that might serve as a substitute for the weapon he desired.
Monk did not lose one of the movements of his hands, or one
of the expressions of his eyes. “Why do you not ask the
fisherman for his cutlass?” said Monk; “he has a cutlass.”
“Ah! that is true,” said Athos, “for he cut the tree down
with it.” And he advanced towards the stairs.
“Friend,” said he to the fisherman, “throw me down your
cutlass, if you please; I want it.”
The noise of the falling weapon sounded on the steps.
“Take it,” said Monk; “it is a solid instrument, as I have
seen, and a strong hand might make good use of it.”
Athos only appeared to give to the words of Monk the natural
and simple sense under which they were to be heard and
understood. Nor did he remark, or at least appear to remark,
that when he returned with the weapon, Monk drew back,
placing his left hand on the stock of his pistol; in the
right he already held his dirk. He went to work then,
turning his back to Monk, placing his life in his hands,
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without possible defense. He then struck, during several
seconds, so skillfully and sharply upon the intermediary
plaster, that it separated into two parts, and Monk was able
to discern two barrels placed end to end, and which their
weight maintained motionless in their chalky envelope.
“My lord,” said Athos, “you see that my presentiments have
not been disappointed.”
“Yes, monsieur,” said Monk, “and I have good reason to
believe you are satisfied; are you not?”
“Doubtless, I am; the loss of this money would have been
inexpressibly great to me: but I was certain that God, who
protects the good cause, would not have permitted this gold,
which should procure its triumph, to be diverted to baser
purposes.”
“You are, upon my honor, as mysterious in your words as in
your actions, monsieur,” said Monk. “Just now I did not
perfectly understand you when you said that you were not
willing to throw upon me the responsibility of the work we
were accomplishing.”
“I had reason to say so, my lord.”
“And now you speak to me of the good cause. What do you mean
by the words `the good cause’? We are defending at this
moment, in England, five or six causes, which does not
prevent every one from considering his own not only as the
good cause, but as the best. What is yours, monsieur? Speak
boldly, that we may see if, upon this point, to which you
appear to attach a great importance, we are of the same
opinion.”
Athos fixed upon Monk one of those penetrating looks which
seem to convey to him to whom they are directed a challenge
to conceal a single one of his thoughts; then, taking off
his hat, he began in a solemn voice, while his interlocutor,
with one hand upon his visage, allowed that long and nervous
hand to compress his mustache and beard, while his vague and
melancholy eye wandered about the recesses of the vaults.
CHAPTER 26
Heart and Mind
“My lord,” said the Comte de la Fere, “you are a noble
Englishman, you are a loyal man; you are speaking to a noble
Frenchman, to a man of heart. The gold contained in these
two casks before us, I have told you was mine. I was wrong
— it is the first lie I have pronounced in my life, a
temporary lie, it is true. This gold is the property of King
Charles II., exiled from his country, driven from his
palaces, the orphan at once of his father and his throne,
and deprived of everything, even of the melancholy happiness
of kissing on his knees the stone upon which the hands of
his murderers have written that simple epitaph which will
eternally cry out for vengeance upon them: — `Here lies
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Charles I.'”
Monk grew slightly pale, and an imperceptible shudder crept
over his skin and raised his gray mustache.
“I,” continued Athos, “I, Comte de la Fere, the last, only