Man in the Iron Mask by Dumas, Alexandre part two

“I am undertaking nothing,” said Aramis.

“Aramis, a voice speaks within me, and seems to enlighten my darkness; it is a voice which has never yet deceived me. It is the King you are conspiring against.”

“The King!” exclaimed the bishop, pretending to be annoyed.

“Your face will not convince me. The King, I repeat.”

“Will you help me?” said Aramis, smiling ironically.

“Aramis, I will do more than help you,- I will do more than remain neutral,- I will save you.”

“You are mad, d’Artagnan.”

“I am the wiser of us two.”

“You suspect me of wishing to assassinate the King!”

“Who spoke of that at all?” said the musketeer.

“Well, let us understand each other. I do not see what any one can do to a legitimate king as ours is, if he does not assassinate him.” D’Artagnan did not say a word. “Besides, you have your guards and your musketeers here,” said the bishop.

“True.”

“You are not in M. Fouquet’s house, but in your own. You have at the present moment M. Colbert, who counsels the King against M. Fouquet all which perhaps you would wish to advise if I were not on his side.”

“Aramis! Aramis! for mercy’s sake, one word as a friend!”

“A friend’s word is the truth itself. If I think of touching, even with one finger, the son of Anne of Austria, the true King of this realm of France; if I have not the firm intention of prostrating myself before his throne; if, according to my wishes, to-morrow here at Vaux will not be the most glorious day my King ever enjoyed,- may Heaven’s lightning blast me where I stand!” Aramis had pronounced these words with his face turned towards the alcove of his bedroom, where d’Artagnan, seated with his back towards the alcove, could not suspect that any one was lying concealed. The earnestness of his words, the studied slowness with which he pronounced them, the solemnity of his oath, gave the musketeer the most complete satisfaction. He took hold of both Aramis’s hands, and shook them cordially. Aramis had endured reproaches without turning pale; he blushed as he listened to words of praise. D’Artagnan, deceived, did him honor; but d’Artagnan, trustful and reliant, made him feel ashamed. “Are you going away?” he said, as he embraced his friend in order to conceal the flush on his own face.

“Yes; my duty summons me. I have to get the watchword.”

“Where are you lodged?”

“In the King’s anteroom. And Porthos?”

“Take him away with you if you like, for he snores like a park of artillery.”

“Ah! he does not stay with you, then?” said the captain.

“Not at all. He has his room to himself, but I don’t know where.”

“Very good!” said the musketeer, from whom this separation of the two associates removed his last suspicion; and he touched Porthos roughly on the shoulder. The latter replied by a yawn. “Come!” said d’Artagnan.

“What! d’Artagnan, my dear fellow, is that you? What a lucky chance! Oh, yes,- true; I am at the fete at Vaux.”

“With your fine suit?”

“Yes; it was very attentive on the part of M. Coquelin de Voliere, was it not?”

“Hush!” said Aramis. “You are walking so heavily that you will make the flooring give way.”

“True,” said the musketeer; “this room is above the dome.”

“And I did not choose it for a fencing-room, I assure you,” added the bishop. “The ceiling of the King’s room has all the sweetness and calm delights of sleep. Do not forget, therefore, that my flooring is merely the covering of his ceiling. Good-night, my friends! In ten minutes I shall be fast asleep”; and Aramis accompanied them to the door, smiling pleasantly.

As soon as they were outside, Aramis bolted the door hurriedly, closed up the chinks of the windows, and then called out, “Monseigneur! Monseigneur!”

Philippe made his appearance from the alcove, pushing aside a sliding panel placed behind the bed. “M. d’Artagnan entertains a great many suspicions, it seems,” he said.

“Ah! you recognized M. d’Artagnan, then?”

“Before you called him by his name, even.”

“He is your captain of Musketeers.”

“He is very devoted to me,” replied Philippe, laying a stress upon the personal pronoun.

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