in proper style."

"I think, decidedly," observed Aramis, "gentlemen, that the
son hasn't his mother's energy."

"What, my good fellow!" replied Athos, "wait awhile; we have
scarcely left him two hours ago -- he does not know yet in
what direction we came nor where we are. We may say that he
is not equal to his mother when we put foot in France, if we
are not poisoned or killed before then."

"Meanwhile, let us dine," suggested Porthos.

"I'faith, yes," said Athos, "for I am hungry."

"Look out for the black fowls!" cried Aramis.

And the four friends, guided by Musqueton, took up the way
toward the house, already almost restored to their former
gayety; for they were now, as Athos had said, all four once
more united and of single mind.

Respect to Fallen Majesty.

As our fugitives approached the house, they found the ground
cut up, as if a considerable body of horsemen had preceded
them. Before the door the traces were yet more apparent;
these horsemen, whoever they might be, had halted there.

"Egad!" cried D'Artagnan, "it's quite clear that the king
and his escort have been by here."

"The devil!" said Porthos; "in that case they have eaten
everything."

"Bah!" said D'Artagnan, "they will have left a chicken, at
least." He dismounted and knocked on the door. There was no
response.

He pushed open the door and found the first room empty and
deserted.

"Well?" cried Porthos.

"I can see nobody," said D'Artagnan. "Aha!"

"What?"

"Blood!"

At this word the three friends leaped from their horses and
entered. D'Artagnan had already opened the door of the
second room, and from the expression of his face it was
clear that he there beheld some extraordinary object.

The three friends drew near and discovered a young man
stretched on the ground, bathed in a pool of blood. It was
evident that he had attempted to regain his bed, but had not
had sufficient strength to do so.

Athos, who imagined that he saw him move, was the first to
go up to him.

"Well?" inquired D'Artagnan.

"Well, if he is dead," said Athos, "he has not been so long,
for he is still warm. But no, his heart is beating. Ho,
there, my friend!"

The wounded man heaved a sigh. D'Artagnan took some water in
the hollow of his hand and threw it upon his face. The man
opened his eyes, made an effort to raise his head, and fell
back again. The wound was in the top of his skull and blood
was flawing copiously.

Aramis dipped a cloth into some water and applied it to the
gash. Again the wounded man opened his eyes and looked in
astonishment at these strangers, who appeared to pity him.

"You are among friends," said Athos, in English; "so cheer
up, and tell us, if you have the strength to do so, what has
happened?"

"The king," muttered the wounded man, "the king is a
prisoner."

"You have seen him?" asked Aramis, in the same language.

The man made no reply.

"Make your mind easy," resumed Athos, "we are all faithful
servants of his majesty."

"Is what you tell me true?" asked the wounded man.

"On our honor as gentlemen."

"Then I may tell you all. I am brother to Parry, his
majesty's lackey."

Athos and Aramis remembered that this was the name by which
De Winter had called the man they had found in the passage
of the king's tent.

"We know him," said Athos, "he never left the king."

"Yes, that is he. Well, he thought of me, when he saw the
king was taken, and as they were passing before the house he
begged in the king's name that they would stop, as the king
was hungry. They brought him into this room and placed
sentinels at the doors and windows. Parry knew this room, as
he had often been to see me when the king was at Newcastle.
He knew that there was a trap-door communicating with a
cellar, from which one could get into the orchard. He made a
sign, which I understood, but the king's guards must have
noticed it and held themselves on guard. I went out as if to
fetch wood, passed through the subterranean passage into the
cellar, and whilst Parry was gently bolting the door, pushed
up the board and beckoned to the king to follow me. Alas! he
would not. But Parry clasped his hands and implored him, and
at last he agreed. I went on first, fortunately. The king
was a few steps behind me, when suddenly I saw something
rise up in front of me like a huge shadow. I wanted to cry
out to warn the king, but that very moment I felt a blow as
if the house was falling on my head, and fell insensible.
When I came to myself again, I was stretched in the same
place. I dragged myself as far as the yard. The king and his
escort were no longer there. I spent perhaps an hour in
coming from the yard to this place; then my strength gave
out and I fainted again."

"And now how are you feeling?"

"Very ill," replied the wounded man.

"Can we do anything for you?" asked Athos.

"Help to put me on the bed; I think I shall feel better
there."

"Have you any one to depend on for assistance?"

"My wife is at Durham and may return at any moment. But you
-- is there nothing that you want?"

"We came here with the intention of asking for something to
eat."

"Alas, they have taken everything; there isn't a morsel of
bread in the house."

"You hear, D'Artagnan?" said Athos; "we shall have to look
elsewhere for our dinner."

"It is all one to me now," said D'Artagnan; "I am no longer
hungry."

"Faith! neither am I," said Porthos.

They carried the man to his bed and called Grimaud to dress
the wound. In the service of the four friends Grimaud had
had so frequent occasion to make lint and bandages that he
had become something of a surgeon.

In the meantime the fugitives had returned to the first
room, where they took counsel together.

"Now," said Aramis, "we know how the matter stands. The king
and his escort have gone this way; we had better take the
opposite direction, eh?"

Athos did not reply; he reflected.

"Yes," said Porthos, "let us take the opposite direction; if
we follow the escort we shall find everything devoured and
die of hunger. What a confounded country this England is!
This is the first time I have gone without my dinner for ten
years, and it is generally my best meal."

"What do you think, D'Artagnan?" asked Athos. "Do you agree
with Aramis?"

"Not at all," said D'Artagnan; "I am precisely of the
contrary opinion."

"What! you would follow the escort?" exclaimed Porthos, in
dismay.

"No, I would join the escort."

Athos's eyes shone with joy.

"Join the escort!" cried Aramis.

"Let D'Artagnan speak," said Athos; "you know he always has
wise advice to give."

"Clearly," said D'Artagnan, "we must go where they will not
look for us. Now, they will be far from looking for us among
the Puritans; therefore, with the Puritans we must go."

"Good, my friend, good!" said Athos. "It is excellent
advice. I was about to give it when you anticipated me."

"That, then, is your opinion?" asked Aramis.

"Yes. They will think we are trying to leave England and
will search for us at the ports; meanwhile we shall reach
London with the king. Once in London we shall be hard to
find -- without considering," continued Athos, throwing a
glance at Aramis, "the chances that may come to us on the
way."

"Yes," said Aramis, "I understand."

"I, however, do not understand," said Porthos. "But no
matter; since it is at the same time the opinion of
D'Artagnan and of Athos, it must be the best."

"But," said Aramis, "shall we not be suspected by Colonel
Harrison?"

"Egad!" cried D'Artagnan, "he's just the man I count upon.
Colonel Harrison is one of our friends. We have met him
twice at General Cromwell's. He knows that we were sent from
France by Monsieur Mazarin; he will consider us as brothers.
Besides, is he not a butcher's son? Well, then, Porthos
shall show him how to knock down an ox with a blow of the
fist, and I how to trip up a bull by taking him by the
horns. That will insure his confidence."

Athos smiled. "You are the best companion that I know,
D'Artagnan," he said, offering his hand to the Gascon; "and
I am very happy in having found you again, my dear son."

This was, as we have seen, the term which Athos applied to
D'Artagnan in his more expansive moods.

At this moment Grimaud came in. He had stanched the wound
and the man was better.

The four friends took leave of him and asked if they could
deliver any message for him to his brother.

"Tell him," answered the brave man, "to let the king know
that they have not killed me outright. However insignificant
I am, I am sure that his majesty is concerned for me and
blames himself for my death."

"Be easy," said D'Artagnan, "he will know all before night."

The little troop recommenced their march, and at the end of
two hours perceived a considerable body of horsemen about
half a league ahead.

"My dear friends," said D'Artagnan, "give your swords to
Monsieur Mouston, who will return them to you at the proper
time and place, and do not forget you are our prisoners."

It was not long before they joined the escort. The king was
riding in front, surrounded by troopers, and when he saw
Athos and Aramis a glow of pleasure lighted his pale cheeks.

D'Artagnan passed to the head of the column, and leaving his
friends under the guard of Porthos, went straight to
Harrison, who recognized him as having met him at Cromwell's
and received him as politely as a man of his breeding and
disposition could. It turned out as D'Artagnan had foreseen.
The colonel neither had nor could have any suspicion.

They halted for the king to dine. This time, however, due
precautions were taken to prevent any attempt at escape. In
the large room of the hotel a small table was placed for him
and a large one for the officers.

"Will you dine with me?" asked Harrison of D'Artagnan.

"Gad, I should be very happy, but I have my companion,
Monsieur du Vallon, and the two prisoners, whom I cannot
leave. Let us manage it better. Have a table set for us in a
corner and send us whatever you like from yours."

"Good," answered Harrison.

The matter was arranged as D'Artagnan had suggested, and
when he returned he found the king already seated at his
little table, where Parry waited on him, Harrison and his
officers sitting together at another table, and, in a
corner, places reserved for himself and his companions.

The table at which the Puritan officers were seated was
round, and whether by chance or coarse intention, Harrison
sat with his back to the king.

The king saw the four gentlemen come in, but appeared to
take no notice of them.

They sat down in such a manner as to turn their backs on
nobody. The officers, table and that of the king were
opposite to them.

"I'faith, colonel," said D'Artagnan, "we are very grateful
for your gracious invitation; for without you we ran the
risk of going without dinner, as we have without breakfast.
My friend here, Monsieur du Vallon, shares my gratitude, for
he was particularly hungry."

"And I am so still," said Porthos bowing to Harrison.

"And how," said Harrison, laughing, "did this serious
calamity of going without breakfast happen to you?"

"In a very simple manner, colonel," said D'Artagnan. "I was
in a hurry to join you and took the road you had already
gone by. You can understand our disappointment when,
arriving at a pretty little house on the skirts of a wood,
which at a distance had quite a gay appearance, with its red
roof and green shutters, we found nothing but a poor wretch
bathed -- Ah! colonel, pay my respects to the officer of
yours who struck that blow."

"Yes," said Harrison, laughing, and looking over at one of
the officers seated at his table. "When Groslow undertakes
this kind of thing there's no need to go over the ground a
second time."

"Ah! it was this gentleman?" said D'Artagnan, bowing to the
officer. "I am sorry he does not speak French, that I might
tender him my compliments."

"I am ready to receive and return them, sir," said the
officer, in pretty good French, "for I resided three years
in Paris."

"Then, sir, allow me to assure you that your blow was so
well directed that you have nearly killed your man."

"Nearly? I thought I had quite," said Groslow.

"No. It was a very near thing, but he is not dead."

As he said this, D'Artagnan gave a glance at Parry, who was
standing in front of the king, to show him that the news was
meant for him.

The king, too, who had listened in the greatest agony, now
breathed again.

"Hang it," said Groslow, "I thought I had succeeded better.
If it were not so far from here to the house I would return
and finish him."

"And you would do well, if you are afraid of his recovering;
for you know, if a wound in the head does not kill at once,
it is cured in a week."

And D'Artagnan threw a second glance toward Parry, on whose
face such an expression of joy was manifested that Charles
stretched out his hand to him, smiling.

Parry bent over his master's hand and kissed it
respectfully.

"I've a great desire to drink the king's health," said
Athos.

"Let me propose it, then," said D'Artagnan.

"Do," said Aramis.

Porthos looked at D'Artagnan, quite amazed at the resources
with which his companion's Gascon sharpness continually
supplied him. D'Artagnan took up his camp tin cup, filled it
with wine and arose.

"Gentlemen," said he, "let us drink to him who presides at
the repast. Here's to our colonel, and let him know that we
are always at his commands as far as London and farther."

And as D'Artagnan, as he spoke, looked at Harrison, the
colonel imagined the toast was for himself. He arose and
bowed to the four friends, whose eyes were fixed on Charles,
while Harrison emptied his glass without the slightest
misgiving.

The king, in return, looked at the four gentlemen and drank
with a smile full of nobility and gratitude.

"Come, gentlemen," cried Harrison, regardless of his
illustrious captive, "let us be off."

"Where do we sleep, colonel?"

"At Thirsk," replied Harrison.

"Parry," said the king, rising too, "my horse; I desire to
go to Thirsk."

"Egad!" said D'Artagnan to Athos, "your king has thoroughly
taken me, and I am quite at his service."

"If what you say is sincere," replied Athos, "he will never
reach London."

"How so?"

"Because before then we shall have carried him off."

"Well, this time, Athos," said D'Artagnan, "upon my word,
you are mad."

"Have you some plan in your head then?" asked Aramis.

"Ay!" said Porthos, "the thing would not be impossible with
a good plan."

"I have none," said Athos; "but D'Artagnan will discover
one."

D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders and they proceeded.

D'Artagnan hits on a Plan.

As night closed in they arrived at Thirsk. The four friends
appeared to be entire strangers to one another and
indifferent to the precautions taken for guarding the king.
They withdrew to a private house, and as they had reason
every moment to fear for their safety, they occupied but one
room and provided an exit, which might be useful in case of
an attack. The lackeys were sent to their several posts,
except that Grimaud lay on a truss of straw across the
doorway.

D'Artagnan was thoughtful and seemed for the moment to have
lost his usual loquacity. Porthos, who could never see
anything that was not self-evident, talked to him as usual.
He replied in monosyllables and Athos and Aramis looked
significantly at one another.

Next morning D'Artagnan was the first to rise. He had been
down to the stables, already taken a look at the horses and
given the necessary orders for the day, whilst Athos and
Aramis were still in bed and Porthos snoring.

At eight o'clock the march was resumed in the same order as
the night before, except that D'Artagnan left his friends
and began to renew the acquaintance which he had already
struck up with Monsieur Groslow.

Groslow, whom D'Artagnan's praises had greatly pleased,
welcomed him with a gracious smile.

"Really, sir," D'Artagnan said to him, "I am pleased to find
one with whom to talk in my own poor tongue. My friend,
Monsieur du Vallon, is of a very melancholy disposition, so
much so, that one can scarcely get three words out of him
all day. As for our two prisoners, you can imagine that they
are but little in the vein for conversation."

"They are hot royalists," said Groslow.

"The more reason they should be sulky with us for having
captured the Stuart, for whom, I hope, you're preparing a
pretty trial."

"Why," said Groslow, "that is just what we are taking him to
London for."

"And you never by any chance lose sight of him, I presume?"

"I should think not, indeed. You see he has a truly royal
escort."

"Ay, there's no fear in the daytime; but at night?"

"We redouble our precautions."

"And what method of surveillance do you employ?"

"Eight men remain constantly in his room."

"The deuce, he is well guarded, then. But besides these
eight men, you doubtless place some guard outside?"

"Oh, no! Just think. What would you have two men without
arms do against eight armed men?"

"Two men -- how do you mean?"

"Yes, the king and his lackey."

"Oh! then they allow the lackey to remain with him?"

"Yes; Stuart begged this favor and Harrison consented. Under
pretense that he's a king it appears he cannot dress or
undress without assistance."

"Really, captain," said D'Artagnan, determined to continue
on the laudatory tack on which he had commenced, "the more I
listen to you the more surprised I am at the easy and
elegant manner in which you speak French. You have lived
three years in Paris? May I ask what you were doing there?"

"My father, who is a merchant, placed me with his
correspondent, who in turn sent his son to join our house in
London."

"Were you pleased with Paris, sir?"

"Yes, but you are much in want of a revolution like our own
-- not against your king, who is a mere child, but against
that lazar of an Italian, the queen's favorite."

"Ah! I am quite of your opinion, sir, and we should soon
make an end of Mazarin if we had only a dozen officers like
yourself, without prejudices, vigilant and incorruptible."

"But," said the officer, "I thought you were in his service
and that it was he who sent you to General Cromwell."

"That is to say I am in the king's service, and that knowing
he wanted to send some one to England, I solicited the
appointment, so great was my desire to know the man of
genius who now governs the three kingdoms. So that when he
proposed to us to draw our swords in honor of old England
you see how we snapped up the proposition."

"Yes, I know that you charged by the side of Mordaunt."

"On his right and left, sir. Ah! there's another brave and
excellent young man."

"Do you know him?" asked the officer.

"Yes, very well. Monsieur du Vallon and myself came from
France with him."

"It appears, too, you kept him waiting a long time at
Boulogne."

"What would you have? I was like you, and had a king in
keeping."

"Aha!" said Groslow; "what king?"

"Our own, to be sure, the little one -- Louis XIV."

"And how long had you to take care of him?"

"Three nights; and, by my troth, I shall always remember
those three nights with a certain pleasure."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that my friends, officers in the guards and
mousquetaires, came to keep me company and we passed the
night in feasting, drinking, dicing."

"Ah true," said the Englishman, with a sigh; "you Frenchmen
are born boon companions."

"And don't you play, too, when you are on guard?"

"Never," said the Englishman.

"In that case you must be horribly bored, and have my
sympathy."

"The fact is, I look to my turn for keeping guard with
horror. It's tiresome work to keep awake a whole night."

"Yes, but with a jovial partner and dice, and guineas
clinking on the cloth, the night passes like a dream. You
don't like playing, then?"

"On the contrary, I do."

"Lansquenet, for instance?"

"Devoted to it. I used to play almost every night in
France."

"And since your return to England?"

"I have not handled a card or dice-box."

"I sincerely pity you," said D'Artagnan, with an air of
profound compassion.

"Look here," said the Englishman.

"Well?"

"To-morrow I am on guard."

"In Stuart's room?"

"Yes; come and pass the night with me."

"Impossible!"

"Impossible! why so?"

"I play with Monsieur du Vallon every night. Sometimes we
don't go to bed at all!"

"Well, what of that?"

"Why, he would be annoyed if I did not play with him."

"Does he play well?"

"I have seen him lose as much as two thousand pistoles,
laughing all the while till the tears rolled down."

"Bring him with you, then."

"But how about our prisoners?"

"Let your servants guard them."

"Yes, and give them a chance of escaping," said D'Artagnan.
"Why, one of them is a rich lord from Touraine and the other
a knight of Malta, of noble family. We have arranged the
ransom of each of them -- 2,000 on arriving in France. We
are reluctant to leave for a single moment men whom our
lackeys know to be millionaires. It is true we plundered
them a little when we took them, and I will even confess
that it is their purse that Monsieur du Vallon and I draw on
in our nightly play. Still, they may have concealed some
precious stone, some valuable diamond; so that we are like
those misers who are unable to absent themselves from their
treasures. We have made ourselves the constant guardians of
our men, and while I sleep Monsieur du Vallon watches."

"Ah! ah!" said Groslow.

"You see, then, why I must decline your polite invitation,
which is especially attractive to me, because nothing is so
wearisome as to play night after night with the same person;
the chances always balance and at the month's end nothing is
gained or lost."

"Ah!" said Groslow, sighing; "there is something still more
wearisome, and that is not to play at all."

"I can understand that," said D'Artagnan.

"But, come," resumed the Englishman, "are these men of yours
dangerous?"

"In what respect?"

"Are they capable of attempting violence?"

D'Artagnan burst out laughing at the idea.

"Jesus Dieu!" he cried; "one of them is trembling with
fever, having failed to adapt himself to this charming
country of yours, and the other is a knight of Malta, as
timid as a young girl; and for greater security we have
taken from them even their penknives and pocket scissors."

"Well, then," said Groslow, "bring them with you."

"But really ---- " said D'Artagnan.

"I have eight men on guard, you know. Four of them can guard
the king and the other four your prisoners. I'll manage it
somehow, you will see."

"But," said D'Artagnan, "now I think of it -- what is to
prevent our beginning to-night?"

"Nothing at all," said Groslow.

"Just so. Come to us this evening and to-morrow we'll return
your visit."

"Capital! This evening with you, to-morrow at Stuart's, the
next day with me."

"You see, that with a little forethought one can lead a
merry life anywhere and everywhere," said D'Artagnan.

"Yes, with Frenchmen, and Frenchmen like you."

"And Monsieur du Vallon," added the other. "You will see
what a fellow he is; a man who nearly killed Mazarin between
two doors. They employ him because they are afraid of him.
Ah, there he is calling me now. You'll excuse me, I know."

They exchanged bows and D'Artagnan returned to his
companions.

"What on earth can you have been saying to that bulldog?"
exclaimed Porthos.

"My dear fellow, don't speak like that of Monsieur Groslow.
He's one of my most intimate friends."

"One of your friends!" cried Porthos, "this butcher of
unarmed farmers!"

"Hush! my dear Porthos. Monsieur Groslow is perhaps rather
hasty, it's true, but at bottom I have discovered two good
qualities in him -- he is conceited and stupid."

Porthos opened his eyes in amazement; Athos and Aramis
looked at one another and smiled; they knew D'Artagnan, and
knew that he did nothing without a purpose.

"But," continued D'Artagnan, "you shall judge of him for
yourself. He is coming to play with us this evening."

"Oho!" said Porthos, his eyes glistening at the news. "Is he
rich?"

"He's the son of one of the wealthiest merchants in London."

"And knows lansquenet?"

"Adores it."

"Basset?"

"His mania.'

"Biribi?"

"Revels in it."

"Good," said Porthos; "we shall pass an agreeable evening."

"The more so, as it will be the prelude to a better."

"How so?"

"We invite him to play to-night; he has invited us in return
to-morrow. But wait. To-night we stop at Derby; and if there
is a bottle of wine in the town let Musqueton buy it. It
will be well to prepare a light supper, of which you, Athos
and Aramis, are not to partake -- Athos, because I told him
you had a fever; Aramis, because you are a knight of Malta
and won't mix with fellows like us. Do you understand?"

"That's no doubt very fine," said Porthos; "but deuce take
me if I understand at all."

"Porthos, my friend, you know I am descended on the father's
side from the Prophets and on the mother's from the Sybils,
and that I only speak in parables and riddles. Let those who
have ears hear and those who have eyes see; I can tell you
nothing more at present."

"Go ahead, my friend," said Athos; "I am sure that whatever
you do is well done."

"And you, Aramis, are you of that opinion?"

"Entirely so, my dear D'Artagnan."

"Very good," said D'Artagnan; "here indeed are true
believers; it is a pleasure to work miracles before them;
they are not like that unbelieving Porthos, who must see and
touch before he will believe."

"The fact is," said Porthos, with an air of finesse, "I am
rather incredulous."

D'Artagnan gave him playful buffet on the shoulder, and as
they had reached the station where they were to breakfast,
the conversation ended there.

At five in the evening they sent Musqueton on before as
agreed upon. Blaisois went with him.

In crossing the principal street in Derby the four friends
perceived Blaisois standing in the doorway of a handsome
house. It was there a lodging was prepared for them.

At the hour agreed upon Groslow came. D'Artagnan received
him as he would have done a friend of twenty years'
standing. Porthos scanned him from head to foot and smiled
when he discovered that in spite of the blow he had
administered to Parry's brother, he was not nearly so strong
as himself. Athos and Aramis suppressed as well as they
could the disgust they felt in the presence of such
coarseness and brutality.

In short, Groslow seemed to be pleased with his reception.

Athos and Aramis kept themselves to their role. At midnight
they withdrew to their chamber, the door of which was left
open on the pretext of kindly consideration. Furthermore,
D'Artagnan went with them, leaving Porthos at play with
Groslow.

Porthos gained fifty pistoles from Groslow, and found him a
more agreeable companion than he had at first believed him
to be.

As to Groslow, he promised himself that on the following
evening he would recover from D'Artagnan what he had lost to
Porthos, and on leaving reminded the Gascon of his
appointment.

The next day was spent as usual. D'Artagnan went from
Captain Groslow to Colonel Harrison and from Colonel
Harrison to his friends. To any one not acquainted with him
he seemed to be in his normal condition; but to his friends
-- to Athos and Aramis -- was apparent a certain
feverishness in his gayety.

"What is he contriving?" asked Aramis.

"Wait," said Athos.

Porthos said nothing, but he handled in his pocket the fifty
pistoles he had gained from Groslow with a degree of
satisfaction which betrayed itself in his whole bearing.

Arrived at Ryston, D'Artagnan assembled his friends. His
face had lost the expression of careless gayety it had worn
like a mask the whole day. Athos pinched Aramis's hand.

"The moment is at hand," he said.

"Yes," returned D'Artagnan, who had overheard him,
"to-night, gentlemen, we rescue the king."

"D'Artagnan," said Athos, "this is no joke, I trust? It
would quite cut me up."

"You are a very odd man, Athos," he replied, "to doubt me
thus. Where and when have you seen me trifle with a friend's
heart and a king's life? I have told you, and I repeat it,
that to-night we rescue Charles I. You left it to me to
discover the means and I have done so."

Porthos looked at D'Artagnan with an expression of profound
admiration. Aramis smiled as one who hopes. Athos was pale,
and trembled in every limb.

"Speak," said Athos.

"We are invited," replied D'Artagnan, "to pass the night
with M. Groslow. But do you know where?"

"No."

"In the king's room."

"The king's room?" cried Athos.

"Yes, gentlemen, in the king's room. Groslow is on guard
there this evening, and to pass the time away he has invited
us to keep him company."

"All four of us?" asked Athos.

"Pardieu! certainly, all four; we couldn't leave our
prisoners, could we?"

"Ah! ah!" said Aramis.

"Tell us about it," said Athos, palpitating.

"We are going, then, we two with our swords, you with
daggers. We four have got to master these eight fools and
their stupid captain. Monsieur Porthos, what do you say to
that?"

"I say it is easy enough," answered Porthos.

"We dress the king in Groslow's clothes. Musqueton, Grimaud
and Blaisois have our horses saddled at the end of the first
street. We mount them and before daylight are twenty leagues
distant."

Athos placed his two hands on D'Artagnan's shoulders, and
gazed at him with his calm, sad smile.

"I declare, my friend," said he, "that there is not a
creature under the sky who equals you in prowess and in
courage. Whilst we thought you indifferent to our sorrows,
which you couldn't share without crime, you alone among us
have discovered what we were searching for in vain. I repeat
it, D'Artagnan, you are the best one among us; I bless and
love you, my dear son."

"And to think that I couldn't find that out," said Porthos,
scratching his head; "it is so simple."

"But," said Aramis, "if I understand rightly we are to kill
them all, eh?"

Athos shuddered and turned pale.

"Mordioux!" answered D'Artagnan, "I believe we must. I
confess I can discover no other safe and satisfactory way."

"Let us see," said Aramis, "how are we to act?"

"I have arranged two plans. Firstly, at a given signal,
which shall be the words `At last,' you each plunge a dagger
into the heart of the soldier nearest to you. We, on our
side, do the same. That will be four killed. We shall then
be matched, four against the remaining five. If these five
men give themselves up we gag them; if they resist, we kill
them. If by chance our Amphitryon changes his mind and
receives only Porthos and myself, why, then, we must resort
to heroic measures and each give two strokes instead of one.
It will take a little longer time and may make a greater
disturbance, but you will be outside with swords and will
rush in at the proper time."

"But if you yourselves should be struck?" said Athos.

"Impossible!" said D'Artagnan; "those beer drinkers are too
clumsy and awkward. Besides, you will strike at the throat,
Porthos; it kills as quickly and prevents all outcry."

"Very good," said Porthos; "it will be a nice little throat
cutting."

"Horrible, horrible," exclaimed Athos.

"Nonsense," said D'Artagnan; "you would do as much, Mr.
Humanity, in a battle. But if you think the king's life is
not worth what it must cost there's an end of the matter and
I send to Groslow to say I am ill."

"No, you are right," said Athos.

At this moment a soldier entered to inform them that Groslow
was waiting for them.

"Where?" asked D'Artagnan.

"In the room of the English Nebuchadnezzar," replied the
staunch Puritan.

"Good," replied Athos, whose blood mounted to his face at
the insult offered to royalty; "tell the captain we are
coming."

The Puritan then went out. The lackeys had been ordered to
saddle eight horses and to wait, keeping together and
without dismounting, at the corner of a street about twenty
steps from the house where the king was lodged.

It was nine o'clock in the evening; the sentinels had been
relieved at eight and Captain Groslow had been on guard for
an hour. D'Artagnan and Porthos, armed with their swords,
and Athos and Aramis, each carrying a concealed poniard,
approached the house which for the time being was Charles
Stuart's prison. The two latter followed their captors in
the humble guise of captives, without arms.

"Od's bodikins," said Groslow, as the four friends entered,
"I had almost given you up."

D'Artagnan went up to him and whispered in his ear:

"The fact is, we, that is, Monsieur du Vallon and I,
hesitated a little."

"And why?"

D'Artagnan looked significantly toward Athos and Aramis.

"Aha," said Groslow; "on account of political opinions? No
matter. On the contrary," he added, laughing, "if they want
to see their Stuart they shall see him.

"Are we to pass the night in the king's room?" asked
D'Artagnan.

"No, but in the one next to it, and as the door will remain
open it comes to the same thing. Have you provided yourself
with money? I assure you I intend to play the devil's game
to-night."

D'Artagnan rattled the gold in his pockets.

"Very good," said Groslow, and opened the door of the room.
"I will show you the way," and he went in first.

D'Artagnan turned to look at his friends. Porthos was
perfectly indifferent; Athos, pale, but resolute; Aramis was
wiping a slight moisture from his brow.

The eight guards were at their posts. Four in the king's
room, two at the door between the rooms and two at that by
which the friends had entered. Athos smiled when he saw
their bare swords; he felt it was no longer to be a
butchery, but a fight, and he resumed his usual good humor.

Charles was perceived through the door, lying dressed upon
his bed, at the head of which Parry was seated, reading in a
low voice a chapter from the Bible.

A candle of coarse tallow on a black table lighted up the
handsome and resigned face of the king and that of his
faithful retainer, far less calm.

From time to time Parry stopped, thinking the king, whose
eyes were closed, was really asleep, but Charles would open
his eyes and say with a smile:

"Go on, my good Parry, I am listening."

Groslow advanced to the door of the king's room, replaced on
his head the hat he had taken off to receive his guests,
looked for a moment contemptuously at this simple, yet
touching scene, then turning to D'Artagnan, assumed an air
of triumph at what he had achieved.

"Capital!" cried the Gascon, "you would make a distinguished
general."

"And do you think," asked Groslow, "that Stuart will ever
escape while I am on guard?"

"No, to be sure," replied D'Artagnan; "unless, forsooth, the
sky rains friends upon him."

Groslow's face brightened.

It is impossible to say whether Charles, who kept his eyes
constantly closed, had noticed the insolence of the Puritan
captain, but the moment he heard the clear tone of
D'Artagnan's voice his eyelids rose, in spite of himself.

Parry, too, started and stopped reading.

"What are you thinking about?" said the king; "go on, my
good Parry, unless you are tired."

Parry resumed his reading.

On a table in the next room were lighted candles, cards, two
dice-boxes, and dice.

"Gentlemen," said Groslow, "I beg you will take your places.
I will sit facing Stuart, whom I like so much to see,
especially where he now is, and you, Monsieur d'Artagnan,
opposite to me."

Athos turned red with rage. D'Artagnan frowned at him.

"That's it," said D'Artagnan; "you, Monsieur le Comte de la
Fere, to the right of Monsieur Groslow. You, Chevalier
d'Herblay, to his left. Du Vallon next me. You'll bet for me
and those gentlemen for Monsieur Groslow."

By this arrangement D'Artagnan could nudge Porthos with his
knee and make signs with his eyes to Athos and Aramis.

At the names Comte de la Fere and Chevalier d'Herblay,
Charles opened his eyes, and raising his noble head, in
spite of himself, threw a glance at all the actors in the
scene.

At that moment Parry turned over several leaves of his Bible
and read with a loud voice this verse in Jeremiah:

"God said, `Hear ye the words of the prophets my servants,
whom I have sent unto you."

The four friends exchanged glances. The words that Parry had
read assured them that their presence was understood by the
king and was assigned to its real motive. D'Artagnan's eyes
sparkled with joy.

"You asked me just now if I was in funds," said D'Artagnan,
placing some twenty pistoles upon the table. "Well, in my
turn I advise you to keep a sharp lookout on your treasure,
my dear Monsieur Groslow, for I can tell you we shall not
leave this without robbing you of it."

"Not without my defending it," said Groslow.

"So much the better," said D'Artagnan. "Fight, my dear
captain, fight. You know or you don't know, that that is
what we ask of you."

"Oh! yes," said Groslow, bursting with his usual coarse
laugh, "I know you Frenchmen want nothing but cuts and
bruises."

Charles had heard and understood it all. A slight color
mounted to his cheeks. The soldiers then saw him stretch his
limbs, little by little, and under the pretense of much heat
throw off the Scotch plaid which covered him.

Athos and Aramis started with delight to find that the king
was lying with his clothes on.

The game began. The luck had turned, and Groslow, having won
some hundred pistoles, was in the merriest possible humor.

Porthos, who had lost the fifty pistoles he had won the
night before and thirty more besides, was very cross and
questioned D'Artagnan with a nudge of the knee as to whether
it would not soon be time to change the game. Athos and
Aramis looked at him inquiringly. But D'Artagnan remained
impassible.

It struck ten. They heard the guard going its rounds.

"How many rounds do they make a night?" asked D'Artagnan,
drawing more pistoles from his pocket.

"Five," answered Groslow, "one every two hours."

D'Artagnan glanced at Athos and Aramis and for the first
time replied to Porthos's nudge of the knee by a nudge
responsive. Meanwhile, the soldiers whose duty it was to
remain in the king's room, attracted by that love of play so
powerful in all men, had stolen little by little toward the
table, and standing on tiptoe, lounged, watching the game,
over the shoulders of D'Artagnan and Porthos. Those on the
other side had followed their example, thus favoring the
views of the four friends, who preferred having them close
at hand to chasing them about the chamber. The two sentinels
at the door still had their swords unsheathed, but they were
leaning on them while they watched the game.

Athos seemed to grow calm as the critical moment approached.
With his white, aristocratic hands he played with the louis,
bending and straightening them again, as if they were made
of pewter. Aramis, less self-controlled, fumbled continually
with his hidden poniard. Porthos, impatient at his continued
losses, kept up a vigorous play with his knee.

D'Artagnan turned, mechanically looking behind him, and
between the figures of two soldiers he could see Parry
standing up and Charles leaning on his elbow with his hands
clasped and apparently offering a fervent prayer to God.

D'Artagnan saw that the moment was come. He darted a
preparatory glance at Athos and Aramis, who slyly pushed
their chairs a little back so as to leave themselves more
space for action. He gave Porthos a second nudge of the knee
and Porthos got up as if to stretch his legs and took care
at the same time to ascertain that his sword could be drawn
smoothly from the scabbard.

"Hang it!" cried D'Artagnan, "another twenty pistoles lost.
Really, Captain Groslow, you are too much in fortune's way.
This can't last," and he drew another twenty from his
pocket. "One more turn, captain; twenty pistoles on one
throw -- only one, the last."

"Done for twenty," replied Groslow.

And he turned up two cards as usual, a king for D'Artagnan
and an ace for himself.

"A king," said D'Artagnan; "it's a good omen, Master Groslow
-- look out for the king."

And in spite of his extraordinary self-control there was a
strange vibration in the Gascon's voice which made his
partner start.

Groslow began turning the cards one after another. If he
turned up an ace first he won; if a king he lost.

He turned up a king.

"At last!" cried D'Artagnan.

At this word Athos and Aramis jumped up. Porthos drew back a
step. Daggers and swords were just about to shine, when
suddenly the door was thrown open and Harrison appeared in
the doorway, accompanied by a man enveloped in a large
cloak. Behind this man could be seen the glistening muskets
of half a dozen soldiers.

Groslow jumped up, ashamed at being surprised in the midst
of wine, cards, and dice. But Harrison paid not the least
attention to him, and entering the king's room, followed by
his companion:

"Charles Stuart," said he, "an order has come to conduct you
to London without stopping day or night. Prepare yourself,
then, to start at once."

"And by whom is this order given?" asked the king.

"By General Oliver Cromwell. And here is Mr. Mordaunt, who
has brought it and is charged with its execution."

"Mordaunt!" muttered the four friends, exchanging glances.

D'Artagnan swept up the money that he and Porthos had lost
and buried it in his huge pocket. Athos and Aramis placed
themselves behind him. At this movement Mordaunt turned
around, recognized them, and uttered an exclamation of
savage delight.

"I'm afraid we are prisoners," whispered D'Artagnan to his
friend.

"Not yet," replied Porthos.

"Colonel, colonel," cried Mordaunt, "you are betrayed. These
four Frenchmen have escaped from Newcastle, and no doubt
want to carry off the king. Arrest them."

"Ah! my young man," said D'Artagnan, drawing his sword,
"that is an order sooner given than executed. Fly, friends,
fly!" he added, whirling his sword around him.

The next moment he darted to the door and knocked down two
of the soldiers who guarded it, before they had time to cock
their muskets. Athos and Aramis followed him. Porthos
brought up the rear, and before soldiers, officers, or
colonel had time to recover their surprise all four were in
the street.

"Fire!" cried Mordaunt; "fire upon them!"

Three or four shots were fired, but with no other result
than to show the four fugitives turning the corner of the
street safe and sound.

The horses were at the place fixed upon, and they leaped
lightly into their saddles.

"Forward!" cried D'Artagnan, "and spur for your dear lives!"

They galloped away and took the road they had come by in the
morning, namely, in the direction toward Scotland. A few
hundred yards beyond the town D'Artagnan drew rein.

"Halt!" he cried, "this time we shall be pursued. We must
let them leave the village and ride after us on the northern
road, and when they have passed we will take the opposite
direction."

There was a stream close by and a bridge across it.

D'Artagnan led his horse under the arch of the bridge. The
others followed. Ten minutes later they heard the rapid
gallop of a troop of horsemen. A few minutes more and the
troop passed over their heads.

London.

As soon as the noise of the hoofs was lost in the distance
D'Artagnan remounted the bank of the stream and scoured the
plain, followed by his three friends, directing their
course, as well as they could guess, toward London.

"This time," said D'Artagnan, when they were sufficiently
distant to proceed at a trot, "I think all is lost and we
have nothing better to do than to reach France. What do you
say, Athos, to that proposition? Isn't it reasonable?"

"Yes, dear friend," Athos replied, "but you said a word the
other day that was more than reasonable -- it was noble and
generous. You said, `Let us die here!' I recall to you that
word."

"Oh," said Porthos, "death is nothing: it isn't death that
can disquiet us, since we don't know what it is. What
troubles me is the idea of defeat. As things are turning
out, I foresee that we must give battle to London, to the
provinces, to all England, and certainly in the end we can't
fail to be beaten."

"We ought to witness this great tragedy even to its last
scene," said Athos. "Whatever happens, let us not leave
England before the crisis. Don't you agree with me, Aramis?"

"Entirely, my dear count. Then, too, I confess I should not
be sorry to come across Mordaunt again. It appears to me
that we have an account to settle with him, and that it is
not our custom to leave a place without paying our debts, of
this kind, at least."

"Ah! that's another thing," said D'Artagnan, "and I should
not mind waiting in London a whole year for a chance of
meeting this Mordaunt in question. Only let us lodge with
some one on whom we can count; for I imagine, just now, that
Noll Cromwell would not be inclined to trifle with us.
Athos, do you know any inn in the whole town where one can
find white sheets, roast beef reasonably cooked, and wine
which is not made of hops and gin?"

"I think I know what you want," replied Athos. "De Winter
took us to the house of a Spaniard, who, he said, had become
naturalized as an Englishman by the guineas of his new
compatriots. What do you say to it, Aramis?"

"Why, the idea of taking quarters with Senor Perez seems to
me very reasonable, and for my part I agree to it. We will
invoke the remembrance of that poor De Winter, for whom he
seemed to have a great regard; we will tell him that we have
come as amateurs to see what is going on; we will spend with
him a guinea each per day; and I think that by taking all
these precautions we can be quite undisturbed."

"You forget, Aramis, one precaution of considerable
importance."

"What is that?"

"The precaution of changing our clothes."

"Changing our clothes!" exclaimed Porthos. "I don't see why;
we are very comfortable in those we wear."

"To prevent recognition," said D'Artagnan. "Our clothes have
a cut which would proclaim the Frenchman at first sight.
Now, I don't set sufficient store on the cut of my jerkin to
risk being hung at Tyburn or sent for change of scene to the
Indies. I shall buy a chestnut-colored suit. I've remarked
that your Puritans revel in that color."

"But can you find your man?" said Aramis to Athos.

"Oh! to be sure, yes. He lives at the Bedford Tavern,
Greenhall Street. Besides, I can find my way about the city
with my eyes shut."

"I wish we were already there," said D'Artagnan; "and my
advice is that we reach London before daybreak, even if we
kill our horses."

"Come on, then," said Athos, "for unless I am mistaken in my
calculations we have only eight or ten leagues to go."

The friends urged on their horses and arrived, in fact, at
about five o'clock in the morning. They were stopped and
questioned at the gate by which they sought to enter the
city, but Athos replied, in excellent English, that they had
been sent forward by Colonel Harrison to announce to his
colleague, Monsieur Bridge, the approach of the king. That
reply led to several questions about the king's capture, and
Athos gave details so precise and positive that if the
gatekeepers had any suspicions they vanished completely. The
way was therefore opened to the four friends with all sorts
of Puritan congratulations.

Athos was right. He went direct to the Bedford Tavern, and
the host, who recognized him, was delighted to see him again
with such a numerous and promising company.

Though it was scarcely daylight our four travelers found the
town in a great bustle, owing to the reported approach of
Harrison and the king.

The plan of changing their clothes was unanimously adopted.
The landlord sent out for every description of garment, as
if he wanted to fit up his wardrobe. Athos chose a black
coat, which gave him the appearance of a respectable
citizen. Aramis, not wishing to part with his sword,
selected a dark-blue cloak of a military cut. Porthos was
seduced by a wine-colored doublet and sea-green breeches.
D'Artagnan, who had fixed on his color beforehand, had only
to select the shade, and looked in his chestnut suit exactly
like a retired sugar dealer.

"Now," said D'Artagnan, "for the actual man. We must cut off
our hair, that the populace may not insult us. As we no
longer wear the sword of the gentleman we may as well have
the head of the Puritan. This, as you know, is the important
point of distinction between the Covenanter and the
Cavalier."

After some discussion this was agreed to and Musqueton
played the role of barber.

"We look hideous," said Athos.

"And smack of the Puritan to a frightful extent," said
Aramis.

"My head feels actually cold," said Porthos.

"As for me, I feel anxious to preach a sermon," said
D'Artagnan.

"Now," said Athos, "that we cannot even recognize one
another and have therefore no fear of others recognizing us,
let us go and see the king's entrance."

They had not been long in the crowd before loud cries
announced the king's arrival. A carriage had been sent to
meet him, and the gigantic Porthos, who stood a head above
the entire rabble, soon announced that he saw the royal
equipage approaching. D'Artagnan raised himself on tiptoe,
and as the carriage passed, saw Harrison at one window and
Mordaunt at the other.

The next day, Athos, leaning out of his window, which looked
upon the most populous part of the city, heard the Act of
Parliament, which summoned the ex-king, Charles I., to the
bar, publicly cried.

"Parliament indeed!" cried Athos. "Parliament can never have
passed such an act as that."

At this moment the landlord came in.

"Did parliament pass this act?" Athos asked of him in
English.

"Yes, my lord, the pure parliament."

"What do you mean by `the pure parliament'? Are there, then,
two parliaments?"

"My friend," D'Artagnan interrupted, "as I don't understand
English and we all understand Spanish, have the kindness to
speak to us in that language, which, since it is your own,
you must find pleasure in using when you have the chance."

"Ah! excellent!" said Aramis.

As to Porthos, all his attention was concentrated on the
allurements of the breakfast table.

"You were asking, then?" said the host in Spanish.

"I asked," said Athos, in the same language, "if there are
two parliaments, a pure and an impure?"

"Why, how extraordinary!" said Porthos, slowly raising his
head and looking at his friends with an air of astonishment,
"I understand English, then! I understand what you say!"

"That is because we are talking Spanish, my dear friend,"
said Athos.

"Oh, the devil!" said Porthos, "I am sorry for that; it
would have been one language more."

"When I speak of the pure parliament," resumed the host, "I
mean the one which Colonel Bridge has weeded."

"Ah! really," said D'Artagnan, "these people are very
ingenious. When I go back to France I must suggest some such
convenient course to Cardinal Mazarin and the coadjutor. One
of them will weed the parliament in the name of the court,
and the other in the name of the people; and then there
won't be any parliament at all."

"And who is this Colonel Bridge?" asked Aramis, "and how
does he go to work to weed the parliament?"

"Colonel Bridge," replied the Spaniard, "is a retired
wagoner, a man of much sense, who made one valuable
observation whilst driving his team, namely, that where
there happened to be a stone on the road, it was much easier
to remove the stone than try and make the wheel pass over
it. Now, of two hundred and fifty-one members who composed
the parliament, there were one hundred and ninety-one who
were in the way and might have upset his political wagon. He
took them up, just as he formerly used to take up the stones
from the road, and threw them out of the house."

"Neat," remarked D'Artagnan. "Very!"

"And all these one hundred and ninety-one were Royalists?"
asked Athos.

"Without doubt, senor; and you understand that they would
have saved the king."

"To be sure," said Porthos, with majestic common sense;
"they were in the majority."

"And you think," said Aramis, "he will consent to appear
before such a tribunal?"

"He will be forced to do so," smiled the Spaniard.

"Now, Athos!" said D'Artagnan, "do you begin to believe that
it's a ruined cause, and that what with your Harrisons,
Joyces, Bridges and Cromwells, we shall never get the upper
hand?"

"The king will be delivered at the tribunal," said Athos;
"the very silence of his supporters indicates that they are
at work."

D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders.

"But," said Aramis, "if they dare to condemn their king, it
can only be to exile or imprisonment."

D'Artagnan whistled a little air of incredulity.

"We shall see," said Athos, "for we shall go to the
sittings, I presume."

"You will not have long to wait," said the landlord; "they
begin to-morrow."

"So, then, they drew up the indictments before the king was
taken?"

"Of course," said D'Artagnan; "they began the day he was
sold."

"And you know," said Aramis, "that it was our friend
Mordaunt who made, if not the bargain, at least the
overtures."

"And you know," added D'Artagnan, "that whenever I catch him
I will kill him, this Mordaunt."

"And I, too," exclaimed Porthos.

"And I, too," added Aramis.

"Touching unanimity!" cried D'Artagnan, "which well becomes
good citizens like us. Let us take a turn around the town
and imbibe a little fog."

"Yes," said Porthos, "'twill be at least a little change
from beer."

The Trial.

The next morning King Charles I. was haled by a strong guard
before the high court which was to judge him. All London was
crowding to the doors of the house. The throng was terrific,
and it was not till after much pushing and some fighting
that our friends reached their destination. When they did so
they found the three lower rows of benches already occupied;
but being anxious not to be too conspicuous, all, with the
exception of Porthos, who had a fancy to display his red
doublet, were quite satisfied with their places, the more so
as chance had brought them to the centre of their row, so
that they were exactly opposite the arm-chair prepared for
the royal prisoner.

Toward eleven o'clock the king entered the hall, surrounded
by guards, but wearing his head covered, and with a calm
expression turned to every side with a look of complete
assurance, as if he were there to preside at an assembly of
submissive subjects, rather than to meet the accusations of
a rebel court.

The judges, proud of having a monarch to humiliate,
evidently prepared to enjoy the right they had arrogated to
themselves, and sent an officer to inform the king that it
was customary for the accused to uncover his head.

Charles, without replying a single word, turned his head in
another direction and pulled his felt hat over it. Then when
the officer was gone he sat down in the arm-chair opposite
the president and struck his boots with a little cane which
he carried in his hand. Parry, who accompanied him, stood
behind him.

D'Artagnan was looking at Athos, whose face betrayed all
those emotions which the king, possessing more self-control,
had banished from his own. This agitation in one so cold and
calm as Athos, frightened him.

"I hope," he whispered to him, "that you will follow his
majesty's example and not get killed for your folly in this
den."

"Set your mind at rest," replied Athos.

"Aha!" continued D'Artagnan, "it is clear that they are
afraid of something or other; for look, the sentinels are
being reinforced. They had only halberds before, now they
have muskets. The halberds were for the audience in the
rear; the muskets are for us."

"Thirty, forty, fifty, sixty-five men," said Porthos,
counting the reinforcements.

"Ah!" said Aramis, "but you forget the officer."

D'Artagnan grew pale with rage. He recognized Mordaunt, who
with bare sword was marshalling the musketeers behind the
king and opposite the benches.

"Do you think they have recognized us?" said D'Artagnan. "In
that case I should beat a retreat. I don't care to be shot
in a box."

"No," said Aramis, "he has not seen us. He sees no one but
the king. Mon Dieu! how he stares at him, the insolent dog!
Does he hate his majesty as much as he does us?"

"Pardi," answered Athos "we only carried off his mother; the
king has spoiled him of his name and property."

"True," said Aramis; "but silence! the president is speaking
to the king."

"Stuart," Bradshaw was saying, "listen to the roll call of
your judges and address to the court any observations you
may have to make."

The king turned his head away, as if these words had not
been intended for him. Bradshaw waited, and as there was no
reply there was a moment of silence.

Out of the hundred and sixty-three members designated there
were only seventy-three present, for the rest, fearful of
taking part in such an act, had remained away.

When the name of Colonel Fairfax was called, one of those
brief but solemn silences ensued, which announced the
absence of the members who had no wish to take a personal
part in the trial.

"Colonel Fairfax," repeated Bradshaw.

"Fairfax," answered a laughing voice, the silvery tone of
which betrayed it as that of a woman, "is not such a fool as
to be here."

A loud laugh followed these words, pronounced with that
boldness which women draw from their own weakness -- a
weakness which removes them beyond the power of vengeance.

"It is a woman's voice," cried Aramis; "faith, I would give
a good deal if she is young and pretty." And he mounted on
the bench to try and get a sight of her.

"By my soul," said Aramis, "she is charming. Look
D'Artagnan; everybody is looking at her; and in spite of
Bradshaw's gaze she has not turned pale."

"It is Lady Fairfax herself," said D'Artagnan. "Don't you
remember, Porthos, we saw her at General Cromwell's?"

The roll call continued.

"These rascals will adjourn when they find that they are not
in sufficient force," said the Comte de la Fere.

"You don't know them. Athos, look at Mordaunt's smile. Is
that the look of a man whose victim is likely to escape him?
Ah, cursed basilisk, it will be a happy day for me when I
can cross something more than a look with you."

"The king is really very handsome," said Porthos; "and look,
too, though he is a prisoner, how carefully he is dressed.
The feather in his hat is worth at least five-and-twenty
pistoles. Look at it, Aramis."

The roll call finished, the president ordered them to read
the act of accusation. Athos turned pale. A second time he
was disappointed in his expectation. Notwithstanding the
judges were so few the trial was to continue; the king then,
was condemned in advance.

"I told you so, Athos," said D'Artagnan, shrugging his
shoulders. "Now take your courage in both hands and hear
what this gentleman in black is going to say about his
sovereign, with full license and privilege."

Never till then had a more brutal accusation or meaner
insults tarnished kingly majesty.

Charles listened with marked attention, passing over the
insults, noting the grievances, and, when hatred overflowed
all bounds and the accuser turned executioner beforehand,
replying with a smile of lofty scorn.

"The fact is," said D'Artagnan, "if men are punished for
imprudence and triviality, this poor king deserves
punishment. But it seems to me that that which he is just
now undergoing is hard enough."

"In any case," Aramis replied, "the punishment should fall
not on the king, but on his ministers; for the first article
of the constitution is, `The king can do no wrong.'"

"As for me," thought Porthos, giving Mordaunt his whole
attention, "were it not for breaking in on the majesty of
the situation I would leap down from the bench, reach
Mordaunt in three bounds and strangle him; I would then take
him by the feet and knock the life out of these wretched
musketeers who parody the musketeers of France. Meantime,
D'Artagnan, who is full of invention, would find some way to
save the king. I must speak to him about it."

As to Athos, his face aflame, his fists clinched, his lips
bitten till they bled, he sat there foaming with rage at
that endless parliamentary insult and that long enduring
royal patience; the inflexible arm and steadfast heart had
given place to a trembling hand and a body shaken by
excitement.

At this moment the accuser concluded with these words: "The
present accusation is preferred by us in the name of the
English people."

At these words there was a murmur along the benches, and a
second voice, not that of a woman, but a man's, stout and
furious, thundered behind D'Artagnan.

"You lie!" it cried. "Nine-tenths of the English people are
horrified at what you say."

This voice was that of Athos, who, standing up with
outstretched hand and quite out of his mind, thus assailed
the public accuser.

King, judges, spectators, all turned their eyes to the bench
where the four friends were seated. Mordaunt did the same
and recognized the gentleman, around whom the three other
Frenchmen were standing, pale and menacing. His eyes
glittered with delight. He had discovered those to whose
death he had devoted his life. A movement of fury called to
his side some twenty of his musketeers, and pointing to the
bench where his enemies were: "Fire on that bench!" he
cried.

But with the rapidity of thought D'Artagnan seized Athos by
the waist, and followed by Porthos with Aramis, leaped down
from the benches, rushed into the passages, and flying down
the staircase were lost in the crowd without, while the
muskets within were pointed on some three thousand
spectators, whose piteous cries and noisy alarm stopped the
impulse already given to bloodshed.

Charles also had recognized the four Frenchmen. He put one
hand on his heart to still its beating and the other over
his eyes, that he might not witness the slaying of his
faithful friends.

Mordaunt, pale and trembling with anger, rushed from the
hall sword in hand, followed by six pikemen, pushing,
inquiring and panting in the crowd; and then, having found
nothing, returned.

The tumult was indescribable. More than half an hour passed
before any one could make himself heard. The judges were
looking for a new outbreak from the benches. The spectators
saw the muskets leveled at them, and divided between fear
and curiosity, remained noisy and excited.

Quiet was at length restored.

"What have you to say in your defense?" asked Bradshaw of
the king.

Then rising, with his head still covered, in the tone of a
judge rather than a prisoner, Charles began.

"Before questioning me," he said, "reply to my question. I
was free at Newcastle and had there concluded a treaty with
both houses. Instead of performing your part of this
contract, as I performed mine, you bought me from the
Scotch, cheaply, I know, and that does honor to the economic
talent of your government. But because you have paid the
price of a slave, do you imagine that I have ceased to be
your king? No. To answer you would be to forget it. I shall
only reply to you when you have satisfied me of your right
to question me. To answer you would be to acknowledge you as
my judges, and I only acknowledge you as my executioners."
And in the middle of a deathlike silence, Charles, calm,
lofty, and with his head still covered, sat down again in
his arm-chair.

"Why are not my Frenchmen here?" he murmured proudly and
turning his eyes to the benches where they had appeared for
a moment; "they would have seen that their friend was worthy
of their defense while alive, and of their tears when dead."

"Well," said the president, seeing that Charles was
determined to remain silent, "so be it. We will judge you in
spite of your silence. You are accused of treason, of abuse
of power, and murder. The evidence will support it. Go, and
another sitting will accomplish what you have postponed in
this."

Charles rose and turned toward Parry, whom he saw pale and
with his temples dewed with moisture.

"Well, my dear Parry," said he, "what is the matter, and
what can affect you in this manner?"

"Oh, my king," said Parry, with tears in his eyes and in a
tone of supplication, "do not look to the left as we leave
the hall."

"And why, Parry?"

"Do not look, I implore you, my king."

"But what is the matter? Speak," said Charles, attempting to
look across the hedge of guards which surrounded him.

"It is -- but you will not look, will you? -- it is because
they have had the axe, with which criminals are executed,
brought and placed there on the table. The sight is
hideous."

"Fools," said Charles, "do they take me for a coward, like
themselves? You have done well to warn me. Thank you,
Parry."

When the moment arrived the king followed his guards out of
the hall. As he passed the table on which the axe was laid,
he stopped, and turning with a smile, said:

"Ah! the axe, an ingenious device, and well worthy of those
who know not what a gentleman is; you frighten me not,
executioner's axe," added he, touching it with the cane
which he held in his hand, "and I strike you now, waiting
patiently and Christianly for you to return the blow."

And shrugging his shoulders with unaffected contempt he
passed on. When he reached the door a stream of people, who
had been disappointed in not being able to get into the
house and to make amends had collected to see him come out,
stood on each side, as he passed, many among them glaring on
him with threatening looks.

"How many people," thought he, "and not one true friend."

And as he uttered these words of doubt and depression within
his mind, a voice beside him said:

"Respect to fallen majesty."

The king turned quickly around, with tears in his eyes and
heart. It was an old soldier of the guards who could not see
his king pass captive before him without rendering him this
final homage. But the next moment the unfortunate man was
nearly killed with heavy blows of sword-hilts, and among
those who set upon him the king recognized Captain Groslow.

"Alas!" said Charles, "that is a severe chastisement for a
very trifling fault."

He continued his walk, but he had scarcely gone a hundred
paces, when a furious fellow, leaning between two soldiers,
spat in the king's face, as once an infamous and accursed
Jew spit in the face of Jesus of Nazareth. Loud roars of
laughter and sullen murmurs arose together. The crowd opened
and closed again, undulating like a stormy sea, and the king
imagined that he saw shining in the midst of this living
wave the bright eyes of Athos.

Charles wiped his face and said with a sad smile: "Poor
wretch, for half a crown he would do as much to his own
father."

The king was not mistaken. Athos and his friends, again
mingling with the throng, were taking a last look at the
martyr king.

When the soldier saluted Charles, Athos's heart bounded for
joy; and that unfortunate, on coming to himself, found ten
guineas that the French gentleman had slipped into his
pocket. But when the cowardly insulter spat in the face of
the captive monarch Athos grasped his dagger. But D'Artagnan
stopped his hand and in a hoarse voice cried, "Wait!"

Athos stopped. D'Artagnan, leaning on Athos, made a sign to
Porthos and Aramis to keep near them and then placed himself
behind the man with the bare arms, who was still laughing at
his own vile pleasantry and receiving the congratulations of
several others.

The man took his way toward the city. The four friends
followed him. The man, who had the appearance of being a
butcher, descended a little steep and isolated street,
looking on to the river, with two of his friends. Arrived at
the bank of the river the three men perceived that they were
followed, turned around, and looking insolently at the
Frenchmen, passed some jests from one to another.

"I don't know English, Athos," said D'Artagnan; "but you
know it and will interpret for me."

Then quickening their steps they passed the three men, but
turned back immediately, and D'Artagnan walked straight up
to the butcher and touching him on the chest with the tip of
his finger, said to Athos:

"Say this to him in English: `You are a coward. You have
insulted a defenseless man. You have defouled the face of
your king. You must die.'"

Athos, pale as a ghost, repeated these words to the man,
who, seeing the bodeful preparations that were making, put
himself in an attitude of defense. Aramis, at this movement,
drew his sword.

"No," cried D'Artagnan, "no steel. Steel is for gentlemen."

And seizing the butcher by the throat:

"Porthos," said he, "kill this fellow for me with a single
blow."

Porthos raised his terrible fist, which whistled through the
air like a sling, and the portentous mass fell with a
smothered crash on the insulter's skull and crushed it. The
man fell like an ox beneath the poleaxe. His companions,
horror-struck, could neither move nor cry out.

"Tell them this, Athos," resumed D'Artagnan; "thus shall all
die who forget that a captive man is sacred and that a
captive king doubly represents the Lord."

Athos repeated D'Artagnan's words.

The fellows looked at the body of their companion, swimming
in blood, and then recovering voice and legs together, ran
screaming off.

"Justice is done," said Porthos, wiping his forehead.

"And now," said D'Artagnan to Athos, "entertain no further
doubts about me; I undertake all that concerns the king."

Whitehall.

The parliament condemned Charles to death, as might have
been foreseen. Political judgments are generally vain
formalities, for the same passions which give rise to the
accusation ordain to the condemnation. Such is the atrocious
logic of revolutions.

Although our friends were expecting that condemnation, it
filled them with grief. D'Artagnan, whose mind was never
more fertile in resources than in critical emergencies,
swore again that he would try all conceivable means to
prevent the denouement of the bloody tragedy. But by what
means? As yet he could form no definite plan; all must
depend on circumstances. Meanwhile, it was necessary at all
hazards, in order to gain time, to put some obstacle in the
way of the execution on the following day -- the day
appointed by the judges. The only way of doing that was to
cause the disappearance of the London executioner. The
headsman out of the way, the sentence could not be executed.
True, they could send for the headsman of the nearest town,
but at least a day would be gained, and a day might be
sufficient for the rescue. D'Artagnan took upon himself that
more than difficult task.

Another thing, not less essential, was to warn Charles
Stuart of the attempt to be made, so that he might assist
his rescuers as much as possible, or at least do nothing to
thwart their efforts. Aramis assumed that perilous charge.
Charles Stuart had asked that Bishop Juxon might be
permitted to visit him. Mordaunt had called on the bishop
that very evening to apprise him of the religious desire
expressed by the king and also of Cromwell's permission.
Aramis determined to obtain from the bishop, through fear or
by persuasion, consent that he should enter in the bishop's
place, and clad in his sacerdotal robes, the prison at
Whitehall.

Finally, Athos undertook to provide, in any event, the means
of leaving England -- in case either of failure or of
success.

The night having come they made an appointment to meet at
eleven o'clock at the hotel, and each started out to fulfill
his dangerous mission.

The palace of Whitehall was guarded by three regiments of
cavalry and by the fierce anxiety of Cromwell, who came and
went or sent his generals or his agents continually. Alone
in his usual room, lighted by two candles, the condemned
monarch gazed sadly on the luxury of his past greatness,
just as at the last hour one sees the images of life more
mildly brilliant than of yore.

Parry had not quitted his master, and since his condemnation
had not ceased to weep. Charles, leaning on a table, was
gazing at a medallion of his wife and daughter; he was
waiting first for Juxon, then for martyrdom.

At times he thought of those brave French gentlemen who had
appeared to him from a distance of a hundred leagues
fabulous and unreal, like the forms that appear in dreams.
In fact, he sometimes asked himself if all that was
happening to him was not a dream, or at least the delirium
of a fever. He rose and took a few steps as if to rouse
himself from his torpor and went as far as the window; he
saw glittering below him the muskets of the guards. He was
thereupon constrained to admit that he was indeed awake and
that his bloody dream was real.

Charles returned in silence to his chair, rested his elbow
on the table, bowed his head upon his hand and reflected.

"Alas!" he said to himself, "if I only had for a confessor
one of those lights of the church, whose soul has sounded
all the mysteries of life, all the littlenesses of
greatness, perhaps his utterance would overawe the voice
that wails within my soul. But I shall have a priest of
vulgar mind, whose career and fortune I have ruined by my
misfortune. He will speak to me of God and death, as he has
spoken to many another dying man, not understanding that
this one leaves his throne to an usurper, his children to
the cold contempt of public charity."

And he raised the medallion to his lips.

It was a dull, foggy night. A neighboring church clock
slowly struck the hour. The flickering light of the two
candles showed fitful phantom shadows in the lofty room.
These were the ancestors of Charles, standing back dimly in
their tarnished frames.

An awful sadness enveloped the heart of Charles. He buried
his brow in his hands and thought of the world, so beautiful
when one is about to leave it; of the caresses of children,
so pleasing and so sweet, especially when one is parting
from his children never to see them again; then of his wife,
the noble and courageous woman who had sustained him to the
last moment. He drew from his breast the diamond cross and
the star of the Garter which she had sent him by those
generous Frenchmen; he kissed it, and then, as he reflected,
that she would never again see those things till he lay cold
and mutilated in the tomb, there passed over him one of
those icy shivers which may be called forerunners of death.

Then, in that chamber which recalled to him so many royal
souvenirs, whither had come so many courtiers, the scene of
so much flattering homage, alone with a despairing servant,
whose feeble soul could afford no support to his own, the
king at last yielded to sorrow, and his courage sank to a
level with that feebleness, those shadows, and that wintry
cold. That king, who was so grand, so sublime in the hour of
death, meeting his fate with a smile of resignation on his
lips, now in that gloomy hour wiped away a tear which had
fallen on the table and quivered on the gold embroidered
cloth.

Suddenly the door opened, an ecclesiastic in episcopal robes
entered, followed by two guards, to whom the king waved an
imperious gesture. The guards retired; the room resumed its
obscurity.

"Juxon!" cried Charles, "Juxon, thank you, my last friend;
you come at a fitting moment."

The bishop looked anxiously at the man sobbing in the
ingle-nook.

"Come, Parry," said the king, "cease your tears."

"If it's Parry," said the bishop, "I have nothing to fear;
so allow me to salute your majesty and to tell you who I am
and for what I am come."

At this sight and this voice Charles was about to cry out,
when Aramis placed his finger on his lips and bowed low to
the king of England.

"The chevalier!" murmured Charles.

"Yes, sire," interrupted Aramis, raising his voice, "Bishop
Juxon, the faithful knight of Christ, obedient to your
majesty's wishes."

Charles clasped his hands, amazed and stupefied to find that
these foreigners, without other motive than that which their
conscience imposed on them, thus combated the will of a
people and the destiny of a king.

"You!" he said, "you! how did you penetrate hither? If they
recognize you, you are lost."

"Care not for me, sire; think only of yourself. You see,
your friends are wakeful. I know not what we shall do yet,
but four determined men can do much. Meanwhile, do not be
surprised at anything that happens; prepare yourself for
every emergency."

Charles shook his head.

"Do you know that I die to-morrow at ten o'clock?"

"Something, your majesty, will happen between now and then
to make the execution impossible."

The king looked at Aramis with astonishment.

At this moment a strange noise, like the unloading of a
cart, and followed by a cry of pain, was heard beneath the
window.

"Do you hear?" said the king.

"I hear," said Aramis, "but I understand neither the noise
nor the cry of pain."

"I know not who can have uttered the cry," said the king,
"but the noise is easily understood. Do you know that I am
to be beheaded outside this window? Well, these boards you
hear unloaded are the posts and planks to build my scaffold.
Some workmen must have fallen underneath them and been
hurt."

Aramis shuddered in spite of himself.

"You see," said the king, "that it is useless for you to
resist. I am condemned; leave me to my death."

"My king," said Aramis, "they well may raise a scaffold, but
they cannot make an executioner."

"What do you mean?" asked the king.

"I mean that at this hour the headsman has been got out of
the way by force or persuasion. The scaffold will be ready
by to-morrow, but the headsman will be wanting and they will
put it off till the day after to-morrow."

"What then?" said the king.

"To-morrow night we shall rescue you."

"How can that be?" cried the king, whose face was lighted
up, in spite of himself, by a flash of joy.

"Oh! sir," cried Parry, "may you and yours be blessed!"

"How can it be?" repeated the king. "I must know, so that I
may assist you if there is any chance."

"I know nothing about it," continued Aramis, "but the
cleverest, the bravest, the most devoted of us four said to
me when I left him, `Tell the king that to-morrow at ten
o'clock at night, we shall carry him off.' He has said it
and will do it."

"Tell me the name of that generous friend," said the king,
"that I may cherish for him an eternal gratitude, whether he
succeeds or not."

"D'Artagnan, sire, the same who had so nearly rescued you
when Colonel Harrison made his untimely entrance."

"You are, indeed, wonderful men," said the king; "if such
things had been related to me I should not have believed
them."

"Now, sire," resumed Aramis, "listen to me. Do not forget
for a single instant that we are watching over your safety;
observe the smallest gesture, the least bit of song, the
least sign from any one near you; watch everything, hear
everything, interpret everything."

"Oh, chevalier!" cried the king, "what can I say to you?
There is no word, though it should come from the profoundest
depth of my heart, that can express my gratitude. If you
succeed I do not say that you will save a king; no, in
presence of the scaffold as I am, royalty, I assure you, is
a very small affair; but you will save a husband to his
wife, a father to his children. Chevalier, take my hand; it
is that of a friend who will love you to his last sigh."

Aramis stooped to kiss the king's hand, but Charles clasped
his and pressed it to his heart.

At this moment a man entered, without even knocking at the
door. Aramis tried to withdraw his hand, but the king still
held it. The man was one of those Puritans, half preacher
and half soldier, who swarmed around Cromwell.

"What do you want, sir?" said the king.

"I desire to know if the confession of Charles Stuart is at
an end?" said the stranger.

"And what is it to you?" replied the king; "we are not of
the same religion."

"All men are brothers," said the Puritan. "One of my
brothers is about to die and I come to prepare him."

"Bear with him," whispered Aramis; "it is doubtless some
spy."

"After my reverend lord bishop," said the king to the man,
"I shall hear you with pleasure, sir."

The man retired, but not before examining the supposed Juxon
with an attention which did not escape the king.

"Chevalier," said the king, when the door was closed, "I
believe you are right and that this man only came here with
evil intentions. Take care that no misfortune befalls you
when you leave."

"I thank your majesty," said Aramis, "but under these robes
I have a coat of mail, a pistol and a dagger."

"Go, then, sir, and God keep you!"

The king accompanied him to the door, where Aramis
pronounced his benediction upon him, and passing through the
ante-rooms, filled with soldiers, jumped into his carriage
and drove to the bishop's palace. Juxon was waiting for him
impatiently.

"Well?" said he, on perceiving Aramis.

"Everything has succeeded as I expected; spies, guards,
satellites, all took me for you, and the king blesses you
while waiting for you to bless him."

"May God protect you, my son; for your example has given me
at the same time hope and courage."

Aramis resumed his own attire and left Juxon with the
assurance that he might again have recourse to him.

He had scarcely gone ten yards in the street when he
perceived that he was followed by a man, wrapped in a large
cloak. He placed his hand on his dagger and stopped. The man
came straight toward him. It was Porthos.

"My dear friend," cried Aramis.

"You see, we had each our mission," said Porthos; "mine was
to guard you and I am doing so. Have you seen the king?"

"Yes, and all goes well."

"We are to meet our friends at the hotel at eleven."

It was then striking half-past ten by St. Paul's.

Arrived at the hotel it was not long before Athos entered.

"All's well," he cried, as he entered; "I have hired a cedar
wherry, as light as a canoe, as easy on the wing as any
swallow. It is waiting for us at Greenwich, opposite the
Isle of Dogs, manned by a captain and four men, who for the
sum of fifty pounds sterling will keep themselves at our
disposition three successive nights. Once on board we drop
down the Thames and in two hours are on the open sea. In
case I am killed, the captain's name is Roger and the skiff
is called the Lightning. A handkerchief, tied at the four
corners, is to be the signal."

Next moment D'Artagnan entered.

"Empty your pockets," said he; "I want a hundred pounds, and
as for my own ---- " and he emptied them inside out.

The sum was collected in a minute. D'Artagnan ran out and
returned directly after.

"There," said he, "it's done. Ough! and not without a deal
of trouble, too."

"Has the executioner left London?" asked Athos.

"Ah, you see that plan was not sure enough; he might go out
by one gate and return by another."

"Where is he, then?"

"In the cellar."

"The cellar -- what cellar?"

"Our landlord's, to be sure. Musqueton is propped against
the door and here's the key."

"Bravo!" said Aramis, "how did you manage it?"

"Like everything else, with money; but it cost me dear."

"How much?" asked Athos.

"Five hundred pounds."

"And where did you get so much money?" said Athos. "Had you,
then, that sum?"

"The queen's famous diamond," answered D'Artagnan, with a
sigh.

"Ah, true," said Aramis. "I recognized it on your finger."

"You bought it back, then, from Monsieur des Essarts?" asked
Porthos.

"Yes, but it was fated that I should not keep it."

"So, then, we are all right as regards the executioner,"
said Athos; "but unfortunately every executioner has his
assistant, his man, or whatever you call him."

"And this one had his," said D'Artagnan; "but, as good luck
would have it, just as I thought I should have two affairs
to manage, our friend was brought home with a broken leg. In
the excess of his zeal he had accompanied the cart
containing the scaffolding as far as the king's window, and
one of the crossbeams fell on his leg and broke it."

"Ah!" cried Aramis, "that accounts for the cry I heard."

"Probably," said D'Artagnan, "but as he is a thoughtful
young man he promised to send four expert workmen in his
place to help those already at the scaffold, and wrote the
moment he was brought home to Master Tom Lowe, an assistant
carpenter and friend of his, to go down to Whitehall, with
three of his friends. Here's the letter he sent by a
messenger, for sixpence, who sold it to me for a guinea."

"And what on earth are you going to do with it?" asked
Athos.

"Can't you guess, my dear Athos? You, who speak English like
John Bull himself, are Master Tom Lowe, we, your three
companions. Do you understand it now?"

Athos uttered a cry of joy and admiration, ran to a closet
and drew forth workmen's clothes, which the four friends
immediately put on; they then left the hotel, Athos carrying
a saw, Porthos a vise, Aramis an axe and D'Artagnan a hammer
and some nails.

The letter from the executioner's assistant satisfied the
master carpenter that those were the men he expected.

The Workmen.

Toward midnight Charles heard a great noise beneath his
window. It arose from blows of hammer and hatchet, clinking
of pincers and cranching of saws.

Lying dressed upon his bed, the noise awoke him with a start
and found a gloomy echo in his heart. He could not endure
it, and sent Parry to ask the sentinel to beg the workmen to
strike more gently and not disturb the last slumber of one
who had been their king. The sentinel was unwilling to leave
his post, but allowed Parry to pass.

Arriving at the window Parry found an unfinished scaffold,
over which they were nailing a covering of black serge.
Raised to the height of twenty feet, so as to be on a level
with the window, it had two lower stories. Parry, odious as
was this sight to him, sought for those among some eight or
ten workmen who were making the most noise; and fixed on two
men, who were loosening the last hooks of the iron balcony.

"My friends," said Parry, mounting the scaffold and standing
beside them, "would you work a little more quietly? The king
wishes to get a sleep."

One of the two, who was standing up, was of gigantic size
and was driving a pick with all his might into the wall,
whilst the other, kneeling beside him, was collecting the
pieces of stone. The face of the first was lost to Parry in
the darkness; but as the second turned around and placed his
finger on his lips Parry started back in amazement.

"Very well, very well," said the workman aloud, in excellent
English. "Tell the king that if he sleeps badly to-night he
will sleep better to-morrow night."

These blunt words, so terrible if taken literally, were
received by the other workmen with a roar of laughter. But
Parry withdrew, thinking he was dreaming.

Charles was impatiently awaiting his return. At the moment
he re-entered, the sentinel who guarded the door put his
head through the opening, curious as to what the king was
doing. The king was lying on his bed, resting on his elbow.
Parry closed the door and approaching the king, his face
radiant with joy:

"Sire," he said, in a low voice, "do you know who these
workmen are who are making so much noise?"

"I? No; how would you have me know?"

Parry bent his head and whispered to the king: "It is the
Comte de la Fere and his friends."

"Raising my scaffold!" cried the king, astounded.

"Yes, and at the same time making a hole in the wall."

The king clasped his hands and raised his eyes to Heaven;
then leaping down from his bed he went to the window, and
pulling aside the curtain tried to distinguish the figures
outside, but in vain.

Parry was not wrong. It was Athos he had recognized, and
Porthos who was boring a hole through the wall.

This hole communicated with a kind of loft -- the space
between the floor of the king's room and the ceiling of the
one below it. Their plan was to pass through the hole they
were making into this loft and cut out from below a piece of
the flooring of the king's room, so as to form a kind of
trap-door.

Through this the king was to escape the next night, and,
hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was to change
his dress for that of a workman, slip out with his
deliverers, pass the sentinels, who would suspect nothing,
and so reach the skiff that was waiting for him at
Greenwich.

Day gilded the tops of the houses. The aperture was finished
and Athos passed through it, carrying the clothes destined
for the king wrapped in black cloth, and the tools with
which he was to open a communication with the king's room.
He had only two hours' work to do to open communication with
the king and, according to the calculations of the four
friends, they had the entire day before them, since, the
executioner being absent, another must be sent for to
Bristol.

D'Artagnan returned to change his workman's clothes for his
chestnut-colored suit, and Porthos to put on his red
doublet. As for Aramis, he went off to the bishop's palace
to see if he could possibly pass in with Juxon to the king's
presence. All three agreed to meet at noon in Whitehall
Place to see how things went on.

Before leaving the scaffold Aramis had approached the
opening where Athos was concealed to tell him that he was
about to make an attempt to gain another interview with the
king.

"Adieu, then, and be of good courage," said Athos. "Report
to the king the condition of affairs. Say to him that when
he is alone it will help us if he will knock on the floor,
for then I can continue my work in safety. Try, Aramis, to
keep near the king. Speak loud, very loud, for they will be
listening at the door. If there is a sentinel within the
apartment, kill him without hesitation. If there are two,
let Parry kill one and you the other. If there are three,
let yourself be slain, but save the king."

"Be easy," said Aramis; "I will take two poniards and give
one to Parry. Is that all?"

"Yes, go; but urge the king strongly not to stand on false
generosity. While you are fighting if there is a fight, he
must flee. The trap once replaced over his head, you being
on the trap, dead or alive, they will need at least ten
minutes to find the hole by which he has escaped. In those
ten minutes we shall have gained the road and the king will
be saved."

"Everything shall be done as you say, Athos. Your hand, for
perhaps we shall not see each other again."

Athos put his arm around Aramis's neck and embraced him.

"For you," he said. "Now if I die, say to D'Artagnan that I
love him as a son, and embrace him for me. Embrace also our
good and brave Porthos. Adieu."

"Adieu," said Aramis. "I am as sure now that the king will
be saved as I am sure that I clasp the most loyal hand in
the world."

Aramis parted from Athos, went down from the scaffold in his
turn and took his way to the hotel, whistling the air of a
song in praise of Cromwell. He found the other two friends
sitting at table before a good fire, drinking a bottle of
port and devouring a cold chicken. Porthos was cursing the
infamous parliamentarians; D'Artagnan ate in silence,
revolving in his mind the most audacious plans.

Aramis related what had been agreed upon. D'Artagnan
approved with a movement of the head and Porthos with his
voice.

"Bravo!" he said; "besides, we shall be there at the time of
the flight. What with D'Artagnan, Grimaud and Musqueton, we
can manage to dispatch eight of them. I say nothing about
Blaisois, for he is only fit to hold the horses. Two minutes
a man makes four minutes. Musqueton will lose another,
that's five; and in five minutes we shall have galloped a
quarter of a league."

Aramis swallowed a hasty mouthful, gulped a glass of wine
and changed his clothes.

"Now," said he, "I'm off to the bishop's. Take care of the
executioner, D'Artagnan."

"All right. Grimaud has relieved Musqueton and has his foot
on the cellar door."

"Well, don't be inactive."

"Inactive, my dear fellow! Ask Porthos. I pass my life upon
my legs."

Aramis again presented himself at the bishop's. Juxon
consented the more readily to take him with him, as he would
require an assistant priest in case the king should wish to
communicate. Dressed as Aramis had been the night before,
the bishop got into his carriage, and the former, more
disguised by his pallor and sad countenance than his
deacon's dress, got in by his side. The carriage stopped at
the door of the palace.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning.

Nothing was changed. The ante-rooms were still full of
soldiers, the passages still lined by guards. The king was
already sanguine, but when he perceived Aramis his hope
turned to joy. He embraced Juxon and pressed the hand of
Aramis. The bishop affected to speak in a loud voice, before
every one, of their previous interview. The king replied
that the words spoken in that interview had borne their
fruit, and that he desired another under the same
conditions. Juxon turned to those present and begged them to
leave him and his assistant alone with the king. Every one
withdrew. As soon as the door was closed:

"Sire," said Aramis, speaking rapidly, "you are saved; the
London executioner has vanished. His assistant broke his leg
last night beneath your majesty's window -- the cry we heard
was his -- and there is no executioner nearer at hand than
Bristol."

"But the Comte de la Fere?" asked the king.

"Two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace and
strike three times on the floor. He will answer you."

The king did so, and the moment after, three muffled knocks,
answering the given signal, sounded beneath the floor.

"So," said Charles, "he who knocks down there ---- "

"Is the Comte de la Fere, sire," said Aramis. "He is
preparing a way for your majesty to escape. Parry, for his
part, will raise this slab of marble and a passage will be
opened."

"Oh, Juxon," said the king, seizing the bishop's two hands
in his own, "promise that you will pray all your life for
this gentleman and for the other that you hear beneath your
feet, and for two others also, who, wherever they may be,
are on the watch for my safety."

"Sire," replied Juxon, "you shall be obeyed."

Meanwhile, the miner underneath was heard working away
incessantly, when suddenly an unexpected noise resounded in
the passage. Aramis seized the poker and gave the signal to
stop; the noise came nearer and nearer. It was that of a
number of men steadily approaching. The four men stood
motionless. All eyes were fixed on the door, which opened
slowly and with a kind of solemnity.

A parliamentary officer, clothed in black and with a gravity
that augured ill, entered, bowed to the king, and unfolding
a parchment, read the sentence, as is usually done to
criminals before their execution.

"What is this?" said Aramis to Juxon.

Juxon replied with a sign which meant that he knew no more
than Aramis about it.

"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.

"Was not your majesty warned that it was to take place this
morning?"

"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the
London executioner?"

"The London executioner has disappeared, your majesty, but a
man has offered his services instead. The execution will
therefore only be delayed long enough for you to arrange
your spiritual and temporal affairs."

A slight moisture on his brow was the only trace of emotion
that Charles evinced, as he learned these tidings. But
Aramis was livid. His heart ceased beating, he closed his
eyes and leaned upon the table. Charles perceived it and
took his hand.

"Come, my friend," said he, "courage." Then he turned to the
officer. "Sir, I am ready. There is but little reason why I
should delay you. Firstly, I wish to communicate; secondly,
to embrace my children and bid them farewell for the last
time. Will this be permitted me?"

"Certainly," replied the officer, and left the room.

Aramis dug his nails into his flesh and groaned aloud.

"Oh! my lord bishop," he cried, seizing Juxon's hands,
"where is Providence? where is Providence?"

"My son," replied the bishop, with firmness, "you see Him
not, because the passions of the world conceal Him."

"My son," said the king to Aramis, "do not take it so to
heart. You ask what God is doing. God beholds your devotion
and my martyrdom, and believe me, both will have their
reward. Ascribe to men, then, what is happening, and not to
God. It is men who drive me to death; it is men who make you
weep."

"Yes, sire," said Aramis, "yes, you are right. It is men
whom I should hold responsible, and I will hold them
responsible."

"Be seated, Juxon," said the king, falling upon his knees.
"I have now to confess to you. Remain, sir," he added to
Aramis, who had moved to leave the room. "Remain, Parry. I
have nothing to say that cannot be said before all."

Juxon sat down, and the king, kneeling humbly before him,
began his confession.

Remember!

The mob had already assembled when the confession
terminated. The king's children next arrived -- the Princess
Charlotte, a beautiful, fair-haired child, with tears in her
eyes, and the Duke of Gloucester, a boy eight or nine years
old, whose tearless eyes and curling lip revealed a growing
pride. He had wept all night long, but would not show his
grief before the people.

Charles's heart melted within him at the sight of those two
children, whom he had not seen for two years and whom he now
met at the moment of death. He turned to brush away a tear,
and then, summoning up all his firmness, drew his daughter
toward him, recommending her to be pious and resigned. Then
he took the boy upon his knee.

"My son," he said to him, "you saw a great number of people
in the streets as you came here. These men are going to
behead your father. Do not forget that. Perhaps some day
they will want to make you king, instead of the Prince of
Wales, or the Duke of York, your elder brothers. But you are
not the king, my son, and can never be so while they are
alive. Swear to me, then, never to let them put a crown upon
your head unless you have a legal right to the crown. For
one day -- listen, my son -- one day, if you do so, they
will doom you to destruction, head and crown, too, and then
you will not be able to die with a calm conscience, as I
die. Swear, my son."

The child stretched out his little hand toward that of his
father and said, "I swear to your majesty."

"Henry," said Charles, "call me your father."

"Father," replied the child, "I swear to you that they shall
kill me sooner than make me king."

"Good, my child. Now kiss me; and you, too, Charlotte. Never
forget me."

"Oh! never, never!" cried both the children, throwing their
arms around their father's neck.

"Farewell," said Charles, "farewell, my children. Take them
away, Juxon; their tears will deprive me of the courage to
die."

Juxon led them away, and this time the doors were left open.

Meanwhile, Athos, in his concealment, waited in vain the
signal to recommence his work. Two long hours he waited in
terrible inaction. A deathlike silence reigned in the room
above. At last he determined to discover the cause of this
stillness. He crept from his hole and stood, hidden by the
black drapery, beneath the scaffold. Peeping out from the
drapery, he could see the rows of halberdiers and musketeers
around the scaffold and the first ranks of the populace
swaying and groaning like the sea.

"What is the matter, then?" he asked himself, trembling more
than the wind-swayed cloth he was holding back. "The people
are hurrying on, the soldiers under arms, and among the
spectators I see D'Artagnan. What is he waiting for? What is
he looking at? Good God! have they allowed the headsman to
escape?"

Suddenly the dull beating of muffled drums filled the
square. The sound of heavy steps was heard above his head.
The next moment the very planks of the scaffold creaked with
the weight of an advancing procession, and the eager faces
of the spectators confirmed what a last hope at the bottom
of his heart had prevented him till then believing. At the
same moment a well-known voice above him pronounced these
words:

"Colonel, I want to speak to the people."

Athos shuddered from head to foot. It was the king speaking
on the scaffold.

In fact, after taking a few drops of wine and a piece of
bread, Charles, weary of waiting for death, had suddenly
decided to go to meet it and had given the signal for
movement. Then the two wings of the window facing the square
had been thrown open, and the people had seen silently
advancing from the interior of the vast chamber, first, a
masked man, who, carrying an axe in his hand, was recognized
as the executioner. He approached the block and laid his axe
upon it. Behind him, pale indeed, but marching with a firm
step, was Charles Stuart, who advanced between two priests,
followed by a few superior officers appointed to preside at
the execution and attended by two files of partisans who
took their places on opposite sides of the scaffold.

The sight of the masked man gave rise to a prolonged
sensation. Every one was full of curiosity as to who that
unknown executioner could be who presented himself so
opportunely to assure to the people the promised spectacle,
when the people believed it had been postponed until the
following day. All gazed at him searchingly.

But they could discern nothing but a man of middle height,
dressed in black, apparently of a certain age, for the end
of a gray beard peeped out from the bottom of the mask that
hid his features.

The king's request had undoubtedly been acceded to by an
affirmative sign, for in firm, sonorous accents, which
vibrated in the depths of Athos's heart, the king began his
speech, explaining his conduct and counseling the welfare of
the kingdom.

"Oh!" said Athos to himself, "is it indeed possible that I
hear what I hear and that I see what I see? Is it possible
that God has abandoned His representative on earth and left
him to die thus miserably? And I have not seen him! I have
not said adieu to him!"

A noise was heard like that the instrument of death would
make if moved upon the block.

"Do not touch the axe," said the king, and resumed his
speech.

At the end of his speech the king looked tenderly around
upon the people. Then unfastening the diamond ornament which
the queen had sent him, he placed it in the hands of the
priest who accompanied Juxon. Then he drew from his breast a
little cross set in diamonds, which, like the order, had
been the gift of Henrietta Maria.

"Sir," said he to the priest, "I shall keep this cross in my
hand till the last moment. Take it from me when I am --
dead."

"Yes, sire," said a voice, which Athos recognized as that of
Aramis.

He then took his hat from his head and threw it on the
ground. One by one he undid the buttons of his doublet, took
it off and deposited it by the side of his hat. Then, as it
was cold, he asked for his gown, which was brought to him.

All the preparations were made with a frightful calmness.
One would have thought the king was going to bed and not to
his coffin.

"Will these be in your wa

Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (Pere) Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries from the Encyclopedia of the Self by Mark ZimmermanReturn to Part 1 of 2

Twenty Years After
by Alexandre Dumas (Pere)
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
Return to Part 1 of 2