I do not understand,


You will understand. To what does your ambition aspire?


I have none.


It was useless, then, to overthrow the superintendent, Monsieur Colbert. It was idle.


I had the honor to tell you, madame--


Oh! yes, I know, all about the interest of the king--but, if you please, we will speak of your own.


Mine! that is to say, the affairs of his majesty.


In short, are you, or are you not endeavoring to ruin M. Fouquet? Answer without evasion.


Madame, I ruin nobody.


I am endeavoring to comprehend, then, why you purchased from me the letters of M. Mazarin concerning M. Fouquet. Neither can I conceive why you have laid those letters before the king.


Madame. I can less easily conceive how you, who received the money, can reproach me on that head--


because we must will that which we wish for, unless we are not able to obtain what we wish.


Will!


You are not able, hein! Speak.


I am not able, I allow, to destroy certain influences near the king.


That fight in favor of M. Fouquet? What are they? Stop, let me help you.


Do, madame.


La Vallière?


Oh! very little influence; no knowledge of business, and small means. M. Fouquet has paid his court to her.


To defend him would be to accuse herself, would it not?


I think it would.


There is still another influence, what do you say to that?


Is it considerable?


The queen-mother, perhaps?


Her majesty, the queen-mother, has a weakness for M. Fouquet very prejudicial to her son.


Never believe that,


Oh! I have often experienced it. Formerly? Very recently, madame, at Vaux. It was she who prevented the king from having M. Fouquet arrested.


People do not forever entertain the same opinions, my dear monsieur. That which the queen may have wished recently, she would not wish, perhaps, to-day.


And why not?


Oh! the reason is of very little consequence.


On the contrary, I think it is of great consequence; for, if I were certain of not displeasing her majesty, the queen-mother, my scruples would be all removed.


Well! have you never heard talk of a certain secret?


A secret?


Call it what you like. In short, the queen-mother has conceived a bitter hatred for all those who have participated, in one fashion or another, in the discovery of this secret, and M. Fouquet I believe is one of these.


Then, we may be sure of the assent of the queen-mother?


I have just left her majesty, and she assures me so.


So be it, then, madame.


But there is something further; do you happen to know a man who was the intimate friend of M. Fouquet, M. d’Herblay, a bishop, I believe?


Bishop of Vannes.


Well! this M. d’Herblay, who also knew the secret, the queen-mother is pursuing with the utmost rancor.


Indeed!


So hotly pursued, that if he were dead, she would not be satisfied with anything less than his head, to satisfy her he would never speak again.


And is that the desire of the queen-mother?


An order is given for it.


This Monsieur d’Herblay shall be sought for, madame.


Oh! it is well known where he is.


Say where, madame.


He is at Belle-Ile-en-Mer.


At the residence of M. Fouquet?


At the residence of M. Fouquet.


He shall be taken.


Do not fancy the capture so easy,


do not promise it so lightly.


Why not, madame?


Because M. d’Herblay is not one of those people who can be taken when and where you please.


He is a rebel, then?


Oh! Monsieur Colbert, we have passed all our lives in making rebels, and yet you see plainly, that so far from being taken, we take others.


The times are gone, in which subjects gained duchies by making war against the king of France. If M. d’Herblay conspires, he will perish on the scaffold. That will give, or will not give, pleasure to his enemies,--a matter, by the way, of little importance to us. You ask me, madame, to have this M. d’Herblay arrested?


I?--I ask you nothing of the kind!


I thought you did, madame. But as I have been mistaken, we will leave him alone; the king has said nothing about him.


Besides, what a poor capture would this bishop be! A bishop game for a king! Oh! no, no; I will not even take the slightest notice of him.


Game for a woman!


Is not the queen a woman? If she wishes M. d’Herblay arrested, she has her reasons. Besides, is not M. d’Herblay the friend of him who is doomed to fall?


Oh! never mind that. This man shall be spared, if he is not the enemy of the king. Is that displeasing to you?


I say nothing.


Yes--you wish to see him in prison, in the Bastile, for instance.


I believe a secret better concealed behind the walls of the Bastile than behind those of Belle-Isle.


I will speak to the king about it; he will clear up the point.


And whilst waiting for that enlightenment, Monsieur l’Eveque de Vannes will have escaped. I would do so.


Escaped! he! and whither should he escape? Europe is ours, in will, if not in fact.


He will always find an asylum, monsieur. It is evident you know nothing of the man you have to do with. You do not know D’Herblay; you do not know Aramis. He was one of those four musketeers who, under the late king, made Cardinal de Richelieu tremble, and who, during the regency, gave so much trouble to Monseigneur Mazarin.


But, madame, what can he do, unless he has a kingdom to back him?


He has one, monsieur.


A kingdom, he! what, Monsieur d’Herblay?


I repeat to you, monsieur, that if he wants a kingdom, he either has it or will have it.


Well, as you are so earnest that this rebel should not escape, madame, I promise you he shall not escape.


Belle-Isle is fortified, M. Colbert, and fortified by him.


If Belle-Isle were also defended by him, Belle-Isle is not impregnable; and if Monsieur l’Eveque de Vannes is shut up in Belle-Isle, well, madame, the place shall be besieged, and he will be taken.


You may be very certain, monsieur, that the zeal you display in the interest of the queen-mother will please her majesty mightily, and you will be magnificently rewarded; but what shall I tell her of your projects respecting this man?


That when once taken, he shall be shut up in a fortress from which her secret shall never escape.


Very well, Monsieur Colbert, and we may say, that, dating from this instant, we have formed a solid alliance, that is, you and I, and that I am absolutely at your service.


It is I, madame, who place myself at yours. This Chevalier d’Herblay is a kind of Spanish spy, is he not?


Much more.


A secret ambassador?


Higher still.


Stop--King Phillip III. of Spain is a bigot. He is, perhaps, the confessor of Phillip III.


You must go higher even than that.


Mordieu!


I believe you have guessed it at last,


Ah! then, madame, this man will ruin us all if we do not ruin him; and we must make haste, too.


Such was my opinion, monsieur, but I did not dare to give it you.


And it was lucky for us he has attacked the throne, and not us.


But, mark this well, M. Colbert. M. d’Herblay is never discouraged; if he has missed one blow, he will be sure to make another; he will begin again. If he has allowed an opportunity to escape of making a king for himself, sooner or later, he will make another, of whom, to a certainty, you will not be prime minister.


I feel assured that a prison will settle this affair for us, madame, in a manner satisfactory for both.


Oh! if you knew,


how many times Aramis has got out of prison!


Oh!


we will take care that he shall not get out this time.


But you were not attending to what I said to you just now. Do you remember that Aramis was one of the four invincibles whom Richelieu so dreaded? And at that period the four musketeers were not in possession of that which they have now--money and experience.


We will renounce the idea of the prison, we will find a little retreat from which the invincible cannot possibly escape.


That was well spoken, our ally!


But it is getting late; had we not better return?


To Paris!


Besides,


at Nantes, you will make out, or we will make out, the intentions of your enemies; we will have horses always ready to convey you to Poitou, a bark in which to gain the sea, and when once upon the open sea, Belle-Isle is your inviolable port. You see, besides, that no one is watching you, no one is following.


See what it is, dear friend.


By what sign do you know that it is not the king? because it is impossible it should be the king, Gourville, as the king was still in Paris yesterday.


If it is any one who wishes to overtake us, let him come. on the contrary; stop short. Pull up!


Colbert!


Colbert! Too strange! but no, it is impossible!


I tell you I recognized him, and he, at the same time, so plainly recognized me, that he is just gone into the chamber on the poop. Perhaps the king has sent him on our track.


In that case he would join us, instead of lying by. What is he doing there?


He is watching us, without a doubt.


I do not like uncertainty; let us go straight up to him. Monseigneur, it is not consistent with your dignity to go to meet even your ruin. But to allow them to watch me like a malefactor!


Nothing yet proves that they are watching you, monseigneur; be patient!


What is to be done, then?


Do not stop; you were only going so fast to appear to obey the king’s order with zeal. Redouble the speed. He who lives will see!


That is better. Come!


Well, Gourville,


My friend, everything considered, remember the proverb, ‘First come, first served!’ Well! M. Colbert takes care not to pass me. He is a prudent man is M. Colbert.


What! is that you, M. Colbert?


To offer you my respects, monseigneur,


Were you in that lighter?


Yes, monseigneur.


Of twelve rowers? what luxury, M. Colbert. For a moment I thought it was the queen-mother.


Monseigneur!


This is a voyage that will cost those who have to pay for it dear, Monsieur l’Intendant! But you have, happily, arrived!--You see, however, that I, who had but eight rowers, arrived before you.


I have not been quick, monseigneur, because I followed your example whenever you stopped.


And why did you do that, Monsieur Colbert? as you had a superior crew to mine, why did you not either join me or pass me?


Out of respect,


Good day.


Bon jour! monseigneur, how did you get through the journey?


Tolerably well, thank you.


And the fever?


But poorly. I drink, as you perceive. I am scarcely arrived, and I have already levied a contribution of tisane upon Nantes.


You should sleep first, monseigneur.


Eh! corbleu! my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, I should be very glad to sleep.


Who hinders you?


Why, you in the first place.


I? Oh, monseigneur!


No doubt you do. Is it at Nantes as at Paris? Do you not come in the king’s name?


For Heaven’s sake, monseigneur, leave the king alone! The day on which I shall come on the part of the king, for the purpose you mean, take my word for it, I will not leave you long in doubt. You will see me place my hand on my sword, according to the ordonnance, and you will hear my say at once, in ceremonial voice, ‘Monseigneur, in the name of the king, I arrest you!’


You promise me that frankness?


Upon my honor! But we have not come to that, believe me.


What makes you think that, M. d’Artagnan? For my part, I think quite the contrary.


I have heard speak of nothing of the kind,


Eh! eh!


Indeed, no. You are an agreeable man, in spite of your fever. The king should not, cannot help loving you, at the bottom of his heart.


But M. Colbert? does M. Colbert love me as much as you say?


I am not speaking of M. Colbert. He is an exceptional man. He does not love you; so much is very possible; but, mordioux! the squirrel can guard himself against the adder with very little trouble.


Do you know that you are speaking to me quite as a friend? and that, upon my life! I have never met with a man of your intelligence, and heart?


You are pleased to say so. Why did you wait till to-day to pay me such a compliment?


Blind that we are!


Your voice is getting hoarse, drink, monseigneur, drink! Such things only happen to me. I have passed ten years under your very beard, while you were rolling about tons of gold. You were clearing an annual pension of four millions; you never observed me; and you find out there is such a person in the world, just at the moment you--


Just at the moment I am about to fall. That is true, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan.


I did not say so.


But you thought so; and that is the same thing. Well! if I fall, take my word as truth, I shall not pass a single day without saying to myself, as I strike my brow, ‘Fool! fool!--stupid mortal! You had a Monsieur d’Artagnan under your eye and hand, and you did not employ him, you did not enrich him!’


You overwhelm me. I esteem you greatly.


There exists another man, then, who does not think as M. Colbert thinks,


How this M. Colbert looms up in your imagination! He is worse than fever!


Oh! I have good cause. Judge for yourself. Is not this a clear sign of my ruin?


That is true. Yes; it has an unsavory odor, as M. de Treville used to say.


Am I not clearly designated in that, captain? Is not the king bringing me to Nantes to get me away from Paris, where I have so many creatures, and to possess himself of Belle-Isle?


Where M. d’Herblay is. As for me, monseigneur. I can assure you the king has said nothing to me against you.


Indeed!


The king commanded me to set out for Nantes, it is true; and to say nothing about it to M. de Gesvres.


My friend.


To M. de Gesvres, yes, monseigneur. The king, moreover, commanded me to take a brigade of musketeers, which is apparently superfluous, as the country is quite quiet.


A brigade!


Ninety-six horsemen, yes, monseigneur. The same number as were employed in arresting MM. de Chalais, de Cinq-Mars, and Montmorency.


And what else?


Oh! nothing but insignificant orders; such as guarding the castle, guarding every lodging, allowing none of M. de Gesvres’s guards to occupy a single post.


And as to myself, what orders had you?


As to you, monseigneur?--not the smallest word.


Monsieur d’Artagnan, my safety, my honor, perhaps my life are at stake. You would not deceive me?


I?--to what end? Are you threatened? Only there really is an order with respect to carriages and boats--


An order?


Yes; but it cannot concern you--a simple measure of police.


What is it, captain?--what is it?


To forbid all horses or boats to leave Nantes, without a pass, signed by the king.


Great God! but--


All that is not to be put into execution before the arrival of the king at Nantes. So that you see plainly, monseigneur, the order in nowise concerns you. It is evident, by my thus confiding to you the orders which have been given to me, that I am friendly towards you, and that I am trying to prove to you that none of them are directed against you.


Without doubt!--without doubt!


Let us recapitulate. A special guard about the castle, in which your lodging is to be, is it not?


Do you know the castle?


Ah! monseigneur, a regular prison! The absence of M. de Gesvres, who has the honor of being one of your friends. The closing of the gates of the city, and of the river without a pass; but, only when the king shall have arrived. Please to observe, Monsieur Fouquet, that if, instead of speaking to man like you, who are one of the first in the kingdom, I were speaking to a troubled, uneasy conscience--I should compromise myself forever. What a fine opportunity for any one who wished to be free! No police, no guards, no orders; the water free, the roads free, Monsieur d’Artagnan obliged to lend his horses, if required. All this ought to reassure you, Monsieur Fouquet, for the king would not have left me thus independent, if he had any sinister designs. In truth, Monsieur Fouquet, ask me whatever you like, I am at your service; and, in return, if you will consent to do it, do me a service, that of giving my compliments to Aramis and Porthos, in case you embark for Belle-Isle, as you have a right to do without changing your dress, immediately, in your robe de chambre--just as you are.


My horses!--my lighter! Gourville!--Gourville! Gourville!--Gourville! Let us be gone! Let us be gone!


It is too late!


Too late!--why?


Listen!


What does that mean, Gourville?


It means the king is come, monseigneur.


The king!


The king, who has ridden double stages, who has killed horses, and who is eight hours in advance of all our calculations.


We are lost! Brave D’Artagnan, all is over, thou has spoken to me too late!


Ah! are you still there, monseigneur?


Good heavens! yes, monsieur. The arrival of the king has interrupted me in the projects I had formed.


Oh, then you know that the king has arrived?


Yes, monsieur, I have seen him; and this time you come from him--


To inquire after you, monseigneur; and, if your health is not too bad, to beg you to have the kindness to repair to the castle.


Directly, Monsieur d’Artagnan, directly!


Ah, mordioux! now the king is come, there is no more walking for anybody--no more free will; the password governs all now, you as much as me, me as much as you.


Well? The order is executed, sire.


And Fouquet? Monsieur le surintendant follows me,


In ten minutes let him be introduced. Did he not appear astonished?


Who, sire?


Fouquet,


No, sire,


That’s well!


Something is being contrived against you. Perhaps they will not dare to carry it out at the castle; it will be on your return home. The house is already surrounded by musketeers. Do not enter. A white horse is in waiting for you behind the esplanade!


Monsieur, the king awaits you.


Well! how are you, Monsieur Fouquet?


I am in a high fever, but I am at the king’s service.


That is well; the States assemble to-morrow; have you a speech ready?


I have not, sire, but I will improvise one. I am too well acquainted with affairs to feel any embarrassment. I have only one question to ask; will your majesty permit me?


Certainly. Ask it.


Why did not your majesty do his first minister the honor of giving him notice of this in Paris?


You were ill; I was not willing to fatigue you.


Never did a labor--never did an explanation fatigue me, sire; and since the moment is come for me to demand an explanation of my king--


Oh, Monsieur Fouquet! an explanation? An explanation, pray, of what?


Of your majesty’s intentions with respect to myself. I have been calumniated, and I feel called upon to adjure the justice of the king to make inquiries.


You say all this to me very uselessly, Monsieur Fouquet; I know what I know.


Your majesty can only know the things that have been told to you; and I, on my part, have said nothing to you, whilst others have spoken many, many times--


What do you wish to say?


I will go straight to the facts, sire; and I accuse a certain man of having injured me in your majesty’s opinion.


Nobody has injured you, Monsieur Fouquet.


That reply proves to me, sire, that I am right.


Monsieur Fouquet, I do not like people to be accused.


Not when one is accused?


We have already spoken too much about this affair.


Your majesty will not allow me to justify myself?


I repeat that I do not accuse you.


Did your majesty send for me on business?


No, Monsieur Fouquet, but for some advice I wish to give you.


I respectfully await it, sire.


Rest yourself, Monsieur Fouquet, do not throw away your strength; the session of the States will be short, and when my secretaries shall have closed it, I do not wish business to be talked of in France for a fortnight.


Has the king nothing to say to me on the subject of this assembly of the States?


No, Monsieur Fouquet.


Not to me, the surintendant of the finances?


Rest yourself, I beg you; that is all I have to say to you. Are you angry at having to rest yourself, M. Fouquet?


Yes, sire, I am not accustomed to take rest.


But you are ill; you must take care of yourself.


Your majesty spoke just now of a speech to be pronounced to-morrow.


Sire, since the goodness of the king watches over my health to the point of dispensing with my labor, may I not be allowed to be absent from the council of to-morrow? I could pass the day in bed, and will entreat the king to grant me his physician, that we may endeavor to find a remedy against this fearful fever.


So be it, Monsieur Fouquet, it shall be as you desire; you shall have a holiday to-morrow, you shall have the physician, and shall be restored to health.


Thanks! Shall I not have the happiness of conducting your majesty to my residence of Belle-Isle?


Do you know, that you have just said, ‘My residence of Belle-Isle’?


Yes, sire.


Well! do you not remember that you gave me Belle-Isle?


That is true again, sire. Only, as you have not taken it, you will doubtless come with me and take possession of it.


I mean to do so.


That was, besides, your majesty’s intention as well as mine; and I cannot express to your majesty how happy and proud I have been to see all the king’s regiments from Paris to help take possession.


Peste! I do not wish those fine fortifications, which cost so much to build, to fall at all. No, let them stand against the Dutch and English. You would not guess what I want to see at Belle-Isle, Monsieur Fouquet; it is the pretty peasants and women of the lands on the sea-shore, who dance so well, and are so seducing with their scarlet petticoats! I have heard great boast of your pretty tenants, monsieur le surintendant; well, let me have a sight of them.


Whenever your majesty pleases.


Have you any means of transport? It shall be to-morrow, if you like.


No, sire; I was ignorant of your majesty’s wish; above all, I was ignorant of your haste to see Belle-Isle, and I am prepared with nothing.


You have a boat of your own, nevertheless?


I have five; but they are all in port, or at Paimboeuf; and to join them, or bring them hither, would require at least twenty-four hours. Have I any occasion to send a courier? Must I do so?


Wait a little, put an end to the fever,--wait till to-morrow.


That is true. Who knows but that by to-morrow we may not have a hundred other ideas? I have an ague--I am trembling with cold. If I remain a moment longer, I shall most likely faint. I request your majesty’s permission to go and fling myself beneath the bedclothes.


Indeed, you are in a shiver; it is painful to behold! Come, Monsieur Fouquet, begone! I will send to inquire after you.


Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness. In an hour I shall be better.


I will call some one to reconduct you.


As you please, sire; I would gladly take the arm of any one.


Monsieur d’Artagnan!


Oh, sire, would you give me the captain of your musketeers to take me to my lodgings? An equivocal honor that, sire! A simple footman, I beg.


And why, M. Fouquet? M. d’Artagnan conducts me often, and extremely well!


Yes, but when he conducts you, sire, it is to obey you; whilst me--


Go on!


If I am obliged to return home supported by the leader of the musketeers, it would be everywhere said you had had me arrested.


Arrested! oh!


And why should they not say so? and I would lay a wager there would be people found wicked enough to laugh at it.


Quite unnecessary, sword for sword; I prefer Gourville, who is waiting for me below. But that will not prevent me enjoying the society of M. d’Artagnan. I am glad he will see Belle-Isle, he is so good a judge of fortifications.


Captain, you will follow M. Fouquet at the distance of a hundred paces.


Yes, sire.


He is going to his lodgings again. You will go with him.


You will arrest him in my name, and will shut him up in a carriage.


In a carriage. Well, sire?


In such a fashion that he may not, on the road, either converse with any one or throw notes to people he may meet.


That will be rather difficult, sire.


Not at all.


Pardon me, sire, I cannot stifle M. Fouquet, and if he asks for liberty to breathe, I cannot prevent him by closing both the windows and the blinds. He will throw out at the doors all the cries and notes possible.


The case is provided for, Monsieur d’Artagnan; a carriage with a trellis will obviate both the difficulties you point out.


A carriage with an iron trellis! but a carriage with an iron trellis is not made in half an hour, and your majesty commands me to go immediately to M. Fouquet’s lodgings.


The carriage in question is already made.


Ah! that is quite a different thing, if the carriage is ready made, very well, then, we have only to set it in motion.


It is ready--and the horses harnessed.


Ah!


And the coachman, with the outriders, is waiting in the lower court of the castle.


There only remains for me to ask your majesty whither I shall conduct M. Fouquet.


To the castle of Angers, at first.


Very well, sire.


Afterwards we will see.


Yes, sire.


Monsieur d’Artagnan, one last word: you have remarked that, for making this capture of M. Fouquet, I have not employed my guards, on which account M. de Gesvres will be furious.


Your majesty does not employ your guards because you mistrust M. de Gesvres, that is all.


That is to say, monsieur, that I have more confidence in you.


I know that very well, sire! and it is of no use to make so much of it.


It is only for the sake of arriving at this, monsieur, that if, from this moment, it should happen that by any chance whatever M. Fouquet should escape--such chances have been, monsieur--


Oh! very often, sire; but for others, not for me.


And why not with you?


Because, sire, have, for an instant, wished to save M. Fouquet.


In writing, sire, then.


Oh, but, that is not a common horse M. Fouquet is upon--let us see! I must overtake him, if I kill my horse. Courage! courage! the white horse will perhaps grow weaker, and if the horse does not fall, the master must pull up at last. A famous horse! a mad rider! Hola! mordioux! Monsieur Fouquet! stop! in the king’s name! Do you hear me?


Pardieu!


In the king’s name! stop, or I will bring you down with a pistol-shot!


Do!


You have pistols likewise, turn and defend yourself. Mordioux! I will not assassinate you; if you will not fire upon me, surrender! what is a prison?


I would rather die! I shall suffer less.


I will take you alive!


Kill me! kill me! 'twould be more humane!


No! alive--alive!


At your horse! not at you! I am dishonored! I am a miserable wretch! for pity’s sake, M. Fouquet, throw me one of your pistols, that I may blow out my brains! For mercy’s sake! for mercy’s sake! that which you will not do at this moment, I myself will do within an hour, but here, upon this road, I should die bravely; I should die esteemed; do me that service, M. Fouquet!


I arrest you in the king’s name! blow my brains out, if you like; we have both done our duty.


I am your prisoner, monsieur, will you take my arm, for I see you are ready to faint?


Thanks!


You are not off, then? Oh, monsieur! the true king of royalty, in heart, in soul, is not Louis of the Louvre, or Philippe of Sainte-Marguerite; it is you, proscribed, condemned!


I, who this day am ruined by a single error, M. d’Artagnan.


What, in the name of Heaven, is that?


I should have had you for a friend! But how shall we return to Nantes? We are a great way from it.


That is true,


The white horse will recover, perhaps; he is a good horse! Mount, Monsieur d’Artagnan; I will walk till you have rested a little.


Poor beast! and wounded, too?


He will go, I tell you; I know him; but we can do better still, let us both get up, and ride slowly.


We can try,


We will go on foot--destiny wills it so--the walk will be pleasant,


Mordioux! What a disgraceful day!


There is an idea that did not emanate from a brave man, Captain d’Artagnan; it is not yours. What are these gratings for?


To prevent your throwing letters out.


Ingenious!


But you can speak, if you cannot write,


Can I speak to you?


Why, certainly, if you wish to do so.


One single word, will you remember it?


I will not forget it.


Will you speak it to whom I wish?


I will.


Saint-Mande,


Well! and for whom?


For Madame de Belliere or Pelisson.


It shall be done.


What is it you are saying?


We were speaking of the first sitting of the States,


Very well. Have you finished your copies?


Not yet, sire.


See if M. d’Artagnan has returned.


It is very strange. Call M. Colbert. Monsieur Colbert, you must ascertain what has become of M. d’Artagnan.


Where does your majesty desire him to be sought for?


Eh! monsieur! do you not know on what I have sent him?


Your majesty did not inform me.


Monsieur, there are things that must be guessed; and you, above all, are apt to guess them.


I might have been able to imagine, sire; but I do not presume to be positive.


D’Artagnan!


Sire, is it your majesty who has given orders to my musketeers?


What orders?


About M. Fouquet’s house?


None!


Ha! I was not mistaken, then; it was monsieur here;


What orders? Let me know,


Orders to turn the house topsy-turvy, to beat M. Fouquet’s servants, to force the drawers, to give over a peaceful house to pillage! Mordioux! these are savage orders!


Monsieur!


Monsieur, the king alone, understand,--the king alone has a right to command my musketeers; but, as to you, I forbid you to do it, and I tell you so before his majesty; gentlemen who carry swords do not sling pens behind their ears.


D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!


It is humiliating, my soldiers are disgraced. I do not command reitres, thank you, nor clerks of the intendant, mordioux!


Well! but what is all this about?


About this, sire; monsieur--monsieur, who could not guess your majesty’s orders, and consequently could not know I was gone to arrest M. Fouquet; monsieur, who has caused the iron cage to be constructed for his patron of yesterday--has sent M. de Roncherolles to the lodgings of M. Fouquet, and, under the pretense of securing the surintendant’s papers, they have taken away the furniture. My musketeers have been posted round the house all the morning; such were my orders. Why did any one presume to order them to enter? Why, by forcing them to assist in this pillage, have they been made accomplices in it? Mordioux! we serve the king, we do; but we do not serve M. Colbert!


Monsieur d’Artagnan, take care; it is not in my presence that such explanations, and made in such a tone, should take place.


I have acted for the good of the king. It is hard to be so treated by one of your majesty’s officers, and that without redress, on account of the respect I owe the king.


The respect you owe the king, consists, in the first place, in making his authority respected, and his person beloved. Every agent of a power without control represents that power, and when people curse the hand which strikes them, it is the royal hand that God reproaches, do you hear? Must a soldier, hardened by forty years of wounds and blood, give you this lesson, monsieur? Must mercy be on my side, and ferocity on yours? You have caused the innocent to be arrested, bound, and imprisoned!


Accomplices, perhaps, of M. Fouquet,


Who told you M. Fouquet had accomplices, or even that he was guilty? The king alone knows that; his justice is not blind! When he says, ‘Arrest and imprison’ such and such a man, he is obeyed. Do not talk to me, then, any more of the respect you owe the king, and be careful of your words, that they may not chance to convey the slightest menace; for the king will not allow those to be threatened who do him service by others who do him disservice; and if in case I should have, which God forbid! a master so ungrateful, I would make myself respected.


In the first place, let me see the result of your commission, monsieur; you may rest yourself hereafter.


Sire, you are a young king. It is by the dawn that people judge whether the day will be fine or dull. How, sire, will the people, whom the hand of God has placed under your law, argue of your reign, if between them and you, you allow angry and violent ministers to interpose their mischief? But let us speak of myself, sire, let us leave a discussion that may appear idle, and perhaps inconvenient to you. Let us speak of myself. I have arrested M. Fouquet.


You took plenty of time about it,


I perceive that I have expressed myself badly. I announced to your majesty that I had arrested Monsieur Fouquet.


You did; and what then?


Well! I ought to have told your majesty that M. Fouquet had arrested me; that would have been more just. I re-establish the truth, then; I have been arrested by M. Fouquet.


It results from all this, sire, in my eyes, at least, that the man who conducts himself thus is a gallant man, and cannot be an enemy to the king. That is my opinion, and I repeat it to your majesty. I know what the king will say to me, and I bow to it,--reasons of state. So be it! To my ears that sounds highly respectable. But I am a soldier, and I have received my orders, my orders are executed--very unwillingly on my part, it is true, but they are executed. I say no more.


Where is M. Fouquet at this moment?


M. Fouquet, sire, is in the iron cage that M. Colbert had prepared for him, and is galloping as fast as four strong horses can drag him, towards Angers.


Why did you leave him on the road?


Because your majesty did not tell me to go to Angers. The proof, the best proof of what I advance, is that the king desired me to be sought for but this minute. And then I had another reason.


What is that?


Whilst I was with him, poor M. Fouquet would never attempt to escape.


Well!


Your majesty ought to understand, and does understand, certainly, that my warmest wish is to know that M. Fouquet is at liberty. I have given him one of my brigadiers, the most stupid I could find among my musketeers, in order that the prisoner might have a chance of escaping.


Are you mad, Monsieur d’Artagnan? Do people utter such enormities, even when they have the misfortune to think them?


Ah! sire, you cannot expect that I should be an enemy to M. Fouquet, after what he has just done for you and me. No, no; if you desire that he should remain under your lock and bolt, never give him in charge to me; however closely wired might be the cage, the bird would, in the end, take wing.


I am surprised, you did not follow the fortunes of the man M. Fouquet wished to place upon my throne. You had in him all you want--affection, gratitude. In my service, monsieur, you will only find a master.


If M. Fouquet had not gone to seek you in the Bastile, sire, one single man would have gone there, and I should have been that man--you know that right well, sire.


Colbert, did you make a perquisition on the house of M. Fouquet? Yes, sire. What has it produced? M. de Roncherolles, who was sent with your majesty’s musketeers, has remitted me some papers.


I will look at them. Give me your hand.


My hand, sire!


Yes, that I may place it in that of M. d’Artagnan. In fact, M. d’Artagnan, you do not know this man; make his acquaintance. He has been made but a moderately valuable servant in subaltern positions, but he will be a great man if I raise him to the foremost rank.


Sire!


I always understood why, he was jealous.


Precisely, and his jealousy confined his wings.


He will henceforward be a winged-serpent,


That which the king has just told you, monsieur, proves how well his majesty is acquainted with men. The inveterate opposition I have displayed, up to this day, against abuses and not against men, proves that I had it in view to prepare for my king a glorious reign, for my country a great blessing. I have many ideas, M. d’Artagnan. You will see them expand in the sun of public peace; and if I have not the good fortune to conquer the friendship of honest men, I am at least certain, monsieur, that I shall obtain their esteem. For their admiration, monsieur, I would give my life.


Monsieur d’Artagnan,


I am here, sire.


Give twenty of your musketeers to M. de Saint-Aignan, to form a guard for M. Fouquet. And from Angers, they will conduct the prisoner to the Bastile, in Paris.


You were right,


Saint-Aignan, you will have any one shot who shall attempt to speak privately with M. Fouquet, during the journey.


But myself, sire,


You, monsieur, you will only speak to him in the presence of the musketeers. Monsieur, you will go immediately, and take possession of the isle and fief of Belle-Ile-en-Mer.


Yes, sire. Alone?


You will take a sufficient number of troops to prevent delay, in case the place should be contumacious.


That shall be done,


I saw the place in my infancy, and I do not wish to see it again. You have heard me? Go, monsieur, and do not return without the keys.


A commission which, if you carry it out well, will be worth a marechal’s baton to you.


Why do you employ the words, ‘if you carry it out well’?


Because it is difficult.


Ah! in what respect?


You have friends in Belle-Isle, Monsieur d’Artagnan; and it is not an easy thing for men like you to march over the bodies of their friends to obtain success.


If is of no use your saying anything to the contrary, my dear Aramis. It is of no use, Aramis. The disappearance of all the fishing-boats that went out two days ago is not an ordinary circumstance. There has been no storm at sea; the weather has been constantly calm, not even the lightest gale; and even if we had had a tempest, all our boats would not have foundered. I repeat, it is strange. This complete disappearance astonishes me, I tell you.


True. You are right, friend Porthos; it is true, there is something strange in it.


And further, and, further, do you not observe that if the boats have perished, not a single plank has washed ashore?


I have remarked it as well as yourself.


And do you not think it strange that the two only boats we had left in the whole island, and which I sent in search of the others-- In search of the others! Yes, to be sure I have,


Unhappy man! What have you done? Then we are indeed lost,


Lost!--what did you say? How lost, Aramis? How are we lost?


Nothing! nothing! Your pardon, I meant to say-- That if we were inclined--if we took a fancy to make an excursion by sea, we could not.


Very good! and why should that vex you? A precious pleasure, ma foi! For my part, I don’t regret it at all. What I regret is certainly not the more or less amusement we can find at Belle-Isle: what I regret, Aramis, is Pierrefonds; Bracieux; le Vallon; beautiful France! Here, we are not in France, my dear friend; we are--I know not where. Oh! I tell you, in full sincerity of soul, and your affection will excuse my frankness, but I declare to you I am not happy at Belle-Isle. No; in good truth, I am not happy!


Dear friend, that is why it is so sad a thing you have sent the two boats we had left in search of the boats which disappeared two days ago. If you had not sent them away, we would have departed.


‘Departed!’ And the orders, Aramis?


What orders?


Parbleu! Why, the orders you have been constantly, in and out of season, repeating to me--that we were to hold Belle-Isle against the usurper. You know very well!


That is true!


You see, then, plainly, my friend, that we could not depart; and that the sending away of the boats in search of the others cannot prove prejudicial to us in the very least. With all that, Aramis, with all that, you give me no explanation about what can have happened to these unfortunate boats. I am assailed by cries and complaints whichever way I go. The children cry to see the desolation of the women, as if I could restore the absent husbands and fathers. What do you suppose, my friend, and how ought I to answer them?


Think all you like, my good Porthos, and say nothing. Do you remember, do you remember, my friend, that in the glorious days of youth--do you remember, Porthos, when we were all strong and valiant--we, and the other two--if we had then had an inclination to return to France, do you think this sheet of salt water would have stopped us?


Oh! but six leagues.


If you had seen me get astride of a plank, would you have remained on land, Porthos?


No, pardieu! No, Aramis. But, nowadays, what sort of a plank should we want, my friend! I, in particular. And do you mean seriously to say you are not tired of Belle-Isle a little, and that you would not prefer the comforts of your dwelling--of your episcopal palace, at Vannes? Come, confess.


No,


Let us stay where we are, then. Let us remain!--let us remain! And yet, and yet, if we seriously wished, but that decidedly--if we had a fixed idea, one firmly taken, to return to France, and there were not boats-- Have you remarked another thing, my friend--that is, since the disappearance of our barks, during the last two days’ absence of fishermen, not a single small boat has landed on the shores of the isle? Yes, certainly! you are right. I, too, have remarked it, and the observation was the more naturally made, for, before the last two fatal days, barks and shallops were as plentiful as shrimps.


I must inquire. And then, if we had a raft constructed--


But there are some canoes, my friend; shall I board one?


A canoe!--a canoe! Can you think of such a thing, Porthos? A canoe to be upset in. No, no, it is not our trade to ride upon the waves. We will wait, we will wait.


Let us sit down upon this rock. Place yourself there, close to me, Aramis, and I conjure you, for the last time, to explain to me in a manner I can comprehend--explain to me what we are doing here.


Porthos,


I know that the false king wished to dethrone the true king. That is a fact, that I understand. Well--


Yes?


I know that the false king formed the project of selling Belle-Isle to the English. I understand that, too.


I know that we engineers and captains came and threw ourselves into Belle-Isle to take direction of the works, and the command of ten companies levied and paid by M. Fouquet, or rather the ten companies of his son-in-law. All that is plain. But what I cannot understand, what, in spite of all the efforts of my mind, and all my reflections, I cannot comprehend, and never shall comprehend, is, that instead of sending us troops, instead of sending us reinforcements of men, munitions, provisions, they leave us without boats, they leave Belle-Isle without arrivals, without help; it is that instead of establishing with us a correspondence, whether by signals, or written or verbal communications, all relations with the shore are intercepted. Tell me, Aramis, answer me, or rather, before answering me, will you allow me to tell you what I have thought? Will you hear what my idea is, the plan I have conceived? I have dreamed, I have imagined that an event has taken place in France. I dreamt of M. Fouquet all the night, of lifeless fish, of broken eggs, of chambers badly furnished, meanly kept. Villainous dreams, my dear D’Herblay; very unlucky, such dreams!


Porthos, what is that yonder?


A bark! yes, it is a bark! Ah! we shall have some news at last.


There are two! two! three! four!


Five! Six! seven! Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu! it is a fleet!


Our boats returning, probably,


They are very large for fishing-boats, and do you not remark, my friend, that they come from the Loire?


They come from the Loire--yes-- And look! everybody here sees them as well as ourselves; look, women and children are beginning to crowd the jetty. Are those our barks, yonder?


No, monseigneur, they are lighter boars, boats in the king’s service.


Boats in the royal service? How do you know that?


By the flag.


But, the boat is scarcely visible; how the devil, my friend, can you distinguish the flag?


I see there is one, our boats, trade lighters, do not carry any. That sort of craft is generally used for transport of troops.


Ah!


Vivat! they are sending us reinforcements, don’t you think they are, Aramis?


Probably.


Unless it is the English coming.


By the Loire? That would have an evil look, Porthos; for they must have come through Paris!


You are right; they are reinforcements, decidedly, or provisions.


Porthos, have the alarm sounded.


The alarm! do you imagine such a thing?


Yes, and let the cannoniers mount their batteries, the artillerymen be at their pieces, and be particularly watchful of the coast batteries. I will do it, my dear Porthos. I will go and have these orders executed myself, if you do not go, my friend.


Well! I will--instantly!


Permit me, Aramis, to try to comprehend,


My dear friend, you will comprehend but too soon,


The fleet which is coming yonder, with sails unfurled, straight towards the port of Belle-Isle, is a royal fleet, is it not? Oh! you open my eyes,


Monseigneur, from those who captured me.


Who captured you?


You know, monseigneur, we set out in search of our comrades? Well! monseigneur, within a short league we were captured by a chasse maree belonging to the king.


Of which king?


Speak!


We were captured, monseigneur, and joined to those who had been taken yesterday morning.


What was the cause of the mania for capturing you all?


Monsieur, to prevent us from telling you,


And they have released you to-day?


That I might tell you they have captured us, monsieur.


Humph! then I suppose it is a royal fleet blockading the coasts?


Yes, monseigneur.


Who commands it?


The captain of the king’s musketeers.


D’Artagnan?


D’Artagnan! I believe that is the name.


Bring the torches nearer.


It is his writing,


Order of the king to take Belle-Isle; or to put the garrison to the sword, if they resist; order to make prisoners of all the men of the garrison; signed, D’ARTAGNAN, who, the day before yesterday, arrested M. Fouquet, for the purpose of his being sent to the Bastile.


What is it?


Nothing, my friend, nothing. Did you speak to M. d’Artagnan?


What did he say to you?


That for ampler information, he would speak with monseigneur.


Where?


On board his own vessel.


On board his vessel! On board his vessel!


M. le mousquetaire, told me to take you both on board my canoe, and bring you to him.


Let us go at once. Dear D’Artagnan!


Are you mad? Who knows that it is not a snare?


Of the other king’s?


A snare, in fact! That’s what it is, my friend.


Very possibly; what is to be done, then? If D’Artagnan sends for us--


Who assures you that D’Artagnan sends for us?


Well, but--but his writing--


Writing is easily counterfeited. This looks counterfeited--unsteady--


You are always right; but, in the meantime, we know nothing. we do not want to know anything.


What shall I do?


You will return on board this captain’s vessel.


Yes, monseigneur.


And will tell him that we beg he will himself come into the island.


Ah! I comprehend!


but if the captain should refuse to come to Belle-Isle?


If he refuses, as we have cannon, we will make use of them.


What! against D’Artagnan?


If it is D’Artagnan, Porthos, he will come. Go, Jonathan, go!


Ma foi! I no longer comprehend anything,


I will make you comprehend it all, my dear friend; the time for it has come; sit down upon this gun-carriage, open your ears, and listen well to me.


Oh! pardieu! I will listen, no fear of that.


May I depart, monseigneur?


Yes, begone, and bring back an answer. Allow the canoe to pass, you men there!


I like to be surprised, do not spare me, therefore, I beg. I am hardened against emotions; don’t fear, speak out.


It is difficult, Porthos--difficult; for, in truth, I warn you a second time, I have very strange things, very extraordinary things, to tell you.


Oh! you speak so well, my friend, that I could listen to you for days together. Speak, then, I beg--and--stop, I have an idea: I will, to make your task more easy, I will, to assist you in telling me such things, question you.


I shall be pleased at your doing so.


What are we going to fight for, Aramis?


If you ask me many such questions as that--if you would render my task the easier by interrupting my revelations thus, Porthos, you will not help me at all. So far, on the contrary, that is the very Gordian knot. But, my friend, with a man like you, good, generous, and devoted, the confession must be bravely made. I have deceived you, my worthy friend.


You have deceived me!


Good Heavens! yes.


Was it for my good, Aramis?


I thought so, Porthos; I thought so sincerely, my friend.


Then, you have rendered me a service, and I thank you for it; for if you had not deceived me, I might have deceived myself. In what, then, have you deceived me, tell me?


In that I was serving the usurper against whom Louis XIV., at this moment, is directing his efforts.


The usurper! That is--well, I do not quite clearly comprehend!


He is one of the two kings who are contending for the crown of France.


Very well! Then you were serving him who is not Louis XIV.?


You have hit the matter in one word.


It follows that--


It follows that we are rebels, my poor friend.


The devil! the devil! And so, according to this, the duchy that was promised me--


It was the usurper that was to give it to you.


And that is not the same thing, Aramis,


My friend, if it had only depended upon me, you should have become a prince.


That is where you have been wrong, in deceiving me; for that promised duchy I reckoned upon. Oh! I reckoned upon it seriously, knowing you to be a man of your word, Aramis.


Poor Porthos! pardon me, I implore you!


so then, it seems, I have quite fallen out with Louis XIV.?


Oh! I will settle all that, my good friend, I will settle all that. I will take it on myself alone! No, no, Porthos, I conjure you, let me act. No false generosity! No inopportune devotedness! You knew nothing of my projects. You have done nothing of yourself. With me it is different. I alone am the author of this plot. I stood in need of my inseparable companion; I called upon you, and you came to me in remembrance of our ancient device, ‘All for one, one for all.’ My crime is that I was an egotist.


Now, that is a word I like, and seeing that you have acted entirely for yourself, it is impossible for me to blame you. It is natural. that we have come to an explanation, now that I am perfectly aware of our situation with respect to Louis XIV., I think, my friend, it is time to make me comprehend the political intrigue of which we are the victims--for I plainly see there is a political intrigue at the bottom of all this.


D’Artagnan, my good Porthos, D’Artagnan is coming, and will detail it to you in all its circumstances; but, excuse me, I am deeply grieved, I am bowed down with mental anguish, and I have need of all my presence of mind, all my powers of reflection, to extricate you from the false position in which I have so imprudently involved you; but nothing can be more clear, nothing more plain, than your position, henceforth. The king Louis XIV. has no longer now but one enemy: that enemy is myself, myself alone. I have made you a prisoner, you have followed me, to-day I liberate you, you fly back to your prince. You can perceive, Porthos, there is not one difficulty in all this.


Do you think so?


I am quite sure of it.


Then why, then why, if we are in such an easy position, why, my friend, do we prepare cannon, muskets, and engines of all sorts? It seems to me it would be much more simple to say to Captain d’Artagnan: ‘My dear friend, we have been mistaken; that error is to be repaired; open the door to us, let us pass through, and we will say good-bye.’


Ah! that!


Why do you say ‘that’? Do you not approve of my plan, my friend?


I see a difficulty in it.


What is it?


The hypothesis that D’Artagnan may come with orders which will oblige us to defend ourselves.


What! defend ourselves against D’Artagnan? Folly! Against the good D’Artagnan!


Porthos, if I have had the matches lighted and the guns pointed, if I have had the signal of alarm sounded, if I have called every man to his post upon the ramparts, those good ramparts of Belle-Isle which you have so well fortified, it was not for nothing. Wait to judge; or rather, no, do not wait--


What can I do?


If I knew, my friend, I would have told you.


But there is one thing much more simple than defending ourselves:--a boat, and away for France--where--


My dear friend, do not let us reason like children; let us be men in council and in execution.--But, hark! I hear a hail for landing at the port. Attention, Porthos, serious attention!


It is D’Artagnan, no doubt,


Yes, it is I. Make your men draw back, let them retire out of hearing. Monsieur, we are no longer on board the king’s fleet, where, in virtue of your order, you spoke so arrogantly to me, just now.


I did not speak arrogantly to you; I simply, but rigorously, obeyed instructions. I was commanded to follow you. I follow you. I am directed not to allow you to communicate with any one without taking cognizance of what you do; I am in duty bound, accordingly, to overhear your conversations.


Monsieur, when I sent a canoe hither, you wished to know what I wrote to the defenders of Belle-Isle. You produced an order to that effect; and, in my turn, I instantly showed you the note I had written. When the skipper of the boat sent by me returned, when I received the reply of these two gentlemen All that was plainly in your orders, all that was well executed, very punctually, was it not?


Yes, monsieur,


Monsieur, when I manifested the intention of quitting my vessel to cross to Belle-Isle, you demanded to accompany me; I did not hesitate; I brought you with me. You are now at Belle-Isle, are you not?


Yes, monsieur; but--


But--the question no longer is of M. Colbert, who has given you that order, or of whomsoever in the world you are following the instructions; the question now is of a man who is a clog upon M. d’Artagnan, and who is alone with M. d’Artagnan upon steps whose feet are bathed by thirty feet of salt water; a bad position for that man, a bad position, monsieur! I warn you.


Monsieur, if I am a restraint upon you,


it is my duty which--


Monsieur, you have had the misfortune, either you or those that sent you, to insult me. It is done. I cannot seek redress from those who employ you,--they are unknown to me, or are at too great a distance. But you are under my hand, and I swear that if you make one step behind me when I raise my feet to go up to those gentlemen, I swear to you by my name, I will cleave your head in two with my sword, and pitch you into the water. Oh! it will happen! it will happen! I have only been six times angry in my life, monsieur, and all five preceding times I killed my man.


Monsieur, you are wrong in acting against my orders.


Good D’Artagnan, take care!


Monsieur, you are a brave man. You will all the better comprehend what I am going to say to you now.


Speak, Monsieur d’Artagnan, speak,


These gentlemen we have just seen, and against whom you have orders, are my friends.


I know they are, monsieur.


You can understand whether or not I ought to act towards them as your instructions prescribe.


I understand your reserve.


Very well; permit me, then, to converse with them without a witness.


Monsieur d’Artagnan, if I yield to your request, if I do that which you beg me, I break my word; but if I do not do it, I disoblige you. I prefer the one dilemma to the other. Converse with your friends, and do not despise me, monsieur, for doing this for your sake, whom I esteem and honor; do not despise me for committing for you, and you alone, an unworthy act.


Well! such is my position, judge for yourselves.


What is the meaning of all these preparations?


You ought to have a suspicion of what they signify,


Not any, I assure you, my dear captain; for, in fact, I have done nothing, no more has Aramis,


Dear Porthos!


You see what is being done against you, interception of all boats coming to or going from Belle-Isle. Your means of transport seized. If you had endeavored to fly, you would have fallen into the hands of the cruisers that plow the sea in all directions, on the watch for you. The king wants you to be taken, and he will take you. to make you both come on board, to keep you near me, and restore you your liberty. But now, who can say, when I return to my ship, I may not find a superior; that I may not find secret orders which will take from me my command, and give it to another, who will dispose of me and you without hope of help?


We must remain at Belle-Isle, and I assure you, for my part, I will not surrender easily.


I have another trial to make of this officer, of this brave fellow who accompanies me, and whose courageous resistance makes me very happy; for it denotes an honest man, who, though an enemy, is a thousand times better than a complaisant coward. Let us try to learn from him what his instructions are, and what his orders permit or forbid.


Let us try,


Monsieur, after having exchanged the cordial courtesies natural between gentlemen who know and appreciate each other, monsieur, if I wished to take away these gentlemen from here, what would you do?


I should not oppose it, monsieur; but having direct explicit orders to put them under guard, I should detain them.


Ah!


That’s all over. He can prove to the king, and I will help him do so, and you too, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that he had nothing to do with this affair.


Hum! Will you come? Will you follow me, Porthos? The king is merciful.


I want time for reflection,


You will remain here, then?


Until fresh orders,


Until we have an idea, and I now believe that will not be long, for I have one already.


Let us say adieu, then, but in truth, my good Porthos, you ought to go.


No,


As you please. Only I am reassured by the promise of an idea from D’Artagnan, an idea I fancy I have divined.


Let us see. That is it, precisely.


Infallible!


During the first emotion this resolution will cause, take care of yourself, Aramis.


Oh! don’t be afraid.


Now, monsieur, thanks, a thousand thanks! You have made yourself three friends for life.


Yes,


Gentlemen, I have been to reconnoiter Belle-Ile-en-Mer, and I have found in it a good and solid garrison; moreover, preparations are made for a defense that may prove troublesome. I therefore intend to send for two of the principal officers of the place, that we may converse with them. Having separated them from their troops and cannon, we shall be better able to deal with them; particularly by reasoning with them. Is not this your opinion, gentlemen?


Monsieur,


I have heard you say that the place is preparing to make a troublesome defense. The place is then, as you know, determined on rebellion?


Monsieur, your reply is just. But you are ignorant that Belle-Isle is a fief of M. Fouquet’s, and that former monarchs gave the right to the seigneurs of Belle-Isle to arm their people. Oh! do not interrupt me. You are going to tell me that that right to arm themselves against the English was not a right to arm themselves against their king. But it is not M. Fouquet, I suppose, who holds Belle-Isle at this moment, since I arrested M. Fouquet the day before yesterday. Now the inhabitants and defenders of Belle-Isle know nothing of this arrest. You would announce it to them in vain. It is a thing so unheard-of and extraordinary, so unexpected, that they would not believe you. A Breton serves his master, and not his masters; he serves his master till he has seen him dead. Now the Bretons, as far as I know, have not seen the body of M. Fouquet. It is not, then, surprising they hold out against that which is neither M. Fouquet nor his signature. That is why. I propose to cause two of the principal officers of the garrison to come on board my vessel. They will see you, gentlemen; they will see the forces we have at our disposal; they will consequently know to what they have to trust, and the fate that attends them, in case of rebellion. We will affirm to them, upon our honor, that M. Fouquet is a prisoner, and that all resistance can only be prejudicial to them. We will tell them that at the first cannon fired, there will be no further hope of mercy from the king. Then, or so at least I trust, they will resist no longer. They will yield up without fighting, and we shall have a place given up to us in a friendly way which it might cost prodigious efforts to subdue. Yes, I know what you are going to tell me, monsieur; I know that there is an order of the king’s to prevent all secret communications with the defenders of Belle-Isle, and that is exactly why I do not offer to communicate except in presence of my staff.


What, more!


Read, monsieur,


Prohibition to M. d’Artagnan to assemble any council whatever, or to deliberate in any way before Belle-Isle be surrendered and the prisoners shot. Signed--LOUIS. That is well, monsieur, the king’s orders shall be complied with. Gentlemen, since the king has charged some other than myself with his secret orders, it must be because I no longer possess his confidence, and I should really be unworthy of it if I had the courage to hold a command subject to so many injurious suspicions. Therefore I will go immediately and carry my resignation to the king. I tender it before you all, enjoining you all to fall back with me upon the coast of France, in such a way as not to compromise the safety of the forces his majesty has confided to me. For this purpose, return all to your posts; within an hour, we shall have the ebb of the tide. To your posts, gentlemen! I suppose, you have no orders to object, this time?


From the moment M. d’Artagnan shall have manifested the desire of giving in his resignation, he shall no longer be reckoned leader of the expedition, and every officer placed under his orders shall be held to no longer obey him. Moreover, the said Monsieur d’Artagnan, having lost that quality of leader of the army sent against Belle-Isle, shall set out immediately for France, accompanied by the officer who will have remitted the message to him, and who will consider him a prisoner for whom he is answerable.


I await your good pleasure to depart.


I am ready, monsieur,


Here are your instructions,


Immediately!


what would I give to know the instructions for the new commander! They are all pacific, are they not? and--


They have commenced the siege of Belle-Isle,


Dear Porthos. I will explain D’Artagnan’s idea to you.


What idea, Aramis?


An idea to which we shall owe our liberty within twelve hours.


Ah! indeed! Let us hear it.


Did you remark, in the scene our friend had with the officer, that certain orders constrained him with regard to us?


Yes, I did notice that.


Well! D’Artagnan is going to give in his resignation to the king, and during the confusion that will result from his absence, we will get away, or rather you will get away, Porthos, if there is possibility of flight for only one.


We will escape together, Aramis, or we will stay together.


Thine is a right, a generous heart, only your melancholy uneasiness affects me.


I am not uneasy,


Then you are angry with me.


I am not angry with you.


Then why, my friend, do you put on such a dismal countenance?


I will tell you; I am making my will. Your will!


What, then! do you think yourself lost?


I feel fatigued. It is the first time, and there is a custom in our family.


What is it, my friend?


My grandfather was a man twice as strong as I am.


Indeed! then your grandfather must have been Samson himself.


No; his name was Antoine. Well! he was about my age, when, setting out one day for the chase, he felt his legs weak, the man who had never known what weakness was before.


What was the meaning of that fatigue, my friend?


Nothing good, as you will see; for having set out, complaining still of weakness of the legs, he met a wild boar, which made head against him; he missed him with his arquebuse, and was ripped up by the beast and died immediately.


There is no reason in that why you should alarm yourself, dear Porthos.


Oh! you will see. My father was as strong again as I am. He was a rough soldier, under Henry III. and Henry IV.; his name was not Antoine, but Gaspard, the same as M. de Coligny. Always on horseback, he had never known what lassitude was. One evening, as he rose from table, his legs failed him.


He had supped heartily, perhaps, and that was why he staggered.


Bah! A friend of M. de Bassompierre, nonsense! No, no, he was astonished at this lassitude, and said to my mother, who laughed at him, ‘Would not one believe I was going to meet with a wild boar, as the late M. du Vallon, my father did?’


Well?


Well, having this weakness, my father insisted upon going down into the garden, instead of going to bed; his foot slipped on the first stair, the staircase was steep; my father fell against a stone in which an iron hinge was fixed. The hinge gashed his temple; and he was stretched out dead upon the spot.


These are two extraordinary circumstances, let us not infer that there may succeed a third. It is not becoming in a man of your strength to be superstitious, my brave Porthos. Besides, when were your legs known to fail? Never have you stood so firm, so haughtily; why, you could carry a house on your shoulders.


At this moment. I feel myself pretty active; but at times I vacillate; I sink; and lately this phenomenon, as you say, has occurred four times. I will not say this frightens me, but it annoys me. Life is an agreeable thing. I have money; I have fine estates; I have horses that I love; I have also friends that I love: D’Artagnan, Athos, Raoul, and you.


We will still live many years, to preserve to the world such specimens of its rarest men. Trust yourself to me, my friend; we have no reply from D’Artagnan, that is a good sign. He must have given orders to get the vessels together and clear the seas. On my part I have just issued directions that a bark should be rolled on rollers to the mouth of the great cavern of Locmaria, which you know, where we have so often lain in wait for the foxes.


Yes, and which terminates at the little creek by a trench where we discovered the day that splendid fox escaped that way.


Precisely. In case of misfortunes, a bark is to be concealed for us in that cavern; indeed, it must be there by this time. We will wait for a favorable moment, and during the night we will go to sea!


That is a grand idea. What shall we gain by it?


We shall gain this--nobody knows that grotto, or rather its issue, except ourselves and two or three hunters of the island; we shall gain this--that if the island is occupied, the scouts, seeing no bark upon the shore, will never imagine we can escape, and will cease to watch.


I understand.


Well! that weakness in the legs?


Oh! better, much, just now.


You see, then, plainly, that everything conspires to give us quietude and hope. D’Artagnan will sweep the sea and leave us free. No royal fleet or descent to be dreaded. Vive Dieu! Porthos, we have still half a century of magnificent adventure before us, and if I once touch Spanish ground, I swear to you, that your brevet of duke is not such a chance as it is said to be.


We live by hope,


To arms! to arms!


The fleet! the fleet!


The fleet?


Within half cannon-shot,


To arms!


What must be done?


Stop them; and if they persist, fire! What’s the matter, Porthos?


Nothing! nothing!--only my legs; it is really incomprehensible!--they will be better when we charge.


Eh! but Porthos, we must have a prisoner, quick! quick!


Here is a prisoner for you,


Well! did you not calumniate your legs?


It was not with my legs I captured him, it was with my arms!


What will happen, will be that the anger of the king will be roused by the account of the resistance; and that these brave people will be decimated or shot when they are taken, which cannot fail to take place.


From which it results, then, that what we have done is of not the slightest use.


For the moment it may be, for we have a prisoner from whom we shall learn what our enemies are preparing to do.


Yes, let us interrogate the prisoner, and the means of making him speak are very simple. We are going to supper; we will invite him to join us; as he drinks he will talk.


The orders are, to kill during combat, or hang afterwards.


I am too light for the gallows, people like me are not hung.


And I am too heavy, people like me break the cord.


I am sure, that we could have guaranteed you the exact kind of death you preferred.


A thousand thanks!


One more cup of wine to your health,


Pardon me, if I address a question to you; but men who are in their sixth bottle have a clear right to forget themselves a little.


Address it! address it!


Speak,


Were you not, gentlemen, both in the musketeers of the late king?


Yes, monsieur, and amongst the best of them, if you please,


That is true; I should say even the best of all soldiers, messieurs, if I did not fear to offend the memory of my father.


Of your father?


Do you know what my name is? Ma foi! no, monsieur; but you can tell us, and-- I am called Georges de Biscarrat.


Oh! Biscarrat! Do you remember that name, Aramis?


Biscarrat! It seems to me--


Try to recollect, monsieur,


Pardieu! that won’t take me long. Biscarrat--called Cardinal--one of the four who interrupted us on the day on which we formed our friendship with D’Artagnan, sword in hand.


Precisely, gentlemen.


The only one, we could not scratch.


Consequently, a capital blade?


That’s true! most true! Ma foi! Monsieur Biscarrat, we are delighted to make the acquaintance of such a brave man’s son.


Confess, monsieur, that it is good to have once been a good man.


My father always said so, monsieur.


Confess, likewise, that it is a sad circumstance in which you find yourself, of falling in with men destined to be shot or hung, and to learn that these men are old acquaintances, in fact, hereditary friends.


Oh! you are not reserved for such a frightful fate as that, messieurs and friends!


Bah! you said so yourself. I said so just now, when I did not know you; but now that I know you, I say--you will evade this dismal fate, if you wish!


How--if we wish?


Provided, provided nothing disgraceful be required of us.


Nothing at all will be required of you, gentlemen, what should they ask of you? If they find you they will kill you, that is a predetermined thing; try, then, gentlemen, to prevent their finding you.


I don’t think I am mistaken, but it appears evident to me that if they want to find us, they must come and seek us here.


In that you are perfectly right, my worthy friend. You wish, Monsieur de Biscarrat, to say something to us, to make us some overture, and you dare not--is that true?


Ah! gentlemen and friends! it is because by speaking I betray the watchword. But, hark! I hear a voice that frees mine by dominating it.


Cannon!


Cannon and musketry, too!


What can that be?


Eh! Pardieu! that is just what I expected.


What is that?


That the attack made by you was nothing but a feint; is not that true, monsieur? And whilst your companions allowed themselves to be repulsed, you were certain of effecting a landing on the other side of the island.


Oh! several, monsieur.


We are lost, then,


Lost! that is possible, but we are not taken or hung.


My friends. M. Fouquet, your protector, your friend, you father, has been arrested by an order of the king, and thrown into the Bastile.


Avenge Monsieur Fouquet! death to the royalists!


No, my friends, no, my friends; no resistance. The king is master in his kingdom. The king is the mandatory of God. The king and God have struck M. Fouquet. Humble yourselves before the hand of God. Love God and the king, who have struck M. Fouquet. But do not avenge your seigneur, do not think of avenging him. You would sacrifice yourselves in vain--you, your wives and children, your property, your liberty. Lay down your arms, my friends--lay down your arms! since the king commands you so to do--and retire peaceably to your dwellings. It is I who ask you to do so; it is I who beg you to do so; it is I who now, in the hour of need, command you to do so, in the name of M. Fouquet. The soldiers of Louis XIV. have reached the island. From this time it would no longer be a fight betwixt them and you--it would be a massacre. Begone, then, begone, and forget; this time I command you, in the name of the Lord of Hosts!


Ah! what have you just been saying, my friend?


Monsieur, you may save all these inhabitants, but thus you will neither save yourself nor your friend.


Monsieur de Biscarrat. Monsieur de Biscarrat, be kind enough to resume your liberty.


I am very willing to do so, monsieur; but--


That would render us a service, for when announcing to the king’s lieutenant the submission of the islanders, you will perhaps obtain some grace for us on informing him of the manner in which that submission has been effected.


Grace! what is the meaning of that word?


I will go, messieurs,


Go, then, Monsieur Biscarrat, and at parting receive the expression of our entire gratitude.


But you, messieurs, you whom I think it an honor to call my friends, since you have been willing to accept that title, what will become of you in the meantime?


We will wait here.


But, mon Dieu!--the order is precise and formal.


I am bishop of Vannes, Monsieur de Biscarrat; and they no more shoot a bishop than they hang a gentleman.


Ah! yes, monsieur--yes, monseigneur, it is true, you are right, there is still that chance for you. Then, I will depart, I will repair to the commander of the expedition, the king’s lieutenant. Adieu! then, messieurs, or rather, to meet again, I hope.


Well, do you comprehend?


Ma foi! no.


Did not Biscarrat inconvenience you here?


No; he is a brave fellow.


Yes; but the grotto of Locmaria--is it necessary all the world should know it?


Ah! that is true, that is true; I comprehend. We are going to escape by the cavern.


If you please. Forward, friend Porthos; our boat awaits us. King Louis has not caught us--yet.


My good friend, we have arrived, it seems. But I thought you spoke of three men, three servants, who were to accompany us. I don’t see them--where are they?


Why should you see them, Porthos? They are certainly waiting for us in the cavern, and, no doubt, are resting, having accomplished their rough and difficult task. Will you allow me, my friend, to pass in first? I know the signal I have given to these men; who, not hearing it, would be very likely to fire upon you or slash away with their knives in the dark.


Go on, then, Aramis; go on--go first; you impersonate wisdom and foresight; go. Ah! there is that fatigue again, of which I spoke to you. It has just seized me afresh.


Are you there, Yves?


Yes, monseigneur; Goenne is here likewise. His son accompanies us.


That is well. Are all things ready?


Yes, monseigneur.


Go to the entrance of the grottoes, my good Yves, and you will there find the Seigneur de Pierrefonds, who is resting after the fatigue of our journey. And if he should happen not to be able to walk, lift him up, and bring him hither to me. Let us inspect the boat, and satisfy ourselves at once what it will hold.


Do not go too near with the light, for as you desired me, monseigneur, I have placed under the bench of the poop, in the coffer you know of, the barrel of powder, and the musket-charges that you sent me from the fort.


Very well,


Let us consult Porthos, to know if we must endeavor to get the boat out by the unknown extremity of the grotto, following the descent and the shade of the cavern, or whether it be better, in the open air, to make it slide upon its rollers through the bushes, leveling the road of the little beach, which is but twenty feet high, and gives, at high tide, three or four fathoms of good water upon a sound bottom.


It must be as you please, monseigneur, but I don’t believe that by the slope of the cavern, and in the dark in which we shall be obliged to maneuver our boat, the road will be so convenient as the open air. I know the beach well, and can certify that it is as smooth as a grass-plot in a garden; the interior of the grotto, on the contrary, is rough; without reckoning, monseigneur, that at its extremity we shall come to the trench which leads into the sea, and perhaps the canoe will not pass down it.


I have made my calculation, and I am certain it will pass.


So be it; I wish it may, monseigneur, but your highness knows very well that to make it reach the extremity of the trench, there is an enormous stone to be lifted--that under which the fox always passes, and which closes the trench like a door.


It can be raised, that is nothing.


Oh! I know that monseigneur has the strength of ten men, but that is giving him a great deal of trouble.


I think the skipper may be right, let us try the open-air passage.


The more so, monseigneur,


that we should not be able to embark before day, it will require so much labor, and that as soon as daylight appears, a good vedette placed outside the grotto would be necessary, indispensable even, to watch the maneuvers of the lighters or cruisers that are on the look-out for us.


Yes, yes, Yves, your reasons are good; we will go by the beach.


It is a pack of hounds; the dogs are on a scent.


Who can be hunting at such a moment as this?


And this way, particularly, where they might expect the army of the royalists.


The noise comes nearer. Yes, you are right, Porthos, the dogs are on a scent. But, Yves! come here! come here!


What is the meaning of this hunt, skipper?


Eh! monseigneur, I cannot understand it. It is not at such a moment that the Seigneur de Locmaria would hunt. No, and yet the dogs--


Unless they have escaped from the kennel.


No, they are not the Seigneur de Locmaria’s hounds.


In common prudence, let us go back into the grotto; the voices evidently draw nearer, we shall soon know what we have to trust to.


The fox!


Accursed mischance! our retreat is discovered.


How so? are you afraid of a fox?


Eh! my friend, what do you mean by that? why do you specify the fox? It is not the fox alone. Pardieu! But don’t you know, Porthos, that after the foxes come hounds, and after hounds men? There are the dogs, plain enough! now, who are the huntsmen?


If it is the Seigneur de Locmaria’s, he will leave the dogs to hunt the grotto, for he knows them, and will not enter in himself, being quite sure that the fox will come out the other side; it is there he will wait for him.


It is not the Seigneur de Locmaria who is hunting,


Who is it, then?


Look!


The guards!


Yes, my friend, the king’s guards.


The king’s guards! do you say, monseigneur?


With Biscarrat at their head, mounted upon my gray horse. Ah! the devil! I am perfectly satisfied we are lost, but we have, at least, one chance left. If the guards who follow their hounds happen to discover there is an issue to the grotto, there is no help for us, for on entering they must see both ourselves and our boat. The dogs must not go out of the cavern. Their masters must not enter.


That is clear,


You understand; there are six dogs that will be forced to stop at the great stone under which the fox has glided--but at the too narrow opening of which they must be themselves stopped and killed. That’s well! now for the masters!


What is to be done with them?


Wait their arrival, conceal ourselves, and kill them.


Kill them!


There are sixteen, at least, at present.


And well armed,


It will last about ten minutes. To work! Yves, Goenne, and his son will pass the muskets to us. You, Porthos, will fire when they are close. We shall have brought down, at the lowest computation, eight, before the others are aware of anything--that is certain; then all, there are five of us, will dispatch the other eight, knife in hand.


And poor Biscarrat?


Biscarrat first. He knows us.


Well!


Well! I cannot hear the dogs; they and the fox must all be lost in this infernal cavern. They were too close up,


to have lost scent all at once. Besides, we should hear them from one side or another. They must, as Biscarrat says, be in this grotto.


But then,


But then, why don’t they give tongue?


It is strange! let us go into this grotto. Does it happen to be forbidden we should enter it? No. Only, as it looks as dark as a wolf’s mouth, we might break our necks in it.


Witness the dogs, who seem to have broken theirs.


What the devil can have become of them?


It is perhaps an enchanted grotto; let us see.


Stop! stop! I will accompany you,


No. No, there must be something extraordinary in the place--don’t let us risk ourselves all at once. If in ten minutes you do not hear of me, you can come in, but not all at once. Be it so,


Be it so, we will wait for you.


I will not have him killed!


Monsieur de Biscarrat, we mean you no harm, and you must know that if you have recognized us; but, at the first word, the first groan, the first whisper, we shall be forced to kill you as we have killed your dogs.


Yes, I recognize you, gentlemen. But why are you here--what are you doing, here? Unfortunate men! I thought you were in the fort.


And you, monsieur, you were to obtain conditions for us, I think?


I did all I was able, messieurs, but--


But what?


But there are positive orders.


To kill us? Monsieur Biscarrat, you would be already dead if we had not regard for your youth and our ancient association with your father; but you may yet escape from the place by swearing that you will not tell your companions what you have seen.


I will not only swear that I will not speak of it, but I still further swear that I will do everything in the world to prevent my companions from setting foot in the grotto.


Biscarrat! Biscarrat!


Reply,


Here I am!


Now, begone; we depend on your loyalty.


Oh! oh!


Oh! oh! how pale you are!


Pale! you ought to say corpse-color.


I!


In the name of Heaven! what has happened?


You have not a drop of blood in your veins, my poor friend. Messieurs, it is serious, he is going to faint; does any one of you happen to have any salts? What do you suppose I have seen? I was too hot when I entered the grotto, and I have been struck with a chill. That is all.


But the dogs, the dogs; have you seen them again--did you see anything of them--do you know anything about them?


I suppose they have got out some other way.


Messieurs, there is in that which is going on, in the paleness and silence of our friend, a mystery which Biscarrat will not, or cannot reveal. Only, and this is certain, Biscarrat has seen something in the grotto. Well, for my part, I am very curious to see what it is, even if it is the devil! To the grotto! messieurs, to the grotto! To the grotto!


Messieurs! messieurs! in the name of Heaven! do not go in!


Why, what is there so terrific in the cavern? Come, speak, Biscarrat.


Decidedly, it is the devil he has seen,


Well, if he has seen him, he need not be selfish; he may as well let us have a look at him in turn.


Messieurs! messieurs! I beseech you,


Nonsense! Let us pass!


Messieurs, I implore you not to enter! Why, you went in yourself. Messieurs,


there is in there some person, or something, that is not the devil; but which, whatever it may be, has had sufficient power to silence our dogs. We must discover who this some one is, or what this something is.


Biscarrat! Biscarrat! you knew there was an ambuscade in that cavern, and you did not warn us! Biscarrat, you are the cause that four of us are murdered men! Woe be to you, Biscarrat!


You are the cause of my being wounded unto death. My blood be on your head!


But, at least, tell us who is there?


Tell us, or die!


You are right. Death to me, who have allowed my comrades to be assassinated. I am a worthless wretch!


Seriously, is it the devil?


Ma foi! it is much worse,


Ask Biscarrat, he knows.


Where is Biscarrat?


He is dead!


Oh! no!


Strike, Porthos!


Fire!


Come.


Oh!


Hush! My friend, you will take this barrel, the match of which I am going to set fire to, and throw it amidst our enemies; can you do so?


Parbleu! Light it!


Stop, till they are all massed together, and then, my Jupiter, hurl your thunderbolt among them.


Light it,


On my part. I will join our Bretons, and help them to get the canoe to the sea. I will wait for you on the shore; launch it strongly, and hasten to us.


But do you understand me?


Parbleu! when a thing is explained to me I understand it; begone, and give me the light.


Oh! oh! there is my weakness seizing me again! I can walk no further! What is this?


Come on, Porthos! come on, come quickly!


Oh! oh! but I cannot.


Quick! quick!


Here I am,


In the name of Heaven! Porthos, make haste! the barrel will blow up!


Make haste, monseigneur!


Porthos! Porthos!


Porthos! where are you? Speak!


Here, here, patience! patience!


Too heavy!


Monseigneur, we are being chased!


Monseigneur! monseigneur! we are lost! Look! they see us plainly, though we have lowered sail.


That is not to be wondered at, since they say that, by the aid of the devil, the Paris-folk have fabricated instruments with which they see as well at a distance as near, by night as well as by day.


Here, look! Don’t be alarmed, there is no sin in it; and if there is any sin, I will take it on myself.


So, they can see us as we see them.


They see us,


What!--they see us! Impossible!


Well, captain, look yourself,


Monseigneur assures me that the devil has nothing to do with this?


Did we not say we surrendered?


Alive, alive, captain!


they must be taken alive.


Your lives are safe, my friends!


all but the Chevalier d’Herblay.


Do you hear, monseigneur?


Yes.


What are your orders?


Accept!


But you, monseigneur?


We accept,


but what security have we?


The word of a gentleman,


By my rank and by my name I swear that all except M. le Chevalier d’Herblay shall have their lives spared. I am lieutenant of the king’s frigate the ‘Pomona,’ and my name is Louis Constant de Pressigny.


Throw out the ladder, messieurs,


What course are we to follow, captain?


We take what course monseigneur pleases,


the night must have been a very damp one, for the wood on which the bishop’s head had rested was soaked with dew.


Is the king asleep? Well, I will let him sleep. But about what o’clock do you suppose he will rise?


Oh! in about two hours; his majesty has been up all night.


That will just suit me. I will talk to the king while he is eating. you do not know, perhaps, monsieur, that I have the privilege of entree anywhere--and at any hour.


Not at Nantes, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan. The king, in this journey, has changed everything. The king,


Eh?--don’t know! What does that mean? You don’t know how much time the king devotes to eating? It is generally an hour; and, if we admit that the air of the Loire gives an additional appetite, we will extend it to an hour and a half; that is enough, I think. I will wait where I am.


Oh! dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, the order of the day is not to allow any person to remain in this corridor; I am on guard for that particular purpose.


will not receive me, that is evident. The young man is angry; he is afraid, beforehand, of the words that I may speak to him. Yes; but in the meantime Belle-Isle is besieged, and my two friends by now probably taken or killed. Poor Porthos! As to Master Aramis, he is always full of resources, and I am easy on his account. But, no, no; Porthos is not yet an invalid, nor is Aramis in his dotage. The one with his arm, the other with his imagination, will find work for his majesty’s soldiers. Who knows if these brave men may not get up for the edification of his most Christian majesty a little bastion of Saint-Gervais! I don’t despair of it. They have cannon and a garrison. And yet. I don’t know whether it would not be better to stop the combat. For myself alone I will not put up with either surly looks or insults from the king; but for my friends I must put up with everything. Shall I go to M. Colbert? Now, there is a man I must acquire the habit of terrifying. I will go to M. Colbert. Good! the times have come again in which I measured my steps from De Treville to the cardinal, from the cardinal to the queen, from the queen to Louis XIII. Truly is it said that men, in growing old, become children again!--To the castle, then! Not even the captain who takes the order?


I think that is rather too strong. Not even he,


Since that is the case, since the captain of the musketeers, who has always entered the king’s chamber, is no longer allowed to enter it, his cabinet, or his salle-a-manger, either the king is dead, or his captain is in disgrace. Do me the favor, then, M. de Lyonne, who are in favor, to return and tell the king, plainly, I send him my resignation.


D’Artagnan, beware of what you are doing!


For friendship’s sake, go!


Well, I will go,


Well, what did the king say?


He simply answered, ‘’Tis well,’


That it was well! That is to say, that he accepts it? Good! Now, then, I am free! I am only a plain citizen, M. de Lyonne. I have the pleasure of bidding you good-bye! Farewell, castle, corridor, ante-chamber! a bourgeois, about to breathe at liberty, takes his farewell of you.


Monsieur d’Artagnan! Ah, Monsieur de Gesvres! good evening!


One would say you were getting on horseback.


More than that,--I am mounted,--as you see.


It is fortunate I have met with you.


Were you looking for me, then?


Mon Dieu! yes.


On the part of the king, I will wager?


Yes.


As I, three days ago, went in search of M. Fouquet? To arrest you?--Good heavens! no. Why do you come to accost me with twelve horsemen at your heels, then?


I am making my round.


That isn’t bad! And so you pick me up in your round, eh?


I don’t pick you up; I meet with you, and I beg you to come with me.


Where?


To the king.


Good! the king is disengaged.


For Heaven’s sake, captain, do not compromise yourself! these men hear you.


March! People who are arrested are placed between the six first guards and the six last.


But as I am not arresting you,


Well, that is very polite, duke, and you are right in being so; for if ever I had had to make my rounds near your chambre-de-ville, I should have been courteous to you, I assure you, on the word of a gentleman! Now, one favor more; what does the king want with me?


Oh, the king is furious!


Very well! the king, who has thought it worth while to be angry, may take the trouble to grow calm again; that is all. I shan’t die of that, I will swear.


No, but--


But--I shall be sent to keep company with unfortunate M. Fouquet. Mordioux! That is a gallant man, a worthy man! We shall live very sociably together, I will be sworn.


Here we are at our place of destination,


Ah! ah! you are playing the brave man with me, duke! I have been told that you are ambitious of uniting your guards with my musketeers. This strikes me as a splendid opportunity.


I will take exceeding good care not to avail myself of it, captain.


And why not, pray?


Oh, for many reasons--in the first place, for this: if I were to succeed you in the musketeers after having arrested you--


Ah! then you admit you have arrested me?


No, I don’t.


Say met me, then. So, you were saying if you were to succeed me after having arrested me?


Your musketeers, at the first exercise with ball cartridges, would fire my way, by mistake.


Oh, as to that I won’t say; for the fellows do love me a little.


It would be very whimsical, if, this evening, my praetorians should make me king of France. How I should laugh!


Hush, messieurs! you disturb the king.


All is over! the musketeers of the present day are not those of his majesty Louis XIII. All is over!


Monsieur d’Artagnan, you are wanted in the ante-chamber of the king,


Is not M. d’Artagnan there?


I am here, sire,


Well, monsieur, what have you to say to me?


I, sire! I have nothing to say to your majesty, unless it be that you have caused me to be arrested, and here I am.


Monsieur. Monsieur, what did I charge you to go and do at Belle-Isle? Tell me, if you please.


that your majesty does me the honor to ask what I went to Belle-Isle to accomplish?


Yes, monsieur.


Well! sire, I know nothing about it; it is not of me that question should be asked, but of that infinite number of officers of all kinds, to whom have been given innumerable orders of all kinds, whilst to me, head of the expedition, nothing precise was said or stated in any form whatever.


orders have only been given to such as were judged faithful.


And, therefore, I have been astonished, sire, that a captain like myself, who ranks with a marechal of France, should have found himself under the orders of five or six lieutenants or majors, good to make spies of, possibly, but not at all fit to conduct a warlike expedition. It was upon this subject I came to demand an explanation of your majesty, when I found the door closed against me, which, the final insult offered to a brave man, has led me to quit your majesty’s service.


you still believe that you are living in an age when kings were, as you complain of having been, under the orders and at the discretion of their inferiors. You seem to forget that a king owes an account of his actions to none but God.


I forget nothing, sire. Besides, I do not see in what an honest man, when he asks of his king how he has ill-served him, offends him.


You have ill-served me, monsieur, by siding with my enemies against me.


Who are your enemies, sire?


The men I sent you to fight.


Two men the enemies of the whole of your majesty’s army! That is incredible.


You have no power to judge of my will.


But I have to judge of my own friendships, sire.


He who serves his friends does not serve his master.


I so well understand this, sire, that I have respectfully offered your majesty my resignation.


And I have accepted it, monsieur, you see, monsieur, to what grave steps your disobedience forces me.


My disobedience!


It is the mildest term that I can find. My idea was to take and punish rebels; was I bound to inquire whether these rebels were your friends or not?


It was a cruelty on your majesty’s part to send me to capture my friends and lead them to your gibbets.


It was a trial I had to make, monsieur, of pretended servants, who eat my bread and should defend my person. The trial has succeeded ill, Monsieur d’Artagnan.


For one bad servant your majesty loses, there are ten who, on that same day, go through a like ordeal. Listen to me, sire; I am not accustomed to that service. Mine is a rebel sword when I am required to do ill. It was ill to send me in pursuit of two men whose lives M. Fouquet, your majesty’s preserver, implored you to save. Still further, these men were my friends. They did not attack your majesty, they succumbed to your blind anger. Besides, why were they not allowed to escape? What crime had they committed? I admit you may contest with me the right of judging their conduct. But why suspect me before the action? Why surround me with spies? Why disgrace me before the army? Why me, in whom till now you showed the most entire confidence--who for thirty years have been attached to your person, and have given you a thousand proofs of my devotion--for it must be said, now that I am accused--why reduce me to see three thousand of the king’s soldiers march in battle against two men?


One would say you have forgotten what these men have done to me! and that it was no merit of theirs I was not lost.


Sire, one would imagine you forget that I was there.


Enough, Monsieur d’Artagnan, enough of these dominating interests which arise to keep the sun itself from my interests. I am founding a state in which there shall be but one master, as I promised you; the moment is at hand for me to keep my promise. You wish to be, according to your tastes or private friendships, free to destroy my plans and save my enemies? I will thwart you or will drop you--seek a more compliant master. I know full well that another king would not conduct himself as I do, and would allow himself to be dominated by you, at the risk of sending you some day to keep company with M. Fouquet and the rest; but I have an excellent memory, and for me, services are sacred titles to gratitude, to impunity. You shall only have this lesson, Monsieur d’Artagnan, as the punishment of your want of discipline, and I will not imitate my predecessors in anger, not having imitated them in favor. And, then, other reasons make me act mildly towards you; in the first place, because you are a man of sense, a man of excellent sense, a man of heart, and that you will be a capital servant to him who shall have mastered you; secondly, because you will cease to have any motives for insubordination. Your friends are now destroyed or ruined by me. These supports on which your capricious mind instinctively relied I have caused to disappear. At this moment, my soldiers have taken or killed the rebels of Belle-Isle.


Taken or killed! Oh! sire, if you thought what you tell, if you were sure you were telling me the truth, I should forget all that is just, all that is magnanimous in your words, to call you a barbarous king, and an unnatural man. But I pardon you these words. I pardon them to a young prince who does not know, who cannot comprehend what such men as M. d’Herblay, M. du Vallon, and myself are. Taken or killed! Ah! Ah! sire! tell me, if the news is true, how much has it cost you in men and money. We will then reckon if the game has been worth the stakes.


Monsieur d’Artagnan, your replies are those of a rebel! Tell me, if you please, who is king of France? Do you know any other?


Sire, I very well remember that one morning at Vaux you addressed that question to many people who did not answer to it, whilst I, on my part, did answer to it. If I recognized my king on that day, when the thing was not easy, I think it would be useless to ask the question of me now, when your majesty and I are alone.


Monsieur, what I learn here you would know later; it is better I should tell you, and that you should learn it from the mouth of your king. A battle has taken place at Belle-Isle.


Is it possible? Well, sire?


Well, monsieur--and I have lost a hundred and ten men.


And the rebels?


The rebels have fled,


Only,


I have a fleet which closely blockades Belle-Isle, and I am certain not a bark can escape.


if these two gentlemen are taken--


They will be hanged,


And do they know it?


They know it, because you must have told them yourself; and all the country knows it.


Then, sire, they will never be taken alive, I will answer for that.